No one knew how much time had passed.
On the far side of the Earth-19 spatial gate, the forward base had already been completed.
Compared to the "old era" military works of Earth-19's humans, what presented itself here was no longer cold concrete and crude emplacements, but a grand sight of complete industrialization and standardization.
The forward base was spliced together from dozens of modular building clusters, arrayed in neat ranks like colossal blocks.
Heavy alloy armor walls were engraved with the Empire's golden emblem, gleaming undimmed in the dawn light.
The command tower speared upward, brushing the sky, its top extending a holocomms mast that pulsed with steady flows of energy.
Hangars and loading platforms spread across the grounds like brood-nests of giant beasts, ready at any time to receive transports, heavy vehicles, and all manner of supply craft.
Even from a distance, one could feel the cold order and unshakable power.
Meanwhile, ecological restoration projects for villages and urban zones on the base's periphery had also begun.
What had been scorched earth and broken walls was being remade layer by layer; climate control and purification systems ran without pause.
Lake surfaces lay clear as mirrors, reflecting the rising sun as if draping the land in a thin golden veil.
Whole stretches of forest were regaining a full ecology; lush green rolled from the horizon and set off the silhouette of the new city.
This was not only a display of military strength, but a declaration of rebirth by the Empire.
The new city rose not far from the spatial gate, echoing the forward base.
Its skeleton also came from modular design, but bore a distinct "human" touch.
Towering megastructure apartments stood like modern fortresses, their exteriors sheathed in silvery-white alloy. Yet with abundant smart glass and greenery, the cold lines gained a touch of warmth.
Broad streets stretched straight between buildings. Maglev rails were embedded in the pavement, moving public trains in silence and with high efficiency.
By morning, the streets grew lively.
Rail trains and automated buses crisscrossed, ferrying newly resettled refugees between residential zones and clinics.
Through the cars' transparent windows, one could see survivors whose faces had yet to fully recover. Some watched the scenery in silence; some spoke softly with companions, shadows of old nightmares still in their eyes.
Yet in the streets, you could hear children's laughter.
A few young refugee kids ran around smart toys distributed by the Empire. Their cries rang in the air, dispersing a heaviness that had long congealed.
Giant roadside screens played continuous footage of the Imperial military clearing out the Blood Cross—warriors striding without fear, and the city steadily returning to life.
For the new city's residents, the images were both comfort and a renewed guarantee of safety.
Notably, there were almost no private cars or skimmers anywhere in the city.
Personal transport from the old human society had been completely abolished and replaced. Public vehicles and rail handled all capacity—not only for efficiency, but because Earth-19's civilization had been almost totally erased by the Blood Cross cataclysm.
For now, the millions rescued still survived on the Empire's free aid.
Food, housing, healthcare, and education—all were allocated and supplied by the Empire.
For them, this was unprecedented stability.
Perhaps in the old society they had chased wealth and personal comfort and freedom, but after the terror of the Blood Cross, simply living in such an orderly environment was an almost extravagant grace.
In the distance, the rising sun lit both the new city and the forward base.
Golden morning light fell over alloy walls, throwing back spears of blinding brilliance.
That was a symbol of strength and a witness to rebirth. As signal chimes like a morning bell rolled through the city, Imperial flags snapped in the wind, as if proclaiming the dawn of Earth-19's new era.
Sunlight slanted down, refracting through a transparent carriage window and bathing a public rail train racing along an elevated maglev in a gentle glow.
Inside, the number of passengers wasn't large. Many seats lay open, and the atmosphere felt particularly quiet.
Occasional low conversations drifted up—two or three who had survived, friends by old acquaintance or shared disaster, speaking in hushed tones about changes in the new city.
More simply sat in silence, gazes cast out the window, taking in the newly risen towers and sunlit lakes—faces mixed with strangeness, daze, and an ineffable emotion.
By the window, a burly man in black sat alone.
He had broad shoulders and rough hands, a man plainly tempered by hardship.
Just then, he was carefully holding a bag of fresh fruit.
The bright colors stood in sharp contrast to his rough image, making them seem all the more precious.
After all, for those who had struggled in the Blood Cross's apocalyptic shadow, to once again buy—or rather redeem with points—fresh food in a city street was nearly a miraculous luxury.
Ding-dong—!
The broadcast chimed, a soft tone that spread across the car:
"Next stop, District 2 Central Hospital. Disembarking passengers, please prepare in advance."
The voice was clear, tinged with an electronic synth quality, giving a sense of reliability and order.
Hearing it, the man slowly drew his gaze back from the window.
There had been a complicated light in his eyes—wonder, and a heavy kind of release.
He rose, tightened his grip on the fruit bag, and walked to the doors to wait for the stop.
A dozen seconds later, the train slid smoothly into the platform.
With a soft hiss of pressure and a mechanical click, the doors eased open.
The man stepped out onto the District 2 Central Hospital platform.
The platform wasn't crowded; order prevailed.
Above the bright canopy, hard-light displays hovered, showing real-time train schedules and public notices.
Smart light-lines were inlaid underfoot; as people moved, they pulsed with a faint blue, automatically guiding foot traffic toward different exits.
The man headed straight for the station exit. Along the way, his attention was inevitably drawn by the new city's technological wonders.
On the street, hard-light holos floated in midair, automatically pushing public information to passersby, even projecting virtual arrows to help them navigate.
At street corners, bulletin screens flashed holo images of Imperial soldiers and medical staff. Smiling, they reminded people to go in regularly for checkups or to collect rations.
