On planet Earth, in the heart of the Security Service’s fortified complex, beyond thick glass panels with dynamic shielding and dim lighting, Nicholas confidently enters Director Camilla’s office. His footsteps echo dully across the smooth dark quartzite floor, as if he’s walking on the edge of an abyss. He holds a tablet with the latest report in his hand, but it’s a mere formality—he knows Camilla prefers to listen, not read, and waits for her orders.

  She sits behind a massive desk made of armored steel and wood, with a panoramic screen behind her broadcasting orbital views of Earth—the smooth drift of clouds, golden sunlight glinting on the ocean. Everything around them is calm, yet a hidden tension hangs in the air, like the prelude to a storm that has not yet come, but is inevitable. Camilla shows no emotion. Her face is a motionless mask.

  Nicholas steps forward, feeling her gaze like a lightning strike.

  “The investigation into the case and motives of the diplomat who committed the murder yielded nothing,” he says quietly but clearly, letting the word “murder” hang in the air. “We interrogated the perpetrator. He’s unable to explain why he killed. He says it was like a wave of hatred—uncontrolled, unnatural. Scientists conducted a full examination: neural scans, molecular analysis, substance tests—no pathology. No trace of psychotropic influence.”

  He pauses, giving space for her thoughts, but she remains silent. Camilla doesn’t give the slightest sign that she’s listening—or not. He feels her pressure, as if she’s waiting for something more from him.

  Nicholas continues, unconsciously tightening his grip on the tablet.

  “This is no coincidence, Camilla. It’s not random. I’m convinced the Martians orchestrated it. But how?”

  His voice grows more insistent, but Camilla’s expression doesn’t change. She watches him as if calculating each of his words. At last, she speaks, barely above a whisper:

  “We will seek answers, Nicholas. This isn’t over.”

  There is a threat in her voice—subtle but clear to Nicholas. She’s already prepared to make the next move. And it will be decisive.

  “Who met with him before the murder?” she finally asks, her voice cold as vacuum.

  Nicholas steps forward again, feeling her gaze penetrate his mind, extracting every detail.

  “At first, it all seemed ordinary,” he replies, hesitating for a second. “The diplomat attended gladiator games at the central stadium. Video analysis showed that three androids approached him during the event.”

  “Three?” Camilla raises an eyebrow, her gaze turning glacial. “If androids got that close, then security either deliberately allowed it or was distracted. Was this part of the diplomat’s plan?”

  “That’s just it—it wasn’t,” Nicholas replies, clenching his fists slightly. “One of the androids, Ivan, staged a provocation—an aggressive scene in the VIP sector. It diverted security. Mars agents neutralized him. The other two escaped. They were pursued, but vanished.”

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  “Who are they?” Camilla stands, eyes fixed on Nicholas, her voice deeper, tenser.

  Nicholas taps on his panel. A holographic image of a woman’s face appears—sharp lines and shadows forming a recognizable shape. He points to her, the key moment that could change everything.

  “She used a fake name—Marina—but it’s a mask,” says Nicholas, his voice restrained. “We identified her: Julia, an Earth citizen. She once ran a neural engineering company specializing in removing control chips. She was accompanied by a man—an engineer named Alex. It took time to uncover his identity. They covered their tracks well.”

  Camilla doesn’t move, her gaze focused as if seeing through time.

  “Where are they now?” Her question sounds like a sentence.

  “According to our intel, they’re hiding in Sky City,” Nicholas answers. “Mars agents arrived, conducted a raid—but failed. The engineer and the woman vanished. We’re monitoring networks, running covert scans. So far, no success. But the search continues.”

  Camilla rises and slowly walks to the window. Against the backdrop of swirling auroras, her figure becomes a silhouette within the waves of light. She speaks without turning, her voice like a shadow above the abyss.

  “This feels like a provocation. The Outer Belt has long sought a pretext—and now, they have one. Mars has declared war on Mercury. Perhaps the only ones who know what really happened are those two. They might be the key. We must find them before the Martians do.”

  Nicholas nods, feeling the weight of her words on his shoulders.

  “Understood,” he says. “I’ll reinforce the capture team. We’ll interrogate them first.”

  “Do it right,” Camilla finally turns around, her eyes demanding. “Remove emotion. Work fast and clean. And, of course, continue arms deliveries to Mercury through our covert channels. Is that secure?”

  “Absolutely,” Nicholas replies firmly. “All routes are encrypted and reliable. One more update: the smuggler Ivor is returning to Earth.”

  Camilla nods without visible emotion.

  “Good. Let him come. We’ll have a word with him too.”

  She glances at the time, tension flickering on her face. She’s already late.

  **

  Press Conference.

  A massive hall filled with camera clicks and flashes. A semicircular table with Camilla seated at the center, surrounded by guards and advisors. Dozens of journalists in the room, eyes sharp, ready to fire their questions like arrows. Screens on the walls blaze with headlines: “Mars Declares War on Mercury,” “Have Androids Gone Rogue?” “Diplomat Murder: What Is Earth Hiding?”

  “With deep regret I must inform you,” Camilla says, her voice clear but lacking its usual firmness, “that Mars has officially declared war on Mercury.”

  Silence settles thick in the air. Cameras capture every microexpression on her face, every slightest tremor in her eyes.

  “Earth remains neutral,” she continues, her words falling like a heavy verdict. “We will maintain order, peace, and legality within the Inner Belt.”

  Hands shoot up in the audience, reaching toward her like a wall. Camilla chooses one—a man in a gray suit who can’t contain his anger.

  “How could you let this happen?” he shouts, gestures full of accusation. “This is a failure of your Security Service!”

  Her gaze turns cold. She doesn’t react to the emotion in the room. She waits a beat, signaling she’s ready to answer. Her voice is soft but firm:

  “The investigation continues. We are seeking the truth. I ask you not to jump to conclusions or give in to panic. That is likely exactly what the provocateurs intended.”

  Tension thickens. Another journalist, wearing a red armband, stands without permission, fire in his eyes.

  “For the first time in our civilization’s history, a war begins between humans and machines,” his voice is a challenge. “Are you just going to watch?”

  The room bursts into whispers, and the androids among the press seem to tense, their internal systems reacting to the perceived threat. Camilla senses the pressure, but outwardly remains calm as ever. Yet inside, something cold tightens within her.

  “This question is beyond my jurisdiction,” she says dryly, cutting off all excess. “This press conference is over.”

  Rising, she walks forward without looking back. Cameras capture her silhouette retreating into shadow, as do her thoughts—now hidden behind her mask. Journalists keep shouting questions, their voices lost in the noise, but security is already moving, pushing them back. Step by step, Camilla leaves, never turning, but inside, her unease grows with each step.

  Today, for the first time, she is not in control.