Singuilum

Kane, the man who'd taken charge of the Imperial Capital Base, barely had time to enjoy his newfound power. His dream of ruling like a king was shattered by grim news: a massive zombie horde was heading straight for them. It had started small. A regular zombie wave, nothing they hadn't seen before. But this one didn't stop. Every city it passed through swelled its ranks, turning it into an unstoppable, ever-growing force. What had started as a manageable threat was now a monstrous tide of death.

The scale was beyond comprehension. Satellite images showed an endless sea of zombies stretching as far as the eye could see. Even mutated zombies, numbering in the tens of millions, were just a fraction of the total horde. The tsunami of zombies swept across the land like a relentless, black wave. Even the massive super zombie, powerful as a Juggernaut, was no more than a droplet in this dark ocean. "How... How could there be so many zombies!?" Kane's voice trembled as he stared at the satellite images, his face pale with disbelief.

Around him, the intelligence officers exchanged uneasy glances. Though some looked at him with thinly veiled contempt, none dared let him notice. They had warned him days ago. Back then, the zombie tide was barely in the hundreds of thousands, not even close to a million. If it had been the old general in charge, he'd have taken decisive action—calling in bombers to obliterate the horde before it grew out of control. But Kane wasn't him. 

Kane's priorities lay elsewhere—parties, luxury, and turning the Imperial Capital base into his personal palace. He dismissed the early warnings, letting the zombie tide grow unchecked until it exploded into the disaster now staring him in the face. And now, a catastrophic super zombie horde threatened everything.

Meanwhile, in NYC, Zack listened as Ego, his ever-reliable AI assistant, delivered a report. "Sir, we've intercepted unencrypted communications from several major survivor bases. The messages suggest—"

"They want to unite to pressure me, right?" Zack interrupted, already one step ahead.

Ego paused briefly before continuing. "Yes, Sir. They're coordinating to—"

"To what?" Zack cut in, a smirk forming on his face. "They're terrified of my space-based cannons. None of them dare challenge me alone, scared I'll wipe them off the map. So, what else can they do but huddle together like scared children? And let me guess—they're plotting to get their hands on my tech, right?" His confidence was unshaken. "It's not the space-based cannons they hate. It's the fact that I have them, and they don't."

Ego confirmed his assessment but issued a caution. "Sir, we shouldn't underestimate them. The Sky Air Defense System is robust, but it can't shield NYC from indirect threats. If they drop nuclear or dirty bombs on surrounding cities, the resulting contamination would be catastrophic."

Zack nodded, understanding the risks. "Nuclear pollution is a nasty problem. But that's assuming they can actually follow through." He leaned back, a sly grin on his face. "I've got a plan to deal with them."

"Sir, the data suggests that preventing nuclear fallout from surrounding areas would be nearly impossible," Ego pressed, its tone grave. "Even with our technology, the secondary effects would—"

Zack cut it short. "Relax, Ego. I know how bad nuclear pollution can be. But here's the thing—if they can't communicate, they can't coordinate. Without that, their grand alliance falls apart like wet paper. So…" He leaned forward, his grin widening. "We're pulling the plug. Activate it and take out every operational communication satellite in orbit."

Within moments, the space-based platform sprang to life. High above Earth, lasers and kinetic warheads rained down with terrifying precision. Satellites in low-Earth orbit, geostationary positions, and everything in between were systematically obliterated. The dark void of space lit up as red beams sliced through the sky, and the debris of fallen satellites scattered like shooting stars. It's area of coverage was massive, encompassing nearly half the globe. By the time it was done, nearly every satellite on one side of the planet was either destroyed or rendered inoperable. The few that survived, stuck on the opposite side of the Earth, were practically useless.

Zack watched the results with satisfaction. "No satellites, no guidance. No guidance, no missiles. It's like trying to shoot a target while blindfolded." He chuckled. "Good luck with that."

Elsewhere, several survivor faction leaders were already squabbling over the spoils of Zack's downfall—spoils they hadn't yet claimed. On their makeshift communication network, their arguments grew increasingly heated. "Trinity Stronghold's nuclear strike capability is unmatched. We deserve the largest share!" boomed one voice.

"Ha! You're still clinging to that outdated plan?" another leader from the Freehold Confederacy shot back. "Your submarines are rusting in some graveyard, and your missile range is a joke. You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn!"

The leader from Trinity Stronghold fired back angrily. "At least we're not greedy like you Freehold scavengers! We noble defenders of the Trinity should lead this operation!"

Their bickering continued, each side unwilling to back down. In their arrogance, none of them realized their communications were being systematically dismantled by Zack's strike on their satellites.

By the time the destruction of communication satellites was complete, chaos reigned among the so-called alliance. With no guidance systems, their nuclear capabilities were crippled, and their plans to pressure Zack fell apart.

Sitting in his command center, Zack smiled at the irony. "They wanted to play games with me. Well, I just flipped the board."

A Few Hours Later In the basement of Mansion No. 6, Zack had finished setting up the high-energy particle accelerator for the creation of a new element—Singulium. "Okay, initializing the accelerator," Zack announced, slipping on a pair of protective goggles. He placed a precision-engineered plasma containment prism into the accelerator's core chamber.

The prism, a specialized containment vessel designed to stabilize superheavy isotopes during synthesis, adjusted its position automatically under Ego's guidance. Absolute precision was essential, and Ego, his AI assistant, ensured that every calculation was flawless. Zack stood by the console, his hand hovering over the illuminated start button. "Ego, status check."

"Sir, the particle accelerator is fully initialized and ready for activation," Ego's calm voice replied.

Zack pressed the button without hesitation. The lights in the basement flickered briefly before stabilizing. A deep hum filled the room as the particle accelerator roared to life, its magnetic coils energizing to direct subatomic particles along the accelerator's curved paths. Bright streams of ionized particles began their journey through the accelerator's vacuum tubes, glowing faintly with high-energy emissions. "Begin particle collision," Zack commanded, gripping the manual override lever and pulling it down steadily.

Inside the containment chamber, the accelerator directed streams of high-velocity nuclei toward the plasma containment Cube. As they collided at nearly the speed of light, a dazzling cascade of energy erupted. The process created conditions similar to the core of a neutron star—high enough to forge a superheavy element on the theoretical island of stability. "Focus the beam," Zack shouted, monitoring the fluctuating energy levels. The beam intensified, directed precisely onto the plasma prism. The containment systems struggled to maintain integrity, diverting excess thermal energy into the liquid-metal cooling system.