The Day of Fire

Tomorrow…

Two miles beneath Denver International Airport, the shrill ring of a phone shattered the quiet of Phoenix Central Command Headquarters. The phone was on the desk of the regional director.

“Centcom, this is Beckett.” Sam Beckett juggled the handset while putting on his suit jacket. It was Friday afternoon, and he was about to leave for the day.

“It’s Bob Meyers from Analytics.” He sounded out of breath.

“Meyers, unless it’s—” Meyers cut him off.

“It’s urgent.”

“It better be,” said Beckett. “I’m about to go home and have a nice dinner. Can this—”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Meyers. “It’s Veridian Island. Kicked everything off.”

“I thought that was handled by the Navy.”

“It was,” said Meyers. “We sent you the report. Did you—”

“Yeah, I read it,” said Beckett. “SecDef wrote it himself. Made damn sure everyone knew it, too. It read like some kind of…I don’t know…1950s sci-fi movie or something.”

“It was an Oceanus research team,” said Meyers. “I didn’t read it all the way through.”

“Portal division,” said Beckett. “Something came out of one into a lab on the island. They had to nuke the island to contain it.”

“Something?”

Beckett ignored the question. “Sent LCAC hovercraft with a bunch of Marines to evacuate,” Beckett continued. “They got back to their San Antonio-class LPD and discovered someone was infected.”

“Infected? With what?” said Meyers.

“Unknown,” said Beckett. “Whatever it was, the MARSOC guys running the evac mission were no match for it. Navy relayed video footage as it was happening. They requested backup, but backup came in the form of a nuclear warhead-tipped torpedo from a Los Angeles-class sub.”

“My god…” said Meyers.

“Skipper on the sub was ordered to fire danger close. Now both vessels are at the bottom of the Pacific.”

Meyers gasped. “So many people…just…gone.”

“Yeah, real tragedy,” said Beckett. He was not in a remorseful mood. “So that’s it? Problem solved?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Meyers. “That’s why I’m calling. The Russians and Chinese got involved. There was a series of escalations. Check your email.”

Beckett opened his email. There was one unopened message from Meyers. He opened it and scanned down the page.

“Are you sure about this? Run it past Janice?”

“This is from Janice. My team checked it four times. Cross-checked it with our intel connections.”

“If this is true,” said Beckett. “The Descent is about to begin.”

“Yes, sir,” said Meyers. “As it was foretold. All Hail Columbia.”

“Columbia shall rise,” said Beckett, responding in kind.

Beckett wasn’t a true believer. Phoenix’s plans for the future of United States were important, of course. He just didn't buy into the religious mumbo-jumbo. Some did, and to keep morale high, he wanted others to think that he did too. He’d become an expert at faking it.

“Listen, Meyers. If this is true, a lot is about to change, and fast. The Green Book will be our guide, of course, but we may not follow it to the letter. I hope you understand that.”

“I’ve always seen it as aspirational,” said Meyers. “I know there are zealots—”

“When the time comes, I hope I can depend on you and your department to be…compliant.”

“You can count on us, sir.”

“Good,” said Beckett. “Our mandate is clear. Once The Descent begins, Central Command is in charge. If East and West don’t want to fall in line…well, we’re prepared for that.”

“But sir, what about the President—” said Meyers. Beckett cut him off.

“Compliant, Meyers.”

Meyers was silent. He knew what Beckett was getting at, and he didn’t like the implication. His department was resilient, but he was concerned about some of the others. Lives would be lost at the hands of security, he was sure of it. It had happened before, and in less stressful times. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and shook his head…bracing for the inevitable.

A warning klaxon sounded in the hall, and the lights changed to red. There were flashing white lights at the lower corners of several doors, indicating emergency exits.

Beckett pressed the “Acknowledge / Silence” button on his desk. The alarm sound stopped, but the lights in the hallway remained red.

There were screams on Meyers’ side of the phone. Beckett heard Meyers cup the phone with his hand and shout something that was too muffled to understand.

