In the empty, silent asteroid belt, President Marcus arrives. His ship cuts through the darkness of space, leaving a bright flash of light behind. With him, in majestic silence, are Commander Alexander and Agent Ani. All three are heading toward the main command center—a secret military base hidden among the rocky debris, like a monster ready to awaken.

  The steel station, at first just a barely visible point in the boundless cosmos, now fills the entire field of view. It seems to devour the surrounding light, becoming the center of the universe. This is the heart of the cosmic fleet, where the fate of entire worlds is decided:

  cruisers, landing ships, transport vessels—all gathered on this metallic island, hiding a power capable of destroying anything in its path.

  Marcus, Alexander, and Ani enter the main control hall. The space inside resembles a high-tech temple, where walls shimmering with cold light seem to reflect the void of space. Here, in this sterile and mysterious place, the final preparations for a war that will change the course of history are underway.

  Through the transparent walls of the hall, the silhouettes of large spaceships are visible, silent giants ready for battle. This place exists outside of time—only tense silence, ready to explode into action at any moment.

  Admiral Tyler approaches them—a tall man with a fearless gaze that pierces like icy steel. His figure seems both graceful and threatening. He confidently approaches the president, radiating calm and discipline.

  "Welcome aboard, Mr. President," his voice is clear and precise. "Welcome to our fleet command station."

  Tyler also addresses the others, saluting everyone with military respect, like an officer used to strict order.

  "Admiral," Alexander commands without hesitation, "demonstrate our fleet's maneuvers to the president."

  Tyler nods without wasting a second. He sits down at a holographic console, and his hands begin to move with extraordinary speed, giving orders. At that moment, a huge map appears on the screen. A massive view of the fleet, composed of dozens of ships, starts to come alive, moving like a complex mechanism merging into a single, grand mass.

  Gliding across the holographic display, he commands the ships to perform maneuvers: first, they spread out like warriors forming a circle, then they merge into a tight formation, like lightning ready to strike. The cruisers, like metallic beasts, obey the orders, their outlines moving with flawless precision, as if they are an extension of the admiral’s will.

  Tyler lifts his gaze to the president, determination shining in his eyes. As if he is confirming that everything will be done, and now the fate of their world lies in these great machines.

  "This is only the beginning, Mr. President," he says with cold-blooded confidence. "The fleet is ready for battle."

  Marcus watches the holographic screen intently, where the giant ships of the fleet reorganize into a perfect geometric formation. Everything happens with stunning precision, almost a poetic rhythm—as if these military machines are frozen in their sacred ritual. Their movements are so synchronized that it feels like they are something greater than just a system—they are alive.

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  Immediately behind the cruisers, swarms of drones burst out. These small but deadly machines, like swarming bees, tightly surround the fleet, creating a protective shield network that shimmers faintly in the cosmic abyss. Reflected flashes of light and sharp ship outlines stretch across the dark void, like giant glowing webs, radiating an unstoppable force.

  "Attention! Reformation!" Tyler announces, his voice sounding less like a command and more like a complex dance. "Reformation into five layers of protective fields!"

  The drones instantly scatter, forming a cubic structure that compresses around the entire fleet. The energy shields, like a mighty wall, become denser, sealing all space, creating an impenetrable barrier for any enemy. Within minutes, the whole fleet merges into an impregnable fortress, a living organism.

  Marcus doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, sensing both the invisible threat and an overwhelming admiration for the fleet's coordination and power. This untamed force, filled with cold determination, suddenly evokes not just respect in him, but a sharp realization that the fate of the world could be decided in this moment.

  "Commander, the fleet is ready for battle," Admiral Tyler reports, his voice now calm and confident, as if he had known this outcome all along.

  "At ease, Admiral," Alexander responds with a slight nod, his face remaining expressionless. "Excellent work."

  At that moment, Marcus steps forward, his gaze locking onto the admiral. For a brief second, everyone in the room feels the air grow heavier.

  "Admiral," his voice is firm, "what else is needed for the full deployment of the fleet?"

  Tyler doesn’t hesitate. His answer is precise and sharp, like an order.

  "We need additional supply ships and more landing troops for assaults."

  Marcus nods, instantly assessing the situation and developing a strategy in his mind.

  "Understood. It will be done," he says, knowing exactly what must be done. "Now… activate the public channel. My words must be heard by everyone."

  The admiral gives the order. An officer at the console starts a series of quick manipulations. Quiet, confident clicks fill the hall, everything tuned to maximum efficiency. Ready.

  Nothing now can stop the decision the president is about to make. The world stands at the brink of war, and his words will be the signal for the beginning of this storming era.

  "All systems ready, Mr. President," Tyler reports, his gaze fixed on the screen.

  Marcus lifts his head. He seems ready for the fight, every gesture heavy with power and responsibility.

  "Attention, soldiers!" his voice now booms through the speakers with force and authority, like a thunderclap awakening everything alive in this place. "I speak to you not just as your president, but as a man who believes in you. I extend gratitude to the entire fleet! We thank you for your service! We thank you for your readiness!"

  A roaring chorus of voices drowns out his words, an explosion of emotion sweeping across the base like a giant wave, moving them all.

  "For the living!" the entire crew shouts in one powerful voice. Their cries are the sounds of war, the voice of a living, breathing organism ready to act. This moment feels endless, filled with the anticipation of victory.

  Marcus repeats the slogan, like an incantation reaching into the soul of every listener. He knows that each word will lift their spirit higher.

  "For the living!"

  He pauses, letting his words sink deeper into their hearts. His gaze becomes sharper, almost impenetrable.

  "War is near! We have the advantage! Our intelligence leaves no doubt. The day when the living reclaim their rightful place is coming! Victory will be ours!"

  "For the living!" the voices roar even louder, almost deafening, like fire pumping blood through their veins.

  "Glory to the living! Glory to President Marcus!" the cries of the inspired crowd merge into a single powerful wave, echoing through the massive hangar halls, into every corner, into every mind. They are ready.

  Satisfied with the result, the president turns to Admiral Tyler. In his eyes—a cold, confident look, without the slightest trace of doubt.

  "Prepare for war, Admiral," he says, with the inevitability of fate. "Soon you will have the chance to prove yourself as a commander."

  "I await that moment, Mr. President," Tyler answers, raising his chin slightly. In his voice—pride for his mission. "We will defeat the androids. We will restore the living to the place ordained by the true God!"

  There is no hesitation in his words, only faith in victory and readiness to pay any price to reclaim the world.