His voice cracks, not from puberty, but from something colder. He lowers the binoculars. Blinks. Raises them again. His face drains of color, turning a shade of pale that rivals the fortress walls.

The alarm bell begins to clang. A deep, resonant bong that rolls across the base like thunder. Boots pound on stone. Officers spill from doorways, maps and coffee mugs forgotten.

On the horizon, a silhouette materializes. A vessel unlike any other. The shape of it is unmistakable. The flag it flies, black as ink, bearing a symbol that needs no introduction. It flaps lazily in the breeze, a death sentence given form.

The word spreads like wildfire. A shockwave through the base. Soldiers freeze. Telephones begin to ring. Orders are shouted, panicked and garbled. The base, moments ago a portrait of Marine discipline, descends into controlled chaos.

The ship grows larger with each passing second. It glides forward with a terrifying inevitability. No cannons fire. No flags of truce are raised. It simply... approaches. A sovereign force of nature moving across the sea, expecting the world to make way.