The skies above the Korean Peninsula were iron grey heavy with tension, not weather.
In the northern highlands, beyond Pyongyang's reach, General Ryu Tae-jun stood atop a commandeered missile silo, wrapped in a black officer's coat, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights and too much power. Around him, clone soldiers stood in perfect formation disciplined, emotionless, ready.
They weren't loyal to North Korea.
They were loyal to him.
Or so he thought.
Broadcasts surged across global media:
BREAKING: North Korean General Declares Independence Threatens Nuclear Action
In the video, General Ryu stood before a red-and-black flag never seen before.
"We are not dogs of the Kim dynasty," he growled. "We are sovereign now. Interfere and I launch."
Behind him, the missile stood upright, primed.
World capitals went dark with dread.
Vekom watched from the bridge of the Stratos Forge, eyes fixed on dozens of holograms depicting troop movements, satellite feeds, and intercepted communications.
"He's moving too fast," one advisor-clone said.
"He's supposed to," Vekom replied. "It's the point."
Pyongyang launched a panicked assault the next day. Waves of loyalist troops, aging MiGs, and Chinese advisors flooded the region.
But Ryu's forces Vekom's clones were two steps ahead.
Minefields appeared overnight.
Anti-air towers sprouted from disguised bunkers.
And every time Pyongyang tried to advance, their supply lines went dark. Hacked. Jammed. Broken.
The war became a bloodbath.
But Ryu wasn't just fighting a war he was making demands.
He declared a new state: the Free Dominion of Hwasan.
He promised elections. Prosperity. Power shared by the people.
But those who entered the cities under his control quickly realized there were no people.
Only military
Administrators. Police. Teachers. Even children.
All fake.
All Vekom.
Then came the mistake.
Paranoid and drunk on victory, Ryu demanded Vekom send more troops twice as many.
He threatened to reveal everything if denied.
He forgot that Vekom never gave threats a second chance.
In a hidden chamber beneath the missile silo, a clone activated Protocol Ashfall.
A neurochip in Ryu's brain implanted during his supposed "surgery" weeks ago sparked.
The general fell to his knees, clutching his head.
Blood spilled from his nose.
He screamed once.
Then silence.
By morning, state media in Pyongyang declared Ryu dead in a failed coup attempt.
The rebels vanished.
The silo exploded in a spectacular fireball.
But something was off.
Western satellites captured unknow forces retreating in perfect unison too perfect.
And as humanitarian teams entered the ruined cities of Hwasan, they found no civilians. No families. No DNA records. Just immaculate buildings and automated systems.
Ghost cities.
Back on the Stratos Forge, Vekom walked past rows of new embryos, labelled with fake North Korean surnames.
"Round two," he murmured.
The general had been a test.
The war, a proof of concept.
And now the world had seen how quickly a regime could fall.
The next time?
It wouldn't be a rogue general.
It would be a nation.