Even walking the streets, one could see patrol drones everywhere—nearly silent as they cruised overhead, thin red scan-beams like austere lines of vigilance, guarding the reborn city.
The man moved in silence, steps steady and strong.
He didn't linger like other refugees or voice amazement. He simply held the bag of fruit as if it carried some wordless intent.
Soon, he crossed a plaza and stepped onto the hospital's elevated approach to the main building.
District 2 Central Hospital looked imposing. The whole structure resembled a smooth, white monolith, polished spotless.
The exterior was wrapped in layers of smart glass. Inside light seemed to adjust automatically, staying gentle and clear.
Before entering, he saw a holo screen floating over the doors, streaming information nonstop—clinic directories, emergency triage guides, even calming messages in warm voices from Imperial medical staff.
Stepping into the lobby, a breath of fresh air washed over him.
Inside, white floors shone like mirrors, throwing back the glow of soft light-strips above.
A central pillar projected a massive holo—a sprawling city panorama with live overlays of medical resource distribution and patient status in different zones, like a living map of circulation, proof of the new city's efficient operation under the Empire's systems.
He didn't look long, heading straight to a nearby elevator.
The doors slid open without a sound. He entered and touched the panel.
A transparent holo of the floors rose on the walls. He selected the mid-level inpatient ward.
With a gentle hum, the elevator glided up. The view beyond the transparent side shifted—
From the bustling flow below to the quiet order of the ward floors above.
He stood quietly as the bag of fruit trembled with the ascent.
Lowering his head, he looked at those bright colors. A hard-to-define mix of softness and resolve crossed his face.
The higher the elevator rose, the calmer he grew.
At last, a soft chime sounded. The elevator stopped at the mid-level inpatient ward.
The doors parted to a warm, bright corridor. The man drew a deep breath, tightened his grip on the bag, and stepped into the space scented with medicine and quiet.
Soon, he stopped at a ward door and pressed the call button.
Beep—!
A tone sounded; a brief silence followed.
Then a hoarse, weak voice came from within, still not fully recovered: "Come in."
He pushed the door and entered.
A spacious, clean single room came into view.
In fact, almost every room in Atlas-run hospitals was single occupancy—not an ostentatious luxury, but an intensely humane choice.
In this new-built city of countless buildings, space was no scarce thing. The medical authorities chose the most comfortable arrangements so patients could heal both wounds and nerves.
The room's design blended substance and tech.
To the east, a neat wall of floor-to-ceiling windows poured in sunlight, brightening and warming the space.
Through the glass, one could look down on a slice of the new city—
A distant lake glittering in the dawn, forests of green stretching to the horizon, and among them rising megastructure apartments and soaring admin towers—steel and nature in quiet harmony.
On the other side were a private bathroom, a foldable attendant cot, and a set of soft sofas.
Every detail reflected the Empire's care for refugees and the wounded—not just treating injury, but offering comfort to the mind.
A holo projector hovered in a corner, currently playing the new city's morning news.
Soft-hued images flickered on the light-screen; the anchor's gentle voice reported the completion of basic schools and higher academies across the city, underscoring a mood of peace and order.
On the bed lay the SWAT captain who had once held the rear at the Toronto subway.
His face looked a shade pale, but still carried unbending grit.
His right arm drew the eye in particular.
It was an arm as if newly born—skin fair and smooth, a touch off from the rest of his complexion, a testament to Imperial medical miracles.
Back at the station, a brute among the infected had lopped that arm clean off with a flying blade; the ground soaked with blood.
Now, it was whole again, as if never wounded.
The man stepped up and set the bag of fresh fruit on the bedside table.
Morning dew still clung to the plastic. A few apples and oranges glowed invitingly in the soft light.
"How do you feel, Captain?" the man asked in a low voice.
The captain turned. The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile.
His voice was still hoarse, but stronger than before. "Not bad. No rejection at all. Feeling's back in the arm too, except…"
He raised the new hand and gently clenched a fist, then sighed and went on: "Sometimes it tingles. Sometimes it itches like hell. The doctors say it's normal nerve regrowth. Told me to bear it and definitely not scratch."
The man chuckled, rough but light. "Then do what they say and heal up. You just got your life back. Don't gripe about little stuff.
"Besides, this arm's tougher than the old one. Once it's mended, it might be even more use."
"Heh."
The captain smiled too, relief and a touch of feeling in his eyes.
Sitting by the bed, the man lowered his voice. "I heard the Empire plans to open government posts in a month here in the new city. We old-guard SWAT might be able to stay on—transfer to the new city's police. Better than sitting idle."
"Yeah."
The captain nodded, eyes brightening as he looked out at the city rising to life.
For him, a restart after losing everything was a rare grace in itself.
The room's air settled, tinged with quiet and hope.
Outside, the new city moved at a steady pace.
The morning was clear; foot traffic gathered; rail trains sped along elevated lines; public hover-buses passed in order along the wide roads. People walked quickly but without panic.
Children sometimes chased each other on grass in a park, laughter blowing on the wind and mingling with distant construction—a living score.
High above, massive hard-light ads hung, shifting colors and content, showing citizens the power stations and civic centers about to come online.
Around the megastructures' walls, blue energy bands coiled and would flood the district with light at night.
All of it quietly signaled that Earth-19's consolidation was entering its endgame, Imperial order taking root here—while a new future slowly unfolded.
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