"Mr. President, the press conference is ready to begin."
Washington, White House, Oval Office. The President of the United States stared grimly at the report in his hand and waved his assistant over. "Hold off on the press conference until after the strike. For now, tell me—are you sure there isn't a better way?"
Across from the President stood a senior strategy advisor, two nuclear weapons experts, two geologists, and an economist.
In situations like this, the strategy advisor was just there for show—the real decision-makers were the experts.
"Mr. President, we really can't find a better solution. If you want maximum yield and impact, given the geology of the West Coast, this is as good as it gets."
"As good as it gets..." The President looked at the estimated property loss report in his hand, hesitating. To wipe out the Black Death Emperor, he'd decided to use the largest nuke in the arsenal—a B41 Thermonuclear Bomb, packing 25 megatons of TNT. Aside from the legendary Tsar Bomba, this was the deadliest nuke on Earth.
If you're going to use it, use the biggest gun—one shot to blast the Black Death Emperor into oblivion!
On this point, the President felt confident. Back in 1960 to 1962, the U.S. made about five hundred B41 Thermonuclear Bombs—plenty in reserve. And a good number were already deployed, ready to launch at a moment's notice.
America's reputation for having enough nukes to blow up the whole world? Yeah, that's not just talk.
But sadly, even the President of the United States can't just pile a hundred nukes on top of the Black Death Emperor.
The Black Death Emperor was way too close to the U.S. West Coast. If they set off a nuke there—even one of the "cleaner" thermonuclear bombs—the fallout would be unimaginable.
A tsunami could slam into East Coast cities, radioactive steam could pollute the atmosphere, and worst of all—the San Andreas Fault was right there. If the blast triggered a chain reaction and a massive earthquake, the damage might be even worse than letting the Black Death Emperor land.
And that’s not even the worst part. If the shockwaves reached Yellowstone National Park... The President suddenly pictured a scene straight out of a famous doomsday movie. In that film, the President got steamrolled by an aircraft carrier riding a giant tsunami. But in real life? What, is he supposed to buy a ticket to Tibet?
So, no way they could just shoot nukes at the Black Death Emperor like fireworks.
"Damn it, if I'd known it would come to this, I would've sent that son of a bitch a nice little gift back when he was stuck on that godforsaken island!" The President cursed bitterly, but he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty. Back then, he never saw this coming, so now he had to make a choice.
Use ultimate force and eat the massive economic loss, or let the Black Death Emperor party on American soil and hand over world domination?
For this guy, it wasn’t even a question.
And every second he spent thinking, his window to choose shrank. So he made up his mind fast: "Assuming we don’t trigger a massive geological event, what’s the biggest punch we can throw?"
"That’ll take a combo move. If we plan it right and the blast method is solid, we can hit with the equivalent of twelve-point-seven megatons." The nuke expert was dead serious. "And that includes a new weapon from Future Weapons Research Corporation—the Thermite Condensation Bomb. It hasn’t cleared all the approvals yet, but it packs a punch and has zero nuclear radiation. Theoretically, it’s the cleanest, least polluting superweapon out there."
"Future Weapons Research Corporation? Zade Family, huh..." The President pondered for a few seconds, then looked up. "Do we have anything ready to launch right now?"
"We do. One test bomb is already prepped at Nevada Missile Base Four, ready to target as soon as we get the go-ahead." The weapons expert shook his head. "This is the best we can do."
"Got it." The President took a deep breath and straightened up. "Get me the front-line commander."
Pacific Fleet, Command Room. In front of the commander sat a black case.
This was the Nuclear Football. As the overall commander of the largest military operation since WWII, the bearded commander had kept the case by his side since the start. If things went south and nukes were needed, he’d insert the key and launch the strike once authorized.
Now, everything was ready. The strike coordinates were set—just waiting for the green light.
Ring ring! No video call this time, just an old-school landline. The commander picked up the receiver right away. It might look primitive, but this was the most secure phone line in the world.
The moment the phone rang, the commander already knew what the President had decided. Still, he wanted to hear it straight from the source.
No surprises there.
"Follow my instructions and enter the activation key." On the other end, the President spoke quickly and steadily. The commander, stone-faced, punched in the launch code one digit at a time. It looked old-fashioned, but there was a reason for it. What seemed clunky was actually top-tier—none of those fancy methods could beat this for reliability.
Beep—all the indicator lights flashed on. The Nuclear Football was fully armed.
"Now, I officially authorize you to use ultimate force." The President’s voice was firm. "Years from now, American history will remember this moment. Maybe as a badge of honor, maybe as a mark of shame—probably more shame than honor. Sorry, but when history remembers me, it’ll remember you too. A hundred years, two hundred years from now, people will point at my grave and curse me, and you’ll catch some flak too."
"It’s my duty—and my honor." The commander was just as stoic. "If it means America still has a history, if it means future generations can curse me, Mr. President, I’m glad to share this moment with you."
The President paused for a second, then declared, "God bless America."
"God bless America."
The commander slammed the launch button for the nukes.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—six streaks of light blasted out from six missile bases on the West Coast, launching one after another as planned, heading straight for the Emperor striding across the ocean.
At that moment, every world leader got the news within sixty seconds.
A minute later, Cobra was frantically spinning his office chair, gnawing his fingers and waiting for the final result as the world spun around him.
America had finally used nukes—launching the biggest nuclear strike in human history.
The whole world held its breath.