Chapter 721: Plans Always Change

Chapter 721: Plans Always Fall Short of Reality

North Island, the Presidential Palace.

The sky outside the window had already taken on a tinge of dusk.

Mongo, standing before his desk, did not look at the map on the wall but instead fixed his gaze on the thin, finger-thick declaration lying on the desk.

Or, more precisely, the codex.

Four months ago, they had sworn loyalty to Vault 70; now, they swore loyalty only to this codex, signed by all.

In truth, had it not been for this damned war, this would not have been such a bad thing for the residents of Vault 70.

Though they had lost the boundless authority inherited from their fathers, they could also shed the infinite responsibilities imposed by the ancient oath.

From then on, there would be no distinction between Bluecoats and ordinary survivors. Whether former members of Vault 70 or island dwellers, all would share the common duties and responsibilities as citizens of the Federation.

From then on, no one would blame a Bluecoat for a crooked road when they tripped on their way to work. The Bluecoats no longer existed; everyone had to take responsibility for the path beneath their own feet, and each person had to carefully choose their own future.

In truth, they should have done this long ago. For a century, they had all received the same education. If there had once been a gap in knowledge and experience between the first-generation vault dwellers and the wastelanders who had languished in the wastes for a century, by now—fourth or even fifth generation—they were essentially the same kind of people.

And yet—

There was always a gap between ideals and reality.

He had imagined the road would be fraught with obstacles, but he never expected that a single moment of negligence would plunge them into an abyss of irredeemable ruin.

It truly was a single blink of an eye.

A perfect pretext for war, one that would place them, as victims, on unassailable moral high ground, skipping years of fruitless debate. With this perfect opportunity, they could make the conservatives and radicals lay aside their differences at once, and let the Federation, just one step away from birth, spring into existence with a snap.

And he needed to do nothing but, at the moment when doubt was warranted, be negligent for two seconds, letting the war-crying radicals fan the already kindled flames.

Since the ocean current power station had already been destroyed, why not use its remains for something meaningful?

For now, let it be blamed on Vault 70.

After all, if it were some hot-headed soldier or officer’s foolish act, the survivors’ enthusiasm for establishing a new authority would undoubtedly wane, and many people’s efforts would be wasted.

When the war ended, if the residents of Vault 70 were willing to open their doors and cooperate with the investigation, they could clear their names and hunt down the real culprits later.

He admitted, that was what he had thought at the time.

And now—

He felt only regret.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor outside the office; it seemed there was more than one person.

Mongo lifted his gaze from the codex, covered in countless signatures, and looked toward the office door.

There stood his chief of staff, Charlas, with two soldiers in silver-white exoskeletons behind him.

“Mr. President, I heard you were looking for me?” Without a trace of remorse on his face, Charlas walked into the office with a smile.

Mongo fixed his eyes on him, and after a moment, spoke.

“Do you have anything else to say?”

“I…”

Meeting those unwavering eyes, Charlas was momentarily at a loss for words, but soon burst into loud laughter.

“What do I have to say? I have nothing to say… That question should be mine to ask you, Mr. Mongo. Do you have anything to say?”

Watching Charlas laugh heartily, Mongo said calmly.

“You have violated the declaration we all signed. You have not only betrayed me, but everyone. From this day forward, I relieve you of your post as Chief of Staff of the Naval Command, and you are no longer my chief of staff—”

“Is that all you have to say?” Charlas shrugged, his expression indifferent. “Isn’t it a little too late?”

Mongo looked into his eyes.

“The fate of the survivors of the South Archipelago Federation should be decided by all survivors, not by Vault 70, and not by you or me.”

Meeting the president’s gaze without flinching, a mocking smile curled at the corner of Charlas’s mouth.

“You’re too naive. This war has been going on for four months. If the citizens of the Federation find out that this was all a hoax from start to finish, our Federation will collapse immediately! The same way they invited us in here, they will throw us out.”

A trace of sorrow crept into Mongo’s eyes.

“You think that’s naivety?”

Charlas’s gaze gradually turned cold.

“Yes, I do. And I believe that your naivety will lead us into an abyss of no return. We have always been on the wasteland. Some fools think our wasteland is over, but the truth is, we have never left this damned wasteland for a single second! Never!”

“Across the sea are hyenas that devour men without spitting out bones. If we all harbor your naive thoughts and approach them with our self-imposed rules and regulations, we will be devoured down to the last scrap! All of us!”

His voice grew louder, the muscles in his face contorting, his roar unconsciously tinged with a hint of hysterical madness.

