Long-term salvation

"People from all over the world, from different countries, different races, speaking different languages, listen to me. I am Rhodes, your leader, and the savior who believes he will save the world."

"Soldiers, workers, technicians, researchers, at this moment, you will all be given the same name—warriors—my warriors, warriors of the Army Without Borders, warriors of human civilization that has flourished since time immemorial!"

"I won't try to deceive you with sweet nothings. I'll just tell you the bloody truth right here."

In Africa, in North America, in every camp, the soldiers of the Army Without Borders huddled in front of the television in the lounge, watching Rhodes's speech. They listened quietly, no one saying a word to interrupt this magnificent scene. The faintly flickering screen of the television reflected twinkling stars in everyone's eyes, bright and dazzling.

"Every warrior must be prepared for two kinds of death—either being torn apart by monsters or being driven mad by pollution—but why is this?"

"As the bonfire cast distorted shadows on the cave walls, our ancestors cowered in primal fear and trembled for nearly 250,000 years. It wasn't until the last four thousand years, when the light of reason dispelled some of that fear and gave them the power to resist. Only then can these four thousand years be called 'meaningful.'

Yet, those indescribable things lurking in the darkness, those blasphemous outlines emerging amidst the thunder and rain, and those ancient malevolences swimming in the whirlpools of the deep sea, always hang like the sword of Damocles over the fragile neck of human civilization.

"Humanity can no longer live in fear. Nothing can protect us; we must protect ourselves."

Inside the secret underground base under construction, workers continued to operate machinery non-stop, but soon, most people stopped and quietly listened to the voice coming from the radio. In the vast and silent underground cave, only Rhodes' voice echoed:

"This will be our daily routine—fighting demons and monsters with mortal bodies, deconstructing the infinite with limited knowledge, and maintaining sanity on the brink of madness—you may witness your comrades being transformed by energy, execute contaminated relatives with your own hands, and endure moral dilemmas that ordinary people could never imagine."

The technicians who had been allowed to know about the existence of the other world listened silently. Whether they were from Atlas Corporation or Aperture Technologies, they all listened. They had wavered in the face of those dark secrets, but the wisdom and knowledge in their minds gave them courage. It was precisely because of this that they could stand here, listening to Rhode's words.

"Will this war end? No, it won't, because it's just a 'natural phenomenon' based on the other world. It's a marathon that must be run, spitting blood, and never stopping."

"Stop, and it will mean the end of human civilization!"

Students and professors at Miskatonic University sat in the classroom, watching the projected live broadcast and the person they had long known roaring in it.

"For the millions of people in this world, for men, women, children, the elderly, the wise, the foolish, the evil, the good... for all human beings worth fighting for, for the order and life on this planet, we will continue to fight!"

"We will continue this war that began around the cave campfire, using our tenacious minds to fight the whispers of evil spirits, using the Black Stone Stand to suppress the cracks in the other world, and using iron and fire to fight the surging tide of twisted demons. I tried, and I succeeded. The roar of heavy machine guns swept through the abominable flesh and blood, tearing it into pieces; the tracks of tanks rolled over monsters that could dismember humans, turning them into a muddy swamp of flesh. And when this flame illuminates the darkness, when this flame burns away the corruption, when this flame ignites in my hands, it will mark the roar of humanity against this world, this world:

You can’t kill me!!!”

Rhodes roared, and a long sword burning with golden flames suddenly emerged from his palm - no one questioned it, no one laughed at it, because the flame was real, coming from the first flame ignited by the ancestors of mankind.

"Perhaps one day, our descendants will stand in the sunlight and read these files with confusion, seeing today's life-and-death struggles as ancient myths and legends. They will sit under the shade of a tree, in the bright sunshine, and read these records, running their fingers over the names of us who sacrificed, and whispering our names."

"Perhaps one day, we will be lost in the long river of time. But as long as the hymns of human courage still echo, as long as there are children who can point to the stars and ask questions, as long as spring still arrives, as long as an era of eternal peace can finally come—let this war continue, even if it means ten thousand years and ten thousand years!"

"Therefore."

"For humanity, I will die."

Rhodes uttered the last words calmly. He lowered his head slightly to kiss the sword, allowing the golden flames to devour him.

[Main Mission: Listen to Revelation]

[Mission Description: Lead human civilization and overcome the disaster brought about by the advent of the apocalypse]

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Night, Hill Villa.

