Fate's Choice: Livestream at the Start Summoning Billions of Ravens

North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD), Cheyenne Mountain underground bunker.

This is the world's most heavily fortified military fortress, buried two thousand feet beneath granite, impervious even to nuclear explosions.

The ultra-wide tactical main screen, which was originally displaying global satellite orbit data with red and blue trajectory lines interwoven into a network, suddenly went black and was then illuminated by a new projection.

It was an ancient Egyptian scale.

Above the tray on the right, eleven semi-transparent figures floated.

James Hutchins, McNamara, and nine other key Pentagon generals.

The projection was incredibly clear; even the single white hair that had grown on McNamara's left temple was clearly visible.

"Disconnect from the external network, physically disconnect from the internet, and unplug all data cables!"

The tech manager's shouts echoed in the room as his fingers flew across the keyboard in a blur of rapid typing, and bulging veins appeared on his forehead.

All in vain.

This is not a network-level attack, but rather a kind of conceptual interference. The projection of Libra penetrates all physical barriers, imprinting its image onto every powered display medium.

Even the LCD screen of the old-fashioned coffee machine in the corner was displaying the images of these eleven people.

On the left side of the scale, the depleted uranium warhead rests steadily on the tray.

A cold, hollow thought transcended language and distance, resonating in the minds of every viewer watching the live stream.

The verdict has been delivered.

[Plotting a massacre, launching a cross-border attack.]

The total weight of sins has been determined and must be repaid with something of equal value.

Hutchins drew his M17 sidearm from his waist, cocked it, and fired three shots at the ghostly figure on the screen.

The nine-millimeter Parabellum bullet passed through the afterimage, leaving three white dots on the bulletproof glass. The smell of gunpowder filled the closed command center, but the physical attack had no effect on the higher-dimensional judgment.

Since no one offered a sacrifice voluntarily, Libra forcibly initiated a passive settlement process.

The punishment begins.

deprivation.

McNamara rushed to the nuclear briefcase in the corner, brought his eyes close to the retinal scanner, and tried to activate the highest level of emergency plan.

[Beep, alarm, no such person found.]

A sharp, synthesized voice rang out, and red warning lights flickered on his face, illuminating the undisguised panic in his pupils.

It wasn't just the nuclear encryption box that failed.

FBI headquarters, Hoover Building's underground data center.

The military service records, social security codes, birth certificates, and even fingerprint records of the eleven individuals were all covered by a surge of garbled data within a short period of time, until they disappeared completely.

At the checkout counter of a Whole Foods Market in Florida.

Hutchins' wife handed over a Centurion Black Card, ready to pay for a truckload of high-end organic ingredients.

The POS machine displays: Account does not exist.

The cashier sized up the well-dressed lady, her eyes filled with wariness.

She switched phones to prepare for Apple Pay, but the screen showed that no bank cards were linked.

Annoyed, she dialed the number of her UBS private account manager. After hearing her name, the manager politely replied, "I'm sorry, ma'am, this person is not on our client list."

When the card became invalid, their eight-figure anonymous account in a Swiss bank also went to zero, along with those shady overseas trust funds, which vanished without a trace.

The digital foundation upon which they depend for survival in human society has been completely removed.

A sociological death descended upon them when they were completely unprepared.

From that moment on, they became ghosts on this planet, without property, without identity, and unable to even afford a hot dog from a street vendor.

The Pentagon's B-4 command center.

The bearings of the four automated security cannons on the ceiling turned, and a harsh friction sound came from the meshing of the parts.

The red laser sight was firmly locked on Hutchins' chest.

The underlying logic of the system is very clear: any living creature without authorization appearing in a top-secret area is considered an unauthorized intruder.

Since the database cannot retrieve the identity information of these eleven people, then they are the enemy.

"Guards! Smash this junk!"

Hutchins turned and roared at the Marines at the door, spitting everywhere.

The four heavily armed guards at the entrance remained motionless.

In the guard's view, the man in the suit of the Minister of Defense was liquefying his features, collapsing into an unrecognizable mass of flesh, and his voice was distorted into sharp white noise, the kind of continuous hissing sound that comes from an old radio that can't be tuned to a certain frequency.