But soon, he suddenly calmed down, took a deep breath, and spoke slowly.

“The survivors of the southern seas don’t need a president. That kind of thing can wait until the Wasteland Era is over. When that time comes, even if they want ten of me, I’ll give them. At least for now, they need a stronger, more far-sighted, and more responsible leader to guide them forward… That’s what I and those who support me believe.”

As he spoke, a hint of disappointment crept into Charlas’s eyes—disappointment in the old friend he had once trusted so deeply.

“…Actually, you still had a chance. If, a few hours ago, you hadn’t summoned me but instead sent someone to put a bullet in me, things would never have come this far.”

“That would only lead us to another kind of hell. It’s useless…” Mongo shook his head, looking at the friend standing before him, a note of pleading suddenly entering his eyes. “We have both made a mistake. There is no second chance… Stop this, my friend.”

The disappointment in his eyes gradually faded. For some reason, Charlas no longer even had the interest to be disappointed; he only felt a sense of tedium.

He had thought the man would struggle, but after waiting so long, all he got was a plea for mercy.

What a pitiful creature.

Perhaps Alzu was right.

With sheep like these, there was no need for subtle methods. As long as he was a little tougher than them, he could lead them by the nose.

With one last pitying glance at the pitiful middle-aged man, he reached out and took the pistol handed to him by a soldier, cocking it cleanly.

“Too late. My supporters have entrusted their lives and fortunes to me. Praise their loyalty. This gamble is mine to win, and I have won without a doubt. I will lead them forward on the road ahead, until the Wasteland Era ends.”

“As for you, take your declaration to hell and regret it there.”

“Farewell.”

…

“Bang—!”

A sudden gunshot shattered the tranquility aboard the destroyer *Glory*. The flash of the muzzle made the cabin doors on both sides of the corridor hum mournfully.

Twenty-seven sailors mutinied without warning, capturing seven logistics personnel on board. Under the leadership of Lieutenant Sari, they quickly occupied the cabins and gangways near the broadcast room, exchanging fire with sailors who rushed to the scene.

Both sides took cover at opposite ends of the corridor, using the cabins and doors as shields, pouring fire at each other. Sparks from bullets and the roar of gunfire filled the entire corridor.

“Stop! What the… hell are you doing!? Aaah—”

The adjutant, hit in the arm, fell to the ground in pain and was pulled back behind cover by a sailor leaning against the cabin door.

Staring at the bullets whizzing through the corridor and the muzzle flashes on the opposite side, his wide eyes were filled with disbelief.

Mutiny!

He had never imagined that such a thing could happen on his ship!

"You're the one who's mad! And the captain!" The man crouching across the corridor roared as he changed the rifle's magazine. "Why didn't you obey Mr. Charlas's orders!"

"Charlas..."

The adjutant closed his eyes in pain, as if regretting the trust he had once placed, and shouted despairingly at his former subordinate.

"What exactly did that man promise you?"

Without a moment's hesitation.

The other roared back at him.

"A greater Federation!"

The clamor of gunfire drowned out his hoarse roar. As more and more sailors surrounded them with weapons, the mutineers, who had initially held the advantage, gradually lost ground.

Though Captain Sarry had seized the broadcast room early on, the broadcast the sailors had been waiting for never came.

Instead, the sailors loyal to Captain Dongwen fought with increasing ferocity, led by their adjutant, recapturing the corridors one by one.

Clearly, the captain had anticipated this. At the first sign of trouble, he cut off power to the broadcast room to prevent Captain Sarry from inciting more sailors to join their mad plan.

The battle soon drew to a close.

As two sailors guarding the hostages surrendered, seven captured logistics personnel were rescued. The rebels' controlled area had been compressed from the entire aft section of the ship to just a narrow corridor and a broadcast room.

Including the ringleader, Captain Sarry, only three rebels remained.

As another rebel fell to gunfire, the adjutant, clutching his wounded arm, shouted from behind cover.

"Surrender! You have no chance left! Facing the judgment of the law is your only way out... If you confess your mistakes, you might still have a hope of survival!"

"Then where is the Federation's hope? With a bunch of weaklings like you?" Sarry shouted from behind the iron door, pressing his left hand against his bleeding thigh.

The adjutant stared at him wide-eyed.

"What hope? What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? Look at what you're doing!" Sarry cursed. "Taking the bodies of mutants to North Island? Are you trying to tell the survivors there that a bunch of beasts with spears blew up our power station?"

