Space. Orbit of Mercury.

  The Mars squadron, under the command of Admiral Tyler, approaches Mercury. On board the flagship, tensions are growing with each passing moment. Only a few days remain until orbital entry, and every minute counts.

  On Mercury, early warning systems detect the enemy's approach. Alarms send everyone scrambling. Vicar and General Jamal, always cold and calculating, hold a war council. The venue for the discussion is a room in the corporation's central command building, where every element of the space inspires respect and fear.

  The reception hall is an austere place, decorated in the spirit of grandeur and power. The massive table where the council members gather is surrounded by walls of black glass, through which projections reminiscent of a cosmic parade are visible. The walls pan across galaxies and planets, mesmerizing and at the same time causing a sense of anxiety. At the top stands a statue of Zeus, a symbol of merciless strength and justice. The architectural elements perfectly complement the atmosphere of decisiveness at the decisive moment.

  Vikar, as the leader of this council, takes the central chair. On either side of him are General Jamal and Captain Ragnar. Directly in front of them is a holographic projector, which fills the space with bright light for an instant before turning it into a battlefield. Vikar activates the display with gestures, and a three-dimensional hologram appears on the table - a visualization of the upcoming battle, where every object is precisely positioned, and every maneuver is already calculated in advance.

  With an approving nod, Vicar gives the signal to begin the report.

  "Today we will discuss battle strategy," Jamal begins, turning on the laser pointer and pointing it at the center of the hologram. "Currently, we have at our disposal: 200 combat platforms and 300 support ships. The enemy has: 25 cruisers, 30 landing ships, 50 supply transports and one combat control station.

  He clicks the pointer, the hologram switches to tactical mode. Now all the ships on the screen become visible, their movements line up in a precise pattern.

  — The Martians will build a defensive cloud, with a control station in the center. Cruisers will go along the flanks. Transports and landing troops will be in the rear. A swarm of drones will be launched from the cruisers, — Jamal continues, carefully watching every change on the hologram. — They will form a power grid covering the entire squadron. The strength of this defense depends on the number of drones and the number of layers. But only those in the outer layer will be able to shoot at us.

  3D models appear on the screen in the form of black grids, covering blue and red markers representing enemy ships.

  “And the inner layers?” asks one of the officers.

  "Just a reserve. Only the first layer delivers the blow," Jamal explains. "The rest are a backup."

  The vicar raises his hand, signaling the next report.

  "Everything is clear with the enemy. Now tell us how exactly we will destroy him," his voice sounds calm, but with a clear demand to end the discussion.

  The room falls silent, all eyes on Jamal, Captain Ragnar, and the other officers as they prepare to present their strategy.

  Soft lighting reflects off the smooth surfaces of black glass, creating an atmosphere of inevitable resolution. The walls again project a parade of planets – Mercury as a majestic yet fragile figure at the center of this cosmic spectacle.

  "Mr. Chairman," Jamal says calmly, as if this is not the first time he has dealt with such decisions. He takes the remote control, steps forward, and a new projection rises from the center of the table. "Here is our strategy.

  Click and a new map appears on the screen, with red and blue lights pulsating in an intricate dance of threat, accurately reflecting the upcoming clash.

  Jamal begins to explain the plan in detail, and each council member listens to him with full attention.

  The battle group leaders lean forward, absorbed in the tactical plan. Faces tense and focused, eyes gliding over the projection, taking in every element of the diagram. Some grip the armrests of their chairs. The room grows cold, as if the universe itself is holding its breath, watching this decisive moment.

  “I report,” General Jamal’s voice sounds calm, but the tension in it is felt, like in a tightly stretched string.

  On the hologram in front of them, lines appear, like claws, reaching out towards the approaching enemy.

  "We will place combat platforms in five successive planes in Mercury's orbit," Jamal continues, his voice leaving no room for doubt. The diagram on the screen fills with fiery marks, growing like mold in the emptiness of the vacuum. "We will mine the space in front of the first plane. New capsules with neurosensors - sensitive, merciless. This will delay the enemy squadron and... direct it in the right direction.

  The projection shows the fiery marks spreading out, forming a ring that seems to close around the enemy. The commanders watch silently as a tense anticipation fills the room. One officer even twitches an eyelid, an expression of alarm that quickly fades, swallowed up by the seriousness of the plan.