A digital sign activated on the wall in Beckett’s office. A red title blinked in 72-point Helvetica. Now it was official. Sam Beckett had prepared his whole career for this, and now it was time to go to work. Years of training took over, and his mind was already mapping out the first steps.

“Well,” said Beckett. “Looks like it’s coming down.” He unlocked the bottom right drawer on his desk, pulled out a rare bottle of single malt, and a rocks glass. He exhaled as he poured two fingers for himself.

Beckett paused, thinking for a few seconds. “Send the recall. Recall everyone,” he said.

“Everyone?” said Meyers.

“Full distribution. The other commands, too. Tell them they have an hour to get here before we lock the place down.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Not our problem,” said Beckett. “East and West probably won’t come anyway. Well, some might…the devout. Most will shelter in place. Listen, call an emergency meeting with the department heads. Fifteen minutes. Main conference room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep your department calm,” said Beckett. “This is gonna be a stressful time for everyone. And, uh…if you have anyone to call, do it now. But do it quietly. No need to panic the others. I’m hanging up now.” Beckett dropped the handset into its receiver.

The recall was about to be sent, and the clock was ticking. Beckett paused for a moment, letting the gravity of the situation settle over him. The weight of it pressed down on him like a lead blanket. The Descent. Decades of secrecy and preparation, and now it was here. Phoenix would rise from the ashes, and so would its new nation: Neo-Columbia. But first, they had to save some important people.

***

Twenty minutes later…

Fifteen Dassault Falcon 10X jets landed in quick succession at a private airstrip just east of Fort Knox Army Base in Kentucky. The jets bore no markings except for their tail numbers, operating under military-level restricted flight plans. For all intents and purposes, they didn’t exist—not on FAA records and not on radar.

Flanking each jet were two sleek, delta-shaped stealth drones. Their surfaces shimmered faintly in the fading sunlight, equipped with advanced optical camouflage. These machines were invisible to most forms of electronic detection, and when necessary, to the human eye. Each was armed with an arsenal of ballistic and coherent light weapons, and had missiles capable of neutralizing just about anything on a modern battlefield.

Ground crews moved with precision as the jets taxied into position. The instant engines powered down, passengers were ushered out by their escorts—heavily armed BlackJack security teams, their dark-gray polo shirts adorned with the unmistakable red trident logo.

The airstrip was locked down like a fortress. Layers of security formed three concentric circles around the perimeter. Radar-guided Phalanx guns, anti-aircraft missile batteries, and sniper teams on elevated platforms ensured nothing came near the operation unnoticed—or unchallenged.

Inside the jets, the passengers represented the elite of the elite: the families of the Board of Trustees of Ouroboros. This was no ordinary private equity firm. Ouroboros owned nothing, produced nothing, and needed nothing. Its purpose was singular: control. Through its three dominant investment firms—BlackRaven, SuperColossus, and Nation Street—it held trillions of dollars in assets, influencing every major industry, government, and critical infrastructure across the globe.

As the passengers disembarked, they were hurried into a nearby hangar, escorted past towering steel walls reinforced with layers of composite armor. In the center of the cavernous space, a massive cargo elevator awaited. Its gleaming steel walls bore Ouroboros’s insignia: a minimalistic, abstract serpent devouring its tail, symbolizing endless renewal and the unyielding cycle of power.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a chamber large enough to fit several tractor-trailers side by side. Once the last passenger was aboard, BlackJack operatives took up defensive positions around the hangar. A tense silence fell over the space as the elevator began its descent, the hum of industrial machinery echoing faintly in the background.

The descent lasted ten minutes. When the elevator doors finally opened, it revealed an underground logistics terminal unlike anything the passengers had ever seen. Bright floodlights illuminated a vast railyard, where polished tracks gleamed like silver veins running across the ground in all directions.

A sleek blue train waited at the platform, its mirrored surface gleaming. The wide double doors stood open, and two imposing guards flanked the entrance, their presence even more unnerving than the BlackJack escorts left behind on the surface.

