I am the Emperor of Humanity across the Multiverse

At this moment, in Washington, D.C., USA:

Due to the Earth's rotation, Washington is about six hours behind The Hague, which is currently in the middle of the afternoon. Right now, Washington is in its darkest hour, just before dawn.

From a bird's-eye view, this capital city often gives off a feeling that it is "no better than Accra, Africa."

Overall, today's Washington D.C. doesn't quite compare to the new Accra. There are no bustling night markets with bright lights, no large holographic billboards, and due to the winter season, the city feels quite desolate.

After all, Washington is located on the East Coast, only about 360 kilometers in a straight line from New York. Atlas, which began on the West Coast, has only recently started expanding its influence into the East, so the infrastructure here still can't compete with cities like Seattle or New Accra.

More importantly—

"Woo—woo!" Red and blue police sirens occasionally flash through the streets.

"Bang! Bang!" Sporadic gunfire hints at poor public safety.

However, this isn't because the USA can't maintain law and order in its own capital. It's because Atlas has been secretly fanning the flames, leading to a continuous exposure of the scandals involving U.S. officials, politicians, and military leaders, further intensifying public discontent.

Moreover, Atlas has been funding small, bold, and resilient political parties, which number less than 100,000 people in total, to act as true "vigilantes" and protect the safety of the populace. This has only deepened the dissatisfaction with the ruling government.

Meanwhile, in the Capitol Hill residential district, located to the east of the White House, a large number of police cars patrolled the area. Special police forces, equipped with mechanical exoskeletons, were stationed at key transportation hubs.

Most of the people living in this area were so-called political elites and business leaders.

To prevent angry civilians from storming the area, the pressure on Washington's police departments had significantly increased.

At this moment:

Inside a still-lit bedroom:

"Holy crap! Is Atlas really going to take on the entire world by itself?!"

A voice, still slightly immature and seemingly in the middle of puberty, exclaimed in disbelief.

The bedroom's decor indicated that its owner was an avid gamer and model enthusiast.

The room featured Atlas' complete line of gaming gear, including a gaming desk, chair, console, and high-refresh-rate holographic display. Across from the single bed stood a glass display cabinet filled with 1/6 and 1/12 scale military figurines, many of which had metal skeletons and armor representing the "Star Marines" produced by Atlas.

Among the collection, there were also several World War II tank models with red hammer-and-sickle markings, also made by Atlas, suggesting that the room's owner had a particular historical interest.

A slim, black-pajama-clad teenager stood at his computer desk, hands clutching his head, staring in disbelief at a live court hearing on the holographic screen.

In the bottom-right corner of the screen, a chat box showed a user named "Paratrooper Facing the Sea" actively commenting.

It seemed that this teenager was both an avid fan of Atlas and a loyal viewer of "Seattle Midday News."

Like many other supporters, he wanted Atlas' core ideals to dominate the world, but perhaps it was too early for that? And would it lead to large-scale casualties?

Despite both his parents being high-ranking officials, the teenager had become "anti-American." This was partly because of the lack of attention from his family and partly due to youthful defiance. He couldn't accept that his country was merely a puppet, helping another selfish nation commit deeply inhumane acts of war.

However, being young, he couldn't make any grand contributions to the world. All he could do was donate his pocket money to the oppressed through online platforms.

Woo—woo—!

Just as the teenager was lost in thought, a piercing air raid siren suddenly blared across the city.

??

The boy froze, then quickly ran to the window and leaned halfway out after opening it.

Facing the cold wind and the faint light of dawn, he squinted, looking toward the eastern sky where he could just make out a swarm of small black "dots" of various sizes.

Seeing this, the teenager dashed back into his room, pulled out a military-grade telescope from a green storage box, and hurried back to the window to take another look.

Through the telescope, he could clearly see that the "dots" were the very familiar Atlas-made Shadowstrike assault boats, Luna transport vessels, and Silver Seagull-class ships, along with many aerial gunships and attack aircraft.

Whoosh—whoosh!

But that wasn't all. Above the White House to the west, he could also see numerous drop pods streaking through the atmosphere.

Why hadn't Washington's air defenses reacted in time?

Did Atlas' cyber forces take down the military's systems, or was there an inside agent? Or perhaps both??

Countless thoughts rushed through the teenager's mind.

Seeing the first wave of drop pods cut through the sky unobstructed, vanishing from view, the teenager pulled himself back inside and rushed to his parents' master bedroom.

But as soon as he pushed open the unlocked door, he overheard:

"Colonel Nair! The White House is under attack! And our military network is down—we can only communicate through civilian channels."

He saw his father sitting on the edge of the bed, using a holographic phone—also made by Atlas—to speak with an on-duty officer.

His mother, meanwhile, had hurriedly thrown on a down coat and was grabbing the car keys from the nightstand, ready to head to the Capitol.

Seeing her son standing at the door, his mother sternly said, "Don't leave the house! Stay here!" before rushing out.

Witnessing his parents' reactions only confirmed the teenager's suspicions: Atlas was openly making its move.

Not long after:

The sun rose in the east as usual, spreading its rays across the land, but Washington, D.C. remained eerily quiet. Only the hum of engines echoed through the streets and alleys.

Atlas' armed forces had practically declared control of the capital the moment they appeared.

Special tactical squads and platoons, composed of Atlas' Emergency Combat Support (AECS) units and cloned soldiers, quickly replaced the local police and National Guard, enforcing a total lockdown on Washington, D.C.

The White House itself was completely under the control of the first wave of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers (ODST), who had also taken custody of some Secret Service agents who had surrendered.

A Luna transport vessel deployed its landing gear and descended onto the White House lawn.

As the pilot opened the hatch:

"Hahaha! Who would've thought! My grandfather couldn't finish the job, but here I am, his grandson, getting it done!"

A hearty, distinct laugh echoed across the lawn.

Arthur Morgan, clad in full combat gear but wearing a cowboy hat instead of a helmet, gazed at the White House, which had once been engulfed in flames, and reflected with deep emotion.

He then turned to an "official" standing nearby and continued with a laugh:

"Aynes, you guys did great! You worked with the company to complete the takeover from the inside out, minimizing casualties and damage.

I'll recommend to the boss that your team takes over the Washington administration—you guys are way more familiar with it than I am."

In response, the well-dressed "official," a man in his thirties wearing a suit and red tie, smiled calmly and replied:

"As undercover investigators embedded within the enemy, it's our basic duty to assist the boss in executing a full takeover plan, especially when the world's eyes are focused on us."

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