The adjutant roared back.

"I haven't investigated, so I can't say for sure! But there are indeed people among us who turned blind when they shouldn't have blinked. That person is likely Charlas and his accomplices... I trusted him too, but the truth is he deceived us all, and he plans to fabricate more lies for his own selfish desires! Wake up! How long do you intend to hide the truth from the survivors who trust us?"

"Hide? Hahaha! All they lose is the truth. Look at what they've gained! For a century, we've never been so united—"

Before Captain Sarry could finish his words.

A deafening roar suddenly came from beneath everyone's feet, throwing both those standing and sitting to the ground.

"Creak—!"

The screech of tearing steel echoed through the walls, followed by the frantic rush of water bursting through the ship's hull.

The adjutant, barely rising from the floor, turned pale. Feeling the tremor traveling through the walls, his eyes filled with terror.

The sailors behind him were the same, stumbling backward, gripping the swaying hull, their eyes wide with fear.

Torpedo!

Someone had fired a torpedo while they were in chaos!

They had been hit!

"Retreat!" the adjutant bellowed, pushing the soldiers behind him, urging them toward the gangway.

At that moment, Sarry, cornered, released his left hand from his wound, propped himself against the wall, and stood up with a grim smile.

"No one can judge me!"

A fanatical twist distorted his bloodless face.

Facing those cowards retreating, he limped out of the broadcast room and pressed the muzzle against his own bloodstained chin.

Though he regretted failing to seize control of the Glory, this outcome was not a disgrace to his mission.

His mission.

"For the Federation!!"

Veins bulging on his neck, he roared and pulled the trigger. Amid a burst of fire and blood mist, he was swallowed by the surging seawater...

On the bridge.

Watching the hull gradually list in the smoke, Dongwen, steadying himself against the console, stood up slowly. A trace of astonishment crossed his resolute face.

He had imagined there might be Charlas's spies on his ship—after all, he himself had once been a supporter of that man.

He had even imagined that the madman's supporters would stop at nothing to prevent him from returning to North Island with the evidence, even betraying their oath under the Federation's banner to stage a mutiny...

Yet what he hadn't expected was that the madman, to secure victory, would not hesitate to order the Federation's fleet to turn on each other...

There was no doubt—that torpedo had come from an ally.

Flames licked the steel; the surging waves boiled like water in a cauldron, dragging the majestic hull into the bottomless abyss.

When a systemic error occurs, it is rarely due to one or two wrong decisions by one or two individuals, but rather because the vast majority, when making decisions from their own positions, instinctively and accurately choose the worst option from the three—upper, middle, and lower.

For the same reason, once a systemic error becomes fact, one or two corrective actions become as insignificant as the errors themselves.

The ocean current power station was like that.

So was the "Golden Coast," now resting on the seabed.

And so were the other cargo ships, research vessels, and their crews that had come infinitely close to the truth—including himself.

"...It seems Mr. Charlas has made up his mind." Removing his cap, Dongwen placed it on the bridge's console.

This path might be more tortuous than he had imagined.

Just as he was about to spend his last moments, a sonar signal suddenly came through the communication system.

The source of the signal seemed very close.

Pausing for a moment, Dongwen pressed the switch on the console and picked up the headset.

At the same time, a garbled voice came through.

"This is the Dolphin... Do you copy..."

...

Ten kilometers away.

A submarine slowly surfaced, revealing its steep conning tower.

Gazing at the distant smoke and the steel hull slowly sinking into the sea, the captain in the conning tower said calmly.

"This is the Cold Night. The Glory has sunk. Requesting further instructions."

A voice came over the communication channel.

"Command received. Return to North Island and await orders after mission completion."

The captain asked.

"Not heading to the Anle Island port to rendezvous?"

After a brief silence, the channel replied.

"The plan has changed... There was a little accident over there."

"Understood."

After the communication ended, the captain standing before the control panel looked back at the group of officers with heavy hearts and gave the order to return.

The bridge that had surfaced slowly sank back down.

But just then, the captain, catching a glimpse of the sonar screen from the corner of his eye, furrowed his brow slightly.

Was it an illusion?

In the waters where the HMS Glory had sunk, the echo signal received by the active sonar seemed to flicker for a moment.

That flicker lasted only an instant.

Frowning, the captain stared at the screen for a while, and seeing no further anomalies, he withdrew his gaze.

Perhaps it was just clutter reflected from the wreckage...

...

*Wasteland OL* official website.

During peak login and logout hours, the forum was as noisy as ever.