A man stepped forward to greet them. He was middle-aged, unremarkable in appearance, with neatly combed brown hair, glasses, and a trimmed mustache. His dark brown suit was perfectly pressed, and his demeanor radiated calm professionalism. If there was a word to describe him, it would be disarming.

“Welcome,” he said with a warm smile, his voice smooth and reassuring. “Please, step inside and take any seat you like. If you require anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

The passengers hesitated for a moment, but then the group began moving toward the train. The man stood to the side, hands clasped in front of him, watching as they boarded.

“That’s the train’s A.I.,” said one of the passengers, his voice low as he addressed the woman beside him. “Not a real person.”

“What?” the woman asked, clutching his arm as her eyes darted around nervously.

“It’s a soligram,” he explained. “A projection made of nanotech particles. Watch this.”

The man reached out and waved his hand through the greeter’s midsection. His fingers passed through effortlessly, scattering tiny flecks of light and matter that quickly reassembled themselves.

The greeter turned toward the woman and smiled, entirely unfazed. “Mind the gap,” he said pleasantly.

“The…gap?” she stammered, blinking in confusion.

“Between the platform and the train, ma’am.”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” She laughed nervously and stepped into the train, still clutching her companion’s arm. He began explaining nanotech aerostat soligrams in a hushed voice as they found their seats.

When the last passenger had boarded, the guards at the entrance exchanged a glance and a nod.

A tug on his pant leg drew the male guard’s attention. He looked down to find a little girl, no older than six or seven, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Are you real?” she asked.

The guard’s face softened as he slung his weapon over his shoulder and knelt down to her level.

“Of course I’m real. What kind of question is that?”

“My mom said you weren’t.”

He chuckled. “Well, your mom’s mistaken. I have a mom and dad, just like you.”

“Where are you from?”

“Philadelphia,” he said, his tone light. “That’s in Pennsylvania. Do you know Pennsylvania?”

The girl nodded slowly. “You have really pretty eyes.”

“Thank you,” he replied, smiling warmly.

“Athena!” a woman called from inside the train. “Come on, sweetie, we found seats.”

The little girl ran back to her mother, but not before glancing over her shoulder one last time. The guard gave her a reassuring wink. For a brief moment, his irises glowed a bright, unnatural green. The girl’s jaw dropped in amazement just as the train doors closed.

***

To: All Phoenix Personnel

From: Phoenix CentCom

Subject: CRITICAL | SEVERITY 1 | RECALL - Seek Shelter Immediately

Message Follows:

Attention all Phoenix Personnel,
This is NOT a test. A series of global events have resulted in a critical breakdown of international diplomacy—world war is imminent.

OPLAN 8010-24 is now in place. Gold Codes have been received and verified. Level-4 SKYKING emergency action messages have been intercepted on various military HF frequencies. Authentication “X-RAY ZULU” has been confirmed via DIA.

The Pentagon has changed our posture to DEFCON 1, and NORAD reports angels inbound. Time to first impact is estimated at less than one hour.

Action Required:

Return to Central Command headquarters immediately. If you are unable, shelter in place at a regional HQ or your closest facility. If you are above ground, make every effort to get to your nearest Phoenix location. All surface locations are considered compromised.

Take immediate action, stay calm, and await further instructions.

***

Fifty-seven minutes later…

The surface of the Earth became fire, radiation, and death. Hundreds of nuclear missiles rained down on the United States. Only eleven percent were stopped by an over-saturated missile defense system. Many of the warheads were cobalt salted, which resulted in large areas of extreme radiation. In other countries, it was worse. Most plants and animals on land and in the oceans were killed, gone forever.

People in towns and cities across the world rushed home to say goodbye to their loved ones. Many died in each other’s arms. Others ran out of time and never got the chance. In Sioux Falls, South Dakota, a woman tried desperately to shield her granddaughter from the blast of a 20-megaton airburst. Both were reduced to ashes before their brains could register the heat from the explosion.

