The atmosphere in the research team meeting room was as heavy as the calm before a storm. The air felt thick and tight; even the faint wind outside sounded sharp and intrusive. Everyone sat along the long table, fingers tapping quietly, their eyes fixed on the projection screen.

Everett stood before the screen, where a rotating 3D model of the underground nest slowly turned. It was the complete map Jerry had spent two months building—every winding tunnel, every sharp turn, every hidden vent, every nursery burrow, every secret food chamber, all marked with perfect precision. Greer’s core nest lay fifteen meters underground, a labyrinth so deep and complex that no ordinary method could reach it, let alone destroy it from the heart.

To crush this impenetrable underground fortress, the team had poured all their effort into developing a ground‑penetrating guided bomb.

It was their final, ultimate solution.

Their last hope to end the ecological nightmare forever.

“We have completed theoretical design and field testing,” Everett said, switching to a slide of a slender, cone‑shaped bomb, surrounded by precise technical data. His voice was cold, calm, unfeeling. “The shell uses high‑strength alloy, hard enough to break through solid rock. The nose carries a sensitive penetration fuse, with real-time Starlink correction for zero error. The process is simple: Jerry enters the core nest and confirms the final coordinates. The bomb launches from the surface platform and strikes precisely.

First, the penetration warhead activates, burrowing through soil and rock to the target depth without exploding.

Second, the main warhead detonates in the sealed underground space, releasing a high‑energy shockwave equal to a magnitude 3.5 micro-earthquake.”

He paused, lifting his gaze slowly, sweeping over every person in the room.

“The shockwave travels through dense rock and soil, causing irreversible, fatal damage to internal organs. Hearts, lungs, and livers of all rodents rupture instantly. Death is silent, painless, and complete. No sound will reach the surface. No major collapse will occur. In one instant, every living thing inside the nest will cease to exist.”

An assistant swallowed hard—not from fear, but from the primal, icy chill that came with facing such coldly precise, lethal technology.

“What about Jerry?” someone asked quietly. “With such precision, will he be caught in the blast?”

Everett glanced at him, his gaze flat and empty, like still water.

“Jerry will be remotely recalled before detonation. We have implanted a mandatory return command in his microchip. Thirty minutes before the blast, it will activate. No matter where he is, he will return to the surface. No accidental casualties. You have nothing to worry about.”

He turned off the projector, took a sip of water, and spoke with final, unchallengeable authority.

“The plan is confirmed. We execute immediately.”

Deep inside the dark, quiet nest, Greer rested against a dry, warm wall, eyes closed, pretending to sleep. All was peaceful except for the faint drip of water. Jerry curled gently beside her, nose soft in the fur of Greer’s neck, breathing calm and safe—like two ordinary companions, not a secret agent, not a queen, not a soul trapped between duty and love.

Greer was not truly asleep.

She replayed the first time she saw Jerry.

Something had been different about him.

Jerry carried a quiet, sharp intelligence wild rats did not have. He wore tiny, strange machines, moved with clean, precise grace, and had bright, alert eyes. Greer had not understood then—she had only thought Jerry was handsome: glossy fur, steady gaze, elegant, calm, braver than any rat she had ever known.

Greer had not been entirely without suspicion.

Every time Jerry left and returned, explosions followed. Tunnels collapsed. Colony members died. The group fled again and again. Doubt had gnawed at Greer’s heart.

But love had drowned out every fear.

She had once, while Jerry slept, leaned close to examine the small machines on his body.

“Don’t,” Jerry had whispered, trembling, panicked. “They’re… important. Please don’t touch them.”

Greer had looked at his anxious face and stopped.

She did not want to doubt Jerry.

She did not want to ruin their fragile, tender warmth.

She loved Jerry so deeply that she had willingly buried all doubt, all worry, all warning.

Soon after, Jerry left the nest as usual, claiming to search for food.

Above ground, humans waited in complete silence, ready to close the trap.

Without warning, a low, deafening boom rumbled from above.

It was not loud, but it cut through the earth like a giant drumbeat, like stone splitting deep inside the crust.

Greer jolted upward.

The ground shook violently.

Clods of dirt rained down.

Cracks spread across the walls like spiderwebs, tearing the entire nest apart.

She heard a high, terrified shriek—not her own, but the young ones behind her.

Then the shaking stopped.

A deathly silence fell.

Only dust slowly falling.

A moment later, Jerry returned.

Greer turned slowly.

She saw Jerry huddled at the tunnel entrance, trembling uncontrollably, fur dirty and matted, eyes bloodshot, tears streaming down his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. He tried to back away, to run, to hide from Greer’s eyes—but his body would not move. He was frozen.

Greer stepped closer and stared at him.

Gone was all warmth.

In her eyes was only coldness, heartbreak, and ruin.

“Jerry.”

Greer’s voice was soft, but shattered, icy, and hopeless.

Each word cut like ice into Jerry’s heart.

“You fool.”

Jerry flinched. Tears poured down harder.

“You monster.”

Greer’s voice shook, her suppressed pain finally breaking free.

“Look what you have done.”

Her voice erupted, like the bombs buried in the earth—all grief, all rage, all despair, all the doubt she had buried, exploding at once.

“You killed our children.”

In that instant, every emotion Jerry had been trained to suppress—guilt, shame, self-hatred, agony—burst awake inside him, like a thousand blades shredding his heart.

“Our children?” Jerry whispered, hollow and stunned.

He had never known Greer was carrying their young.

He had destroyed everything.

Greer did not look at him again.

She turned away, as if Jerry was nothing but dust.

She walked back to the nurseries and gently gathered the small, cold bodies into her paws, holding them as if they were still alive. She licked their still fur softly, over and over, trapped in a never-ending nightmare of loss.

Jerry stared at Greer’s small, broken, lonely back.

He remembered the first time he saw her—proud, calm, regal, a true queen ruling her underground kingdom.

He had destroyed everything.

Jerry closed his eyes.

This time, he ignored the mandatory return command screaming in his mind.

He did not run.

He did not leave.

He stayed.

With Greer.

Alone in the ruins.

Quietly, peacefully, waiting for death to come.