Especially the brothers from the Jungle Corps, who rushed to the forum as soon as they logged off, chattering and making a racket.

"MMP! This NPC is such a dog, stealing kills!"

"Stealing kills is bad enough, but then honking the horn to taunt!"

"Exactly! So damn annoying!"

"Be grateful, you guys at least saw the monsters. We didn't even catch a glimpse of one—just cruised around the port and headed back. (Squint)"

"At least you got a cameo in the new map PV! We only saw a crab's ass, nothing but the final explosion shot."

"Nope, we didn't show our faces either—wearing helmets and goggles."

"Hahaha, damn!"

"Looks like all the cool points went to Brother Mosquito. (Ridiculous)"

"Speaking of which, am I the only one curious if that Laken tastes good? (Ridiculous)"

"Uh... blown up by an NPC's torpedo, I didn't bother picking up the corpse. Want the coordinates? Go check it out?"

"By the time I get there, there won't even be bones left. But seriously, didn't you want to take a bite? (Ridiculous)"

"How the hell could I taste it in a place like that!?"

Today's big news was undoubtedly the southern sea taking the lead. The Jungle Corps, representing the Alliance and French Fry Port, paid a friendly visit to Ring Island.

In a relaxed and pleasant atmosphere, both sides jointly issued a friendly declaration and pledged closer cooperation in more areas.

Ring Island's Governor Channing welcomed Alliance citizens to visit and invest on the island, no longer just stopping at port trade.

In simpler terms—

*Wasteland OL* has opened a new map!

Although the entire area of Ring Island is only thirty square kilometers, equivalent to four "Wake Islands," over the past two centuries, local survivors have developed and utilized this thirty square kilometers to the extreme, much like the residents of Vault 100 who lived their entire lives in a "well."

Ring Island's highly dense industrial model and highly automated production methods would humble even the most advanced factories of Boulder City.

Of course, when it comes to productivity and production costs, that's another story. For now, Dawn City's extensive industry is the fastest and cheapest, with at least two-fifths of the Alliance's [industrial output] propped up by its factories.

Both sides have much to learn from each other, whether in engineering or sociology.

Especially since both societies were built by vault dwellers and wastelanders—though their paths differ, their development trajectories share many similarities.

During this process, a small incident occurred: a group of "Fishmen" swam near the underwater pipeline, planning sabotage.

Fortunately, as early as two months ago when the underwater pipeline first broke ground, players at French Fry Port had already been guarding against threats from Death Coast.

Fifty W-2/H sea attack aircraft, in just one bombing run, wiped out over a thousand aquatic mutants driven to the surface.

Having witnessed the Alliance's formidable combat power and determination to maintain regional order, the Ring Island Governor immediately added a mutual defense pact to the friendly declaration.

From then on, Ring Island not only lent its port to Alliance military vessels but also agreed to build an airport beside the island for Alliance air force use.

All these achievements were not only thanks to that underwater freshwater pipeline but also partly due to the Torch Church and the Federal authorities.

After all, if those guys hadn't caused such a stir, the residents of Ring Island would never have trusted a group of outsiders who had been there less than two months.

As for now, having used freshwater at 0.8 silver coins per ton, the residents of Ring Island could only say it was a sweet deal regarding the agreement they had signed with doubt.

In a sense, like the Moon Tribe refugees who fled to French Fry Port, they had unknowingly become part of the Alliance's mold...

Professor Yang, the Thunder Mage: "Sigh, seeing you guys make money hurts more than losing money myself. T.T"

Ye Ao Nai Wo He: "Boring, boring. Trash game. Been on the waiting list for two years and still can't get in. When I finally get in, I'll blow you all up! (Angry)"

Jie Yan: "Damn, two years already, and Brother Ye Ao is still getting New Year's money? (Surprised)"

Ye Shi: "Bro Guang, just let him in. The red-name system has been out for ages—isn't it time to test it? (Ridiculous)"

Mei You Jia Ren: "Don't, man. If you don't get beta access, you can at least spam the forum. Get your account banned, and you can't even log into the forum. (Ridiculous)"

Wu Ye Dai San Bu Dai Dao: "Bro, why are you so experienced?"

Mei You Jia Ren: "Ahem... I heard it from someone."

Xia Gu Zai Tao Shu Shu: "Strongly demand that Baiyue Company go public! Damn it, if these guys keep snowballing, they'll buy up the entire Alliance!"