The state of New York’s saving grace, if you could call it that, was a prototype NRO point-defense system called Lerna. Its engineers simply called it “The Hydra,” due to its 10-by-10 array of kill-shot lasers. Even though 63% of its elements failed to fire on that day, none of the intercontinental ballistic missiles destined for the state got through. In the end, it didn’t matter much. Wind and extreme weather brought lingering fallout from adjacent regions. It didn’t cause much infrastructure damage, but it was just as lethal as any thermonuclear detonation.

***

700 years later…

A satellite in geosynchronous orbit took snapshots of North America. It was kept in service by a small army of automated maintenance drones, most of which were now non-functional. In one of the satellite’s images, a small pocket of green showed bright against an ocean of gray and brown. If one zoomed in on this high-resolution image, they would see the area formerly known as New York’s Hudson Valley.

The satellite’s diagnostic software examined the image and detected several anomalies. The terrain did not quite line up with its onboard maps, and there was an issue in the lower-right quadrant. A patch of uniform gray obscured part of the landscape. The software cross-referenced the area in its database and got a hit. It added annotations and metadata, then encrypted the image and broadcast it as directed.

Its work was almost in vain. The stations the message was intended for were long out of service. But the image was received, decrypted, and viewed—just not by its intended audience.

A bright yellow border surrounded the image. At the top-left, in bold red, was written: TOP SECRET//SCI. Below that: NEW YORK - ULSTER AND DUTCHESS COUNTIES. At the bottom-left, there was a black, circular logo of a bird in flight. Under that, the word PHOENIX. An outline of the map of New York is superimposed over the satellite imagery. In the lower-left section of the area outlined as Dutchess County is the city of Poughkeepsie. It is covered in a dark gray cloud. The cloud’s outer rim is a lighter shade of gray and more dense.

The image’s metadata concerning this area reads:

Access Level: Ravenor or Higher

1.1.1.9.5 - Call Sign: Eternal Taiga

Active Security Detected - Type: Aether - Security Posture: Defense (3 of 5)

Additional active command systems detected:

• Miasma: psychological warfare package.
• Renascent: control and coordination package.

Renascent has the following active cells:

• REAPER [human remains] (count: 57)
• Program: Perimeter Defense - Hunt and Kill Formation
• Location: Poughkeepsie Rural Cemetery

Warning: Three REAPER units contain malfunctioning Archimedes mesh network processors. Uncontrolled units may display erratic behavior and/or present an extreme threat.

Summary: Facility 1.1.1.9.5 [Eternal Taiga] is under active defense but is not connected to DefenseNet. Troop white-listing is not possible at this time. Friendly units are advised to stay clear of the area.

***

The satellite received, negotiated, and accepted an encrypted connection from a trusted terrestrial station. The satellite was put into manual control mode. The main visible light camera was switched to live video, and then zoomed in toward the Poughkeepsie area. It came to rest over a slowly swirling gray cloud, which lay like a blanket over the city.

A pulsating red light on top of a radio antenna poked out of the cloud. The camera centered on it, then panned west, across the Hudson River, to a large opening in a wooded area.

A group of buildings was surrounded by an impressive stone wall. The main building was a large square, and it seemed almost entirely made from beige-colored stone blocks. It had towers on each corner and a wide, square courtyard in the center.

It was dusk, giving everything a yellow-orange tint. Long shadows extended from the structures in view. Based on their length, the satellite determined that the main building was three stories tall, its towers an additional three.

The camera zoomed in and centered on the main building’s roof. A woman with short black hair was there, hunched over, hands on her knees, her breathing labored. She had a thin, athletic build, and was dressed in a dark form-fitting outfit with a utility belt. The satellite calculated her height at about 5 feet, 10 inches, or 178 centimeters.

The woman glanced at the horizon as if expecting trouble. Something caught her attention. She moved toward the edge of the roof in a smooth, semi-crouch with the stealth and grace of a hunting cat.

The satellite’s camera shifted off the woman, tracking east in the direction of her gaze, and came to rest on the compound’s gatehouse. Two large doors swung inward, and a group of twenty to thirty men ran inside. Many were dressed in metal plate armor and had swords in their hands.