After the celebration banquet ended, Rhode found a deserted spot to sit down, stretched himself, and pulled out the reward for completing the main quest from his pocket.

Shiting's Box.

Rhodes lit it up, and the moment his finger touched the lit screen, he subconsciously entered a password into it.

A cute girl with light blue hair immediately appeared on the screen. She smiled and waved at Rhodes:

"Sensei, long time no see, Alona has been waiting for you!"

"...It's Alona," Rhodes whispered. He raised his head and looked at the girl on the screen who was still a little confused. "If you are 'Alona', then... what am I?"

What am I? Am I Jesus, a psychic, a time traveler, someone who is dead but not yet dead, or something else? If I am Jesus, then why are you, Alona, ​​president of the Kivotos Student Union, here?

Rhode was very clear about one thing: the girls he embraced were unique. Every girl who appeared here replaced 'him' in this world, and the system replaced the existence of 'God'. But now, what was he...what was he?

"You've walked fearlessly all this way, why are you wavering now?" The girl blinked in confusion. Then, as if remembering something, she smiled and said, "Sensei wants my affirmation and comfort. Okay, I'll tell you the truth. The most sincere words, without a trace of falsehood."

"Then please listen carefully—"

"You wield the might of iron and steel, and harness the golden flames that burn the heavens."

"You are the savior of mankind, the blade of order, the shield of civilization, the Lord of hosts, the King of kings."

"Even if it's broken, even if it's false."

“You can still take action, so you are not broken; you can still remain rational, so you are not false.”

"Chaos and order intertwine within you, giving rise to infinite possibilities. The nobility of these possibilities surpasses that of so-called gods. One could even say that you have condescended to come here."

So, there is no need to worry or feel uneasy about this, because you are the savior of mankind in this world because you want to be the savior; and I will not worry or feel uneasy about this, because I want you to be the savior, this is out of my own will, my own love, and my own prayer. "

The girl on the screen had a slightly red cheek, her hands behind her back, and the smile on her face almost melted Rhodes.

"Please take on the responsibility of salvation! As the Lord of mankind!"

"But you need to pay attention to one thing. This is the most important means to maintain your existence and rationality. This is - I think, therefore I am (Cogito)."

Chapter 271: The Day After Tomorrow: Song of the Far Eastern Guerrillas (1/3)

Across the mountains and across the plains, the guerrilla corps is advancing...

They vowed to capture the coastal areas and completely wipe out the White Bandit Army...

"We vow to capture the coastal areas and completely wipe out the White Bandit Army..."

Sablin hummed a song as he bought a newspaper at a roadside newsstand. He smiled at the old man who took off his hat to greet him. He handed over two 10-ruble notes and said thoughtfully:

“The price has gone up again.”

"There's nothing we can do about it, but... Valery Mihajlovich, you know," the stall owner scratched his smooth bald head and staggered out of the booth, "the economy is terrible right now. Even the price of newspapers is going up. Although many things have been deregulated, we powerless little people like us can't buy those things... In fact, even bread is hard to buy now!"

"I thought Moscow would be better," Sablin said calmly.

"Ha! Moscow is the place with the most rampant black market. Perhaps only Leningrad can compare to it," the stall owner said with a sarcastic curl of his lips at Sablin. He then looked around cautiously and asked in a low voice, "Are you going to give a speech there today too? I'll go."

"If they hadn't thrown my microphone in the trash like they did before."

Sablin said with a smile, he glanced at the front page headline of the newspaper, then rolled up the thing and tucked it under his arm, walked down the street towards the KGB building.

Moscow in late autumn was already a little chilly, which made Sablin tighten his coat - he was now a national hero, a fighter against the rigid system. With the promotion of caring people, the name "Valery Mikhailovich Sablin" spread throughout the Soviet Union within a few months... People looked at him with suspicion and respect, reading his articles, letters sent to the Central Committee, and investigation reports.

Cold numbers, passionate words, and a sincere heart.

Soon, workers were discussing Sablin's speeches in their spare time in the fields and factories. Soldiers were smoking cigarettes and reading Sablin's prison writings while watching their superiors sell tanks and infantry fighting vehicles abroad. Students and professors in schools were debating Sablin's investigative reports published in newspapers in class.

There was only one place, only one place where people were toasting each other, where people were not discussing Sablin's works and words and deeds, but were laughing at his stupidity and naiveté, and laughing at his useless work - but it was indeed useful, so let's hang him up like a statue!

