Riverwood University, Men's Dormitory, Room 404.
The night was ink-black. The campus, usually a chaotic hum of student life, had finally surrendered to a heavy silence. Inside Room 404, the frantic clicking of mechanical keyboards and the rhythmic tapping of mice provided the only soundtrack.
"Go! Move!" Quinn barked into his headset, his face illuminated by the harsh blue light of his monitor. "Ethan, you useless prick, I'm at half-heart! Where's the heal?"
"Cooldown," a voice replied. It was flat, devoid of the adrenaline usually fueling a late-night raid.
Ethan Ye stood on the balcony, his back to the glowing screens. His hands were buried deep in his pockets as he watched the dark campus road below. The night wind tugged at his hoodie, but he didn't flinch. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, looking past the trees and streetlights toward something invisible—something blocky, bizarre, and terrifyingly vast.
"Earth to Ethan," Quinn shouted, not looking up from his screen. "Stop playing philosopher and get in here. We're three-manning a four-man dungeon. We're getting slaughtered."
Ethan didn't turn. "I'm waiting for someone."
"Waiting? At midnight? You got a secret date or something?"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The knocks weren't the polite taps of a neighbor. They were heavy, rhythmic, and carried a weight that made the wooden door groan in its frame.
"What the—is that the RA? We hid the hot plate, right?" Quinn ripped off his headphones, grumbling as he shuffled toward the door in his slippers. "Keep your pants on, I'm coming!"
Quinn yanked the door open, a snarky remark locked and loaded. "Look, we aren't using any illegal electroni—"
The words died in his throat. It felt as if an invisible hand had clamped around his windpipe.
The hallway wasn't empty. It was a sea of dark olive. Rows of men stood like iron pillars, their presence turning the narrow corridor into a claustrophobic gauntlet. They weren't campus security. They were tactical operatives, clad in full combat gear, gripping standard-issue assault rifles that caught the dim hallway light with a cold, metallic sheen.
The muzzles were lowered, but the sheer aura of disciplined violence made Quinn's knees turn to water.
The soldiers stepped aside with synchronized precision, carving a path for an older man. He looked to be in his late fifties, his hair silvered at the temples, but he stood with a spine as straight as a bayonet. On his shoulders, a single gold star flashed atop the wheat-stalk embroidery.
A General.
The other two roommates froze, their mice clattering onto the floor. The air in the room suddenly felt very thin.
The General's eyes were like flint, scanning the room before landing on the figure by the balcony. His voice was a low rumble of authority. "Is Citizen Ethan Ye present?"
"Ethan?" Quinn whispered, his neck stiff as he turned toward the balcony.
Ethan, who had been a silent silhouette against the night sky, finally turned. Facing a squad of elite soldiers and a high-ranking General, his face remained a mask of marble. There was no shock, no trembling, and certainly no fear. It was the look of a man who had already seen the end of the world and was simply waiting for the first chapter to start.
He walked past the paralyzed Quinn, stopping a few feet from the General. He gave a sharp, professional nod.
"I'm Ethan Ye."
The General stared into Ethan's eyes, searching for a flicker of hesitation or a crack in the facade. He found nothing. After a few seconds, a flicker of genuine astonishment crossed the old man's face. The Prime Minister was right, he thought. This boy is iron.
The General's posture shifted. The scrutiny vanished, replaced by a sudden, solemn respect. He stepped back, gesturing toward the hall.
"I am General Arthur Zhang. Ethan, the identity check is complete. We need to move. There are matters of national survival that require your immediate input."
Ethan didn't ask questions. He didn't pack a bag. He simply straightened his collar, his voice steady and commanding.
"General Zhang, lead the way. Time is a luxury we no longer have."
It didn't sound like a student being escorted by the military; it sounded like a commander beginning an operation.
As Ethan strode out of the room, General Zhang followed a half-step behind him. The soldiers pivoted in unison, forming a protective phalanx around the boy.
Quinn and the others watched, mouths agape, as the procession vanished toward the stairs. When they finally reached the window, they saw the scale of the "pickup."
The campus quad had been transformed. Black off-road vehicles and armored troop carriers with military plates sat idling under the streetlights. Red and blue strobes flickered silently against the brick buildings. Further off, at the campus gates, a full military blockade had been established.
The entire university was under lockdown. For one student.
Before Quinn could process the scene, several stern-faced officers entered the dorm room.
"Gentlemen, stay calm," the lead officer said, though his expression remained grim.
General Zhang hadn't boarded his vehicle yet. He looked back at the dorm window, then whispered an order to his adjutant. The officers inside the room immediately produced several documents stamped with a crimson seal.
"We are confiscating all electronic devices for technical review," the officer announced. "Furthermore, you are now under a Level-One National Security Non-Disclosure Agreement. Sign here."
"National... Security?" Quinn's hand shook as he took the pen.
"Whatever you saw tonight does not exist. If a single word leaves this room—to your friends, your social media, or even your parents—it will be treated as high treason. Am I clear?"
"Treason?" Quinn swallowed hard.
As he scrawled his name, he stole one last glance outside. Beneath the streetlights, he saw Ethan—the guy he'd just called a "useless jerk" over voice chat—being personally ushered into a sleek, armored state limousine. General Zhang, a man Quinn recognized from a dozen national parades and news broadcasts, was holding the door open for him.
The motorcade pulled away, a silent line of steel disappearing into the night.
Inside the limousine, the atmosphere was heavy. A soundproof partition separated the cabin from the driver. Ethan sat in the plush leather seat, the faint hum of the engine the only sound in the dark.
He looked at the General, his eyes reflecting the passing streetlights. The game was over. The real world was about to be rebuilt, block by block.