  “Formation: wedge,” Jamal continues, not slowing down. “First plane: ten platforms. Second: fifteen. Third: twenty. Fourth: twenty-five. Fifth, the closing one: thirty. The remaining hundred are on the flanks. Together, they form a ring.”

  New, more detailed layers appear on the hologram, blurring them to create the effect of a sealed environment. The battle sketch takes shape. It will be a trap for the enemy, deadly and precise.

  - We will draw the enemy into this ring. And destroy him.

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  There is a moment of silence in the room. All eyes are on Jamal. A pause, as if to take in not only the strategy, but the price they might all pay.

  Then a voice is heard. The broad-shouldered commander Shivigal, with thick eyebrows and a slight grin, does not hide his skepticism.

  “Why are you so sure they’ll give in?” His voice sounds calm, as if the question had been asked and answered long ago, but he needs to hear confidence.

  Jamal raises a finger, his gaze becoming more focused. He makes a movement with his hand – the projection begins to distort. The platforms disappear one by one, leaving only the flickering silhouettes of enemy ships. They are blind, helpless before this hidden, dark presence.

  "Our platforms can turn invisible," Jamal explains, his eyes flashing and his tone thick with confident determination. "They'll only see those who fight. The rest are ghosts."

  The hologram shows a massive grid of force fields appearing in the void, then gradually thickening along the front, increasing the tension in the row of attacking platforms.

  “We’ll force them to tighten their drone grid at the front, but that will weaken their flanks. At that point, we’ll strike. Simultaneously. From both sides.” Jamal pauses. “The effect will be… like a blade cutting into fabric. Sharp. No chance.”

  The simulation plays out on the screen: the flanks of the Martian squadron are torn apart, the platform cuts through space, leaving a trail of fire and destruction in its wake. Every fragment of the schematic battle seems to testify to the correctness of this strategy.

  "The escort ships will break through to the control station. Destroy it." Jamal finishes his thought.

  But the grey-haired officer, who had been sitting in the shadows without looking up, asks a critical question.

  - And if they don't destroy it? If they continue to fight?

  "I doubt it." Jamal answers calmly, but his voice is filled with contempt for the enemy's weakness. "Without the station, their battle formations will fall apart. People don't have quantum thinking. They don't have unity. They don't have speed.

  He looks at the map, a cold light flashing in his eyes.

  - They will shoot in the dark. And die alone.

  The room grows even quieter. Time seems to slow down, and the only sound is the hum of the energy mechanisms operating outside the room. The panoramic sky continues to rotate, as if the universe itself is watching a decision that could change the course of the war.

  "Excellent." There's a sudden clap of hands. It's Captain Ragnar, his metal rings clanking as he strikes. He leans back in his chair, a lazy expression on his face. "It all sounds perfect… if we were fighting a stupid enemy."

  His gaze turns to Jamal, but there is no mockery in his voice, only the weariness of a warrior who has seen too many wars and knows that too often the best-sounding plans fall apart on the battlefield.

  Ragnar's laugh, with a hint of irony, is like an invitation to action, like a test of their plan. Jamal continues to stare at the map, not responding.

  Ragnar stands slowly, his figure silhouetted against the flickering light, his every step echoing in the hall. He takes his time, as if each word requires special attention and time.

  The entire room holds its breath. Even the hologram seems dimmer now, as if its light too has been suppressed by the tension building in the air. Everyone looks to the Inquisitor, waiting for him to finally say what they have all been waiting for.

  “Rather than continue the plan with one strategy, however effective…” His voice is calm, but there is an underlying weight to it that makes everyone wait. He pauses, looking at every face in the room. “We need to make the enemy believe that we have no more aces up our sleeves. Let them prepare for the final, decisive blow. And then, when their attention is distracted, when they are sure of our vulnerability… we will strike them in a way they cannot predict.

  Ragnar raises his hand, as if pointing to a specific spot on an imaginary map. His eyes are sinister, as if he can already see his tactics in action.

  — What if, instead of continuing the offensive with our class of platforms, we channel the remaining resources into creating an artificially created threat? We can draw them into a trap, forcing them to bring their best cruisers forward, for their inevitable destruction. — His voice becomes firmer, his words seem to be thrown out in time. — We will pretend that we are weak. The trap will create the illusion of defeat. Let them feel victorious, let them be sure that the destruction of our platforms is their triumph. And when they weaken their defenses, we will strike. We will duplicate several of our ships to create the illusion of mass destruction. And at that moment, when their attention is absorbed by the “killed” platforms, we will bring out the reserve forces for the real strike. That will be our victory.

