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Chapter 340: The Debating Government Council
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 13:52:27 +0000 UTCThe gleaming armored troops surged forward, their weapons trembling in their hands, not out of fear, but because of the heavy burden they bore. They fought fiercely, opening evacuation routes, holding back the sea of darkness as best as they could.
Amidst the fog of dust and blood, some soldiers shouted, calling out the names of fallen comrades. But they had no time to mourn.
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Meanwhile, far from all the blood and cries, inside the grand chamber of the Government Council, its ten members were engaged in a heated debate.
The high, gold-embellished ceiling echoed with the sound of their shouts.
"Are you insane? This is all because of your decision to delay the procurement of weapons!"
"Don't blame me! You're the one who cut the Western defense budget!"
Fingers pointed sharply like daggers. Faces, both old and young, flushed red with anger and fear. Reports were scattered across the long, polished table, trampled in the chaos of the debate.
None of them thought to take up swords and head to the battlefield.
No, they chose to fight with words, with mutual accusations, while the world outside slowly burned.
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As the members of the Government Council of Fortress City 085 remained trapped in an endless, fierce debate—blaming one another, hurling accusations over the chaos that ensued.
In a place much quieter, the atmosphere inside the police station felt odd.
Calm, yes, but a calm that felt suffocating. There was no joy in the silence, only despair enveloping every corner of the room.
Almost all officers had been deployed to the field to face the worsening situation, leaving the office now inhabited only by a few officers who remained.
The spacious room seemed to suck the life out of it, empty and cold, with piles of untouched documents on old desks that were beginning to fade.
They were not the fully uniformed police officers running through clouds of smoke, navigating through the ruins of destroyed buildings.
They were the operation controllers, the unsung heroes behind the scenes trapped in a mountain of reports that kept piling up, and the incessant ringing of phones that seemed endless.
They were the ones grappling with information coming from all directions—panic, confusion, and fear seeping through every word. The cacophony of cries from citizens trapped amidst the flames, and from those who had lost contact.
Their hands were busy without pause: writing, typing, taking notes, or deftly pressing the communication radio buttons that rang more frequently as time went on.
They were the last bastion of the remaining order, yet also the ones ensnared in an increasingly chaotic world.
Their once sharp eyes were now red and heavy. Every blink felt like a heavier burden.
They worked with deadlines that never seemed to end, under pressure that never eased.
One officer, with a shirt that was starting to wrinkle, his face covered in sweat and anxiety, gripped the phone with trembling hands, listening to the quivering voice of a mother recounting her missing child, each word adding to the heavy load on the man's shoulders.
The man's face tightened, reflecting the suffering he tried to hide, but could not fully conceal. His ears listened anxiously, as if the mother's voice could unravel all the unspoken pain.
With a hoarse voice, the man quickly gave directions, even though his heart felt torn, each second stretching out like a hundred years.
In another corner of the room, a young woman, her hair hastily tied up and looking disheveled, her body weary yet her hands moved swiftly to press the radio buttons with agility.