Libra's causal interference completely blocks others' normal perception of them, from sight to hearing.

"Hands up! Don't move!"

The captain leading the team raised his M4 carbine, the muzzle steadily pointing at Hutchins' head.

What he saw were eleven faceless spies who had infiltrated the command center and were attempting to sabotage the equipment there.

Hutchins reached out to grab the gun, but the captain slammed the butt of the gun into his cheekbone, blood dripping down his chin and staining a small dark red patch on the expensive carpet.

......

Mediterranean Sea.

The nuclear submarines USS Michigan and USS Florida were forced to surface.

The 370 Grey Falcon drones, whose underlying logic had been rewritten, did not carry out the collision.

They flew to the airspace above the submarine's location, forming a neat circle end to end, the stealth coating on their wings reflecting a cold, hard luster under the moonlight.

The high-frequency electromagnetic pulse is generated at the center of the ring, penetrates the seawater, and forms an invisible energy storm.

The reactor control systems of the two Ohio-class nuclear submarines immediately failed, the propellers stopped spinning, sparks flew from the instrument panels, and then they were plunged into complete darkness.

The captain had no choice but to blew out the ballast tanks in an emergency to bring the two steel behemoths to the surface.

A communications soldier from Egypt's Third Army broadcast the coordinates of the two submarines to the world on international maritime frequencies, his tone brimming with barely concealed schadenfreude.

"This is the Egyptian military. Two unidentified nuclear submarines have been spotted at 28 degrees east longitude. A humanitarian observation is underway."

"To reiterate, humanitarian bystanders."

"Please be aware and give way to any passing vessels to avoid collisions."

The Russian Federation's Tu-142 anti-submarine aircraft and the French Rafale fighter jets were already eager to rush towards this sea area at full speed, with their radars fully activated and high-definition cameras pointed at the sea surface.

Pilots from the Ross Federation even played heavy metal rock on public channels to celebrate their old rival's embarrassing situation.

These strategic nuclear submarines, which once lurked in the deep sea and symbolized the ultimate deterrent of superpowers, are now forced to expose themselves to the surface and be scrutinized by radar and cameras around the world.

The expensive sound-absorbing tiles on the submarine's hull were so clearly visible under high-definition cameras that even the seams of each tile were exposed.

Back to the Pentagon.

Hutchins was pinned to the conference table with his arms tied behind his back by two tall guards.

He struggled violently, the seams of his high-end bespoke suit cracking as fibers tore, buttons popped off, and his tie went askew.

"I'm the Minister of Defense! You bunch of idiots! Let me go!"

No one could understand his roars.

The guard pulled out a tactical cable tie from his waist and skillfully bound his hands.

McNamara fared even worse; he was subdued and pinned to the floor, his cheek pressed against the cold tiles, shattered glasses scattered everywhere.

This scene was clearly projected onto the retinas of seven billion people around the world through those ubiquitous live broadcast screens.

The emotional torrent erupting on the global internet is surging in at an unprecedented speed.

What do you call this move by the US? It's called shooting itself in the foot, and in the process, it even threw itself into a funeral.

[Great, time to pop the champagne! I suggest sending it straight for slicing and analysis!]

[You were so arrogant before, what happened now? Keep up the good work!]

[This is too much of a plot; even Hollywood screenwriters wouldn't dare write it like this!]

The emotional turmoil caused by the collapse of faith and the disintegration of power is far more intense than mere fear.

InterContinental Hotel Rome.

Presidential Suite.

Jiang Ming nestled on the sofa, toying with a one-dollar coin between his fingers. Lincoln's profile rose and fell between his fingers, the copper core and zinc shell rubbing together to produce a soft sound.

On the television screen, Hutchins was being roughly dragged out of the command center by guards, the heels of his expensive leather shoes leaving two long marks on the ground.

He pressed the remote control, and the screen went dark.

This is just the beginning.

Bringing these people down from their pedestals and stripping them of everything they take pride in is far more likely to evoke high-quality emotions than simply killing them.

He tossed the coin into the air.

The coin hovered at its highest point, and the outline of a furnace burning with eerie blue flames took shape in the air, swallowing the coin.

The new script requires a more significant sacrifice.