The message came at noon. Clear skies. No storms. Just a blue horizon and the sudden hiss of the radio crackling to life.
Every screen flickered. Every comm set buzzed. Even the backup receivers James kept offline out of paranoia sprang to life, like the signal had been buried deep in every circuit, just waiting to bloom.
A familiar voice filled the airwaves—polished, sterile, rehearsed.
"This is President Elias Voss of the United Nations Order. Effective immediately, all independent civilian and military groups must register their locations, leadership, and declare all weapons and transport vehicles. Non-compliance will be interpreted as hostile intent."
The camp froze.
James stood near the training grounds, where a small team had just finished another round of explosives instruction under the guise of "engineering exercises." A bead of sweat slid down his neck. Not from the sun. From the calculation already churning in his mind.
It had begun.
The broadcast continued, laced with calm menace.
"This is not a punishment. It is a measure of trust. Of safety. Cooperation ensures mutual survival. Resistance ensures scrutiny. We will come. With questions. With force, if necessary."
Static swallowed the signal.
---
Silence blanketed the camp. No one moved until James turned away from the speakers.
"Cut all power to external receivers. Wipe all logs. Right now."
Vivian was already running.
Mason cursed. "They're baiting us."
"They're scanning us," James replied. "The real message wasn't what they said. It's that they can reach us anywhere."
Erika stepped out from the shade, rifle in hand. "So what's the plan?"
James didn't hesitate. "We give them what they want. A little of it."
---
By nightfall, the war table in James's command tent was covered with hastily drawn maps, forged registries, and half-real inventory logs.
Ella sat beside a flickering lantern, transcribing a list of decoy assets while others crafted fake documents—some listing scavenged trucks that hadn't run in years, others inflating numbers on rusted shotguns they hadn't used since the early days.
Ray tapped the blueprint of their real armory with a pencil.
"You want to split the stockpile? Scatter it?"
"No," James said. "We make them think we scattered it. Real gear stays centralized. Only the fakes move. What they find should match the reports—nothing more."
"And what if they send drones?"
"We let them see exactly what they expect to see," James replied. "We build fake tents. Dummy crates. Dead signals on purpose. A whole illusion."
Vivian crossed her arms. "We're going to need more allies. Fast ones. Ones we can arm quietly."
James nodded. "I already know who. Some of the groups south of the flooded ridge—still angry, still hungry. They haven't picked a side yet."
"You'll need to move fast," she said. "If the UNO's tracking movements, even a slip could expose us."
He glanced at his system, flickering behind his vision like a second mind.
[New Side Task: Outmaneuver the UNO Recon Sweep]
Objective: Build three false weapon caches, deliver two covert supply runs to new allies.
Reward: Modular Camouflage Protocol Blueprint (for vehicles and tents).]
His jaw tightened.
---
The next morning, James stood at the edge of the old collapsed bridge with Erika and Mason. Below, a convoy of camouflaged wagons loaded with crates—half real, half empty—waited for deployment.
"You're sure these groups will follow you?" Erika asked.
"They don't need to follow," James said. "Just believe we're the lesser evil. And that we win."
"And the truth?" Mason asked. "What do we tell our own people?"
James looked over the horizon, where the sun burned orange against the ruins.
"We tell them what matters: That we're free. That we protect each other. And if the UNO wants to put a leash on us…"
He looked back.
"...we show them it won't fit."
---
By nightfall, two supply teams had vanished into the hills. James remained at the camp, overseeing the construction of the false registry station—complete with fake sensors, weak signal relays, and controlled data leaks. He wanted the UNO to think they'd half-won. That James's camp had panicked and caved.
In truth, every move was a lie layered over another.
Vivian handed James a decoded message intercepted from UNO relays.
"Subject Delta-11 registered. Known independent group submitting limited inventory logs. Continue passive observation. No escalation at this time."
He read it twice.
"They're watching."
Ray laughed. "Let them. We're giving them a hell of a show."
---
Later, James sat alone in his quarters, the soft hum of the generator now a familiar rhythm. He stared at the system window again, watching the task bar progress.
One more delivery. One more step toward control. But it wasn't enough.
He needed to be ahead. Always.
Because now the UNO wasn't hiding its intent.
They were coming.
And James?
He wasn't going to run.
He was going to prepare.
---