Fang Chang: "That's an exaggeration. A lot of our business is done with loans from the Alliance Bank. Do you think we can get loans for any business? But if we could go public, I'd be all for it. Don't think we earn a lot—we spend a lot too. If we could raise funds through an IPO, we wouldn't have to expand by increasing our debt ratio. (Squint laugh)"

Bian Yuan Hua Shui: "Damn, your business isn't big enough? How much more do you want to expand? (Stunned)"

Fang Chang: "This is nothing. Forget the Golden Gallon Port project—just the southern sea. In our planned underwater freshwater delivery network, only one pipeline is operational so far, and the only customer is Ring Island. Relying on just this one pipeline to solve the water needs of a million survivors is far from enough. We need to build more."

Bian Yuan Hua Shui: "How much can you make just selling water?"

Fang Chang: "Selling water alone doesn't make much. But the trust built by 'helping locals solve water problems' brings us more benefits. Especially since the locals are well-educated survivors, many with knowledge and experience rivaling experts from Camp 101, especially in their specialty—'ocean plot transformation.' These are talents we need, even urgently."

Bian Yuan Hua Shui: "666!"

Quan Shui Zhi Hui Guan: "Damn, you're really good at poaching talent. (Surprised)"

Fang Chang: "Tsk, how is it poaching? Which wall of theirs did I dig up? They need freshwater, I give them freshwater. They need electricity, I give them electricity. I even provide overseas job opportunities for their idle social elements—all at the cost of some local resources they don't need or have in surplus... I prefer to call it rational resource allocation."

Ye Shi: "Damn... the Survivor Daily should hire you as an editor."

Bian Yuan Hua Shui: "66666!"

Fu Zhai Da Yan: "MMP, other corps leaders lead their brothers to wealth, but ours just types '6'."

Gong Di Shao Nian Yu Zhuan: "Exactly! Our leader is too lame!"

Bian Yuan Hua Shui: "??? Damn, I invested money, so what if I type '6'?"

Fu Zhai Da Yan: "? When the hell did you secretly invest?"

Lao Bai: "I dragged Brother Bian Yuan into it. Two months ago. (Grin)"

Fu Zhai Da Yan: "??? Damn!"

Wu Ye Sha Ji: "Speaking of which, the Ring Island Governor also agreed to build an 800-meter runway beside the island. From now on, air force brothers can dock there. That's another benefit of that pipeline. (Grin)"

WC_Mosquito: "After all, from now on the water and electricity will depend on us, so it's not too much to borrow the path to park a plane, right? (smirking)"

Battlefield_Atmosphere: "Isn't eight hundred meters too short?"

WC_Mosquito: "Not short. For a W-2, three or four hundred meters is enough. By the way, I heard a new model is coming out soon. You can look forward to it. (silly)"

FangChang: "In short, since the infrastructure has worked well, we'll continue to focus on infrastructure in the next phase. As long as all or most of the Federation's thirteen islands are connected to the fresh water and power supply network originating from Fries Port, even if we don't station troops locally, we can still gain control of the region through indirect economic means."

OldBai: "Like Silver Moon Bay?"

FangChang: "Something like that."

Although the Xilan Empire's frequent irrational actions led the Hump Kingdom to request the Alliance to send troops to Silver Moon Bay, even offering to bear all expenses, there has been no follow-up on this matter yet.

The Alliance has recently been restructuring its military system, abolishing the original ten-thousand-man unit combat formation and restoring the Human Union-era sequence of army, division, brigade, regiment, battalion, company, platoon, and squad.

Of course, this mainly involves NPC legions; player legions can still call their legion commander "BOSS" or "Boss" according to their own preferences.

And so, FangChang, while painting a rosy picture for the forum lurkers about the bright future of the southern sea region, also urged them to storm the tower and convince Aguangg to open the first casino in River Valley Province—oh no, the stock exchange.

Actually, if you ignore the fact that the southern sea region is right next to the Torch Church, it is indeed a place with unlimited investment potential, and all of Baiyue Company's businesses are definitely the low-risk, high-return type.

However, just as he was reaching the critical point of his rosy picture, a certain shareholder of Baiyue Company suddenly jumped out.

Tail: "Shocking! Big news! Σ(°Д°;)っ"

QuitSmoking: "What's going on?"

FallingFeather: "?"

Tail: "Fries Port's neighbor! They're fighting! (?ω?)"

OldBai: "...?"

FangChang: "???"

NightTen: "Good heavens, Aguangg flipped the table. (silly)"

In less than a minute...

The entire forum instantly exploded!