The Planetary Defense Council (PDC) venue at the UN Headquarters was solemn and respectful.
The dome lights illuminated every grave face below.
Global elites gathered here, but the air held only near-solidified despair.
On the giant screen, a shocking line of text scrolled in multiple languages.
"You are bugs."
This arrogant declaration from the Trisolaran world was transmitted to everyone through the omnipresent Sophons.
It hung over the head of human civilization like the Sword of Damocles.
The current rotating chair of the PDC, Say, walked to the podium.
Her voice, amplified by the equipment, clearly reached every corner of the venue and the global live broadcast cameras.
"Our enemy is light-years away, but their tentacles have already arrived."
"What they sent is not a fleet, but a ghost that can instantly appear in any corner of the Earth..."
"It can see through all our secrets. It is called a 'Sophon'."
Her voice paused as she surveyed the silent crowd below.
"In the face of the Sophons, all our strategies and deployments are completely transparent. Our science has also been locked down."
"Before they even arrive, our armies are nothing but targets."
"Human civilization has never faced such absolute despair. Our minds are the only domain the enemy cannot fathom."
Say took a deep breath, her expression turning incredibly resolute.
"Therefore, the PDC has decided to initiate the 'Wallfacer Project'."
A suppressed commotion rippled through the venue, quickly returning to dead silence.
This project was based on a crazy logic: since information could not be hidden, deception would be used as camouflage.
Placing the future of human civilization in the hands of a few individuals granted absolute power.
Letting them construct the true strategy against Trisolaris deep within their minds.
And everything they outwardly displayed would be a disguise. A grand deception played on the entire world, and the enemy.
"The Wallfacers will possess power unbound by any laws or regulations."
"They can mobilize all resources on Earth to achieve their strategic goals, regardless of whether those goals are real or fake."
"Now, I announce the first Wallfacer."
Say's gaze fell upon an old man in the front row of the venue.
"Frederick Tyler, former US Secretary of Defense and one of the founders of macro-strategic game theory."
The camera focused on Tyler. With a resolute face, he slowly stood up and nodded to the crowd.
He represented the pinnacle of human military strategy.
"The second Wallfacer, Manuel Rey Diaz, current President of Venezuela."
Rey Diaz, a strongman known for his iron fist and ruthless methods, had flames burning in his eyes.
He represented the determination to achieve victory at any cost.
"The third Wallfacer, Bill Hines, renowned brain scientist and Nobel laureate."
An elegant scholar stood up, the light of rationality in his eyes.
He represented the wisdom of seeking answers from the deepest depths of science and humanity.
Three names, each resounding like thunder, representing humanity's peak in a certain field.
Everyone thought the list had ended.
But Say picked up the list again, her expression becoming somewhat complicated.
"The fourth Wallfacer..." She paused, as if confirming the authenticity of the name.
"...Luo Ji."
This name instantly caused the venue to explode in an