  The room is silent again, but now all eyes are on Ragnar. He hasn't said everything at once, his words are precise as a blade, and everyone is watching his every move.

  Jamal looks at the hologram grimly, then looks at Ragnar. His face hardens, but he knows this offer could give them their best chance at victory.

  "Who will command this maneuver?" His voice is firmer than before, but there is already an element of respect in it. He looks at Ragnar, ready for his answer.

  Vikar, unable to bear the tension, takes a step forward, his face now expressing doubt, but even more - wariness. He follows Ragnar's every word.

  "I agree, it could work, but what if it doesn't? What if everything goes against us?" Vicar doesn't hide his concern. His eyes seem to glow, not with confidence, but with fear of the unknown.

  Ragnar turns to face Vikar, his gaze firm but without threat or mockery, only clarity.

  - We will leave no chance for the enemy. Even if everything is in their favor, we will snatch victory from hell itself, because we know how to think where others lose their minds.

  Silence falls over the room again. But now it is filled with something else – the knowledge that the strategy that has been adopted now risks becoming too brutal and demanding of everyone’s full commitment.

  Everyone is waiting for the final decision.

  Ragnar looks around at his commanders, all ready to make a decision that will make all the difference. The tension in the air is palpable, and the silence that fills the room seems to cancel out all sound. Everyone understands: this war is not just a battle, but a moment that will change the course of history.

  He turns to the hologram, where a new, even more sophisticated diagram appears. The graphics take on an almost ominous dynamism, as if the battle itself is beginning to gather momentum. There is no room for error here, every move, every maneuver is at great risk. But with each frame, the diagram increasingly clearly reflects the path to victory.

  "We will not defend ourselves. We will meet the enemy." His voice is firm, without a shadow of doubt, like a blade. He is not simply giving orders - he is painting a picture of the future. "Several tactical groups, moving in complete invisibility, will close in on their squadron and begin to strike chaotically. Disrupt the rhythm. Break their strategy.

  Three shining arcs appear on the hologram, cutting through the void like living lightning, reflecting all the danger of the upcoming path.

  - This will make them nervous. - Ragnar does not take his eyes off the projection. - They will start firing at random, sometimes burning the space around them. We will lose many platforms, but this is the price of victory. When they move drones from the flanks to the front, we will strike. Without giving them the slightest chance.

  The projection fills with a storm as the schematics come to life and the army prepares for the decisive move. Everything is in motion, the battle plan becomes vivid as a prophecy. The commanders' eyes glide over the virtual reality, at every moment they understand: the future they are building may prove deadly.

  The silence deepens, like before a powerful tsunami. Jamal, gritting his teeth, mutters something under his breath, leans towards Vikar. The conversation is short, tense. Vikar's gaze, cold and hard, does not change.

  He stands up. Like a sword unsheathed, his figure rushes into the conference room. His voice sounds like a sentence.

  - So be it. The amendments have been accepted. - He pauses, looks at Ragnar carefully. - I appoint you admiral. Begin preparations immediately. Command.

  Ragnar straightens, his movement fluid but full of power. He bows his head in respect, his eyes determined and ready for action.

  "I will carry out the duties entrusted to me with honor, Chairman." His voice is sharp as a whip.

  He looks around at his commanders, each of whom now understands that their expectations have been raised to a new level. This is not just a battle. This is a fight for life, for the future, for the right to survive.

  "We are not retreating today. No one will be sent to the front lines on orders. Only volunteers." He falls silent, and a tense silence falls over the room. Then, with cold determination, hands rise one after another in agreement.

  “Freedom or death,” Ragnar says, his voice low, deep, almost ritualistic.

  Everyone repeats the words in unison. The hall is filled with the echo of their oath, and the sound resonates like an ancient spell. This is not just a war. This is a fight for the future, for honor, for life.

  Ragnar turns to the hologram. There is no doubt in his gaze, only uncompromising readiness.

  — Today we went out. We are not just fighting. We are showing the enemy that we are not afraid. We will act in such a way that they will never forget who we are.