"Ah! Mr. Sablin!"

"It's Sablin!"

"What will you talk about today? Economics, international relations, or military history? Also, I didn't expect you'd be so good at writing fantasy novels—like Soviet mecha corps versus Nazi zombies—that's really captivating!"

"Haha, as long as you like it, as for whether I can give a speech today... that depends on whether those respectable and kind people will let me connect the wires. You know, they are not easy to talk to."

Sablin smiled and greeted the citizens who recognized him, then continued walking along the street. While waiting for the traffic light, he took out the newspaper and carefully read a piece of news:

"Hmm... The US military has already assembled in Saudi Arabia, and Iraq still refuses to withdraw from Kuwait. It's not a good thing," Sablin shook his head. "I hope the Middle East will be more stable in the future. Otherwise, it will definitely be a huge powder keg. If something inside gets radicalized and leaked, it will be a disaster for the entire world."

The asphalt road in the early morning was shining with a dark blue sheen. The light rain that fell last night had not yet been dried up by the not-so-strong sunshine, but was spread on the road together with the morning mist, making people walk a little more cautiously.

The bus's wheels screeched as it turned across the square. The Russian letters for "Coca-Cola" were painted red on the exterior of the bus, and blocks of advertising color covered the original Soviet emblem like a patch.

Looking at the half-revealed Soviet emblem, Sablin's expression gradually grew stern, but he soon regained his composure and quickly walked towards the famous building—the Lubyanka. After greeting the soldiers on duty, he decided to go to the cafeteria for a meal.

After leaving prison, Sablin, who had cleared his name and become a hero, soon discovered that he was being monitored by the KGB. At the same time, agents from the Perseus organization also delivered relevant news.

This is quite normal. After all, if you, Sablin, can oppose Brezhnev, you can oppose Gorbachev, and even... When the political struggle begins at the top, it is better not to jump out as a "hero".

Because of this, Sablin was not idle either. He rented a small house near the KGB headquarters and walked to the KGB headquarters every day to report in. "Aren't you going to monitor me? That's perfect. I'll come here every day. It would be even better if I could live there and save on rent."

Of course, at the beginning, Sablin would be kicked out very quickly, and he no longer forced his way out. Instead, he set up a radio speaker in a square not far away and began to give speeches, publicize his ideas and thoughts over the past ten years.

Not many people paid attention to this behavior at first, but after Sablin persisted for a month, the situation changed... More and more Moscow citizens chose to come here, listen to Sablin's speeches, chat with him, and complain about the economic difficulties.

Here, citizens watched with their own eyes as he read, summarized, and thought about the books and investigation reports collected spontaneously by people, and then wrote a long letter based on everyone's ideas and speeches and sent it to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.

There was no reply, but people were still willing to watch Sablin do it. A rare and long-lost emotional connection was being established, and something that happened decades ago was being repeated.

It would be the same today if nothing unexpected happened.

"Oh! Our hero! Valery Mikhailovich Sablin!"

An enthusiastic and slightly drunken voice called out to Sablin, who had just finished chatting with the officer on duty who was dining with him and was about to leave the mess hall. Upon hearing this voice, Sablin's fingers twitched slightly, and then he turned around and said with a smile:

"Comrade Boris Nikolayevich Yeltsin, how nice to see you! What's going on? Has the Central Committee changed its mind again and is planning to throw me back into prison?"

Sablin smiled and shook hands with Yeltsin, hiding the hatred and disgust in his heart under the smile.

"What are you talking about! Valery Mikhailovich, 'I' wouldn't do that," Yeltsin waved his hand, asking the accompanying officers and bodyguards to leave. He put his arm around Sablin, looking very intimate. "I thought you would resent the country's injustice against you, but you don't seem to care."

"That's just one person's thoughts. He's already dead," Sablin shook his head and sighed. "It's meaningless to resent a dead person. We still need to look forward."

"You're right, then I won't waste my time—our 'President' has already made the decision! He'll send you to work in the Supreme Soviet. Of course, I persuaded him... He wasn't very willing at first!"

Is this a gesture of goodwill?

Sablin turned these words over in his mind:

It is not only a gesture of goodwill to himself, but also to Akhromeyev, who has made rapid progress in the political arena recently. The latter is gaining a lot of political resources and has the idea of ​​​​competing for that seat.

"Thank you for your help, Comrade Boris Nikolayevich Yeltsin. I really hope to get a job. Otherwise, the compensation alone will not be enough for me to buy books."

Sablin responded with a smile. He extended his hand again to shake hands with Yeltsin, but the latter changed the subject and said in a serious and low voice:

"You have to be careful. A lot of people are watching you... I asked the KGB to help you ward off a lot of assassinations. I have to say, it was a brilliant idea for you to keep moving around the KGB headquarters."

"I'll pay attention," Sablin nodded slightly, "but right now, the most important thing for me is to work and study."

If you don't work or study, how can you sweep a bug like you into the dustbin of history?

Chapter 272: Postscript: Military Technology (2/3)

"The United States is terminally ill and corrupt to the core."

The congressman puffed on his cigar, exhaled a puff of smoke, and leaned back in the leather seat, but the movement of his strong body made the seat squeak painfully.

"Congressman Steven Armstrong, there's no need for you to reiterate a fact we all already know."

A thin, middle-aged man in a suit spoke calmly. Although his face was carved by time, he still looked relatively young thanks to good maintenance. However, his eyes were filled with gloom and arrogance.

"[Organization] members held a meeting not for you to preach your 'Make America great again' rhetoric. As a representative of the United States' [Deep State], you'd better bring us some good news."

Hearing the middle-aged man's words, Congressman Armstrong sneered. He put his cigar next to the ashtray on the table, stood up and scanned the faces of the participants, taking in everyone's expression.

"Israel has already permitted large-scale human organ trade, and a formal bill will be introduced in the next few months, of course, in the name of 'organ donation'... Here, as the 'government', I warn you not to mess around on United States soil. They are 'our' property, and if necessary, so are you."

"I don't think the United States government has the power to take us over," said one of them. A small sign on his desk identified him as a representative from ATC. "Besides, the current president isn't you, 'Congressman' Armstrong,' but President Graham."

"Time is on my side, and I will persevere to achieve my goal."

Armstrong smiled, but his figure and face looked particularly ferocious. He put his hands behind his back—a movement that made his chest muscles look even more imposing, causing some people present to frown slightly—and after walking a few steps with his hands behind his back, the congressman slowly began to speak:

"Besides, are you united? The companies and forces represented by everyone sitting here are simply united by profit. We are all vultures, staring at the corpses of our fellow travelers; we are all hyenas, eyeing our fellow travelers, waiting for the opportunity to tear a piece of fresh meat from them. So, when someone makes a big mistake, isn't it normal for us to rush in and share the food?"

"After all, that 'Seele' (Soul Seat) seat... every fewer people sitting there are better off."

This statement did not cause any commotion among the attendees, who naturally had a look of ridicule on their faces.

Ignoring these people's thoughts, Congressman Armstrong returned to his seat, picked up his cigar, which was gradually going out, and took a few puffs. After the cigarette butt re-lit a faint orange light, he slowly said:

"The Ministry of Defense hopes to establish a more appropriate framework for large-scale cooperation with them, connecting with various equipment manufacturers and military service companies, and using five to six years to fundamentally reduce its dependence on Atlas...and this project must be led by the government."

"Speak frankly, Senator Armstrong," the Umbrella representative said, stirring the tea in front of him with a spoon, but he had no intention of drinking it. "I remember that we have had a lot of cooperation with the Ministry of Defense, including the development of BOW."

"It's simple. Invest in my company, Militech International Armaments, allocate personnel and resources, and vigorously promote the research, development, and manufacturing of conventional and high-tech weapons. I will personally command the company to directly serve the Ministry of Defense and the government."

Congressman Armstrong's ferocious smile remained unchanged, unfazed by the darkening expressions. He took off his glasses, wiped them casually with a handkerchief, and continued calmly:

"You may have thrived in this world for many years, but for nearly twenty years you've been suppressed by the Atlas Corporation, simply because the United States government, standing before you, chose them... Don't underestimate 'us'. While we were leading the nation to become the superpower it is today, you were still lurking in the dark corners, sucking away its blood and nourishment."

Looking at these people in front of him, Congressman Armstrong also felt nothing but ridicule in his heart:

Perhaps they are all people standing behind the scenes of world history, behemoths developed from ancient secret societies, but for the United States and even the powers in this world, they are far from being powerful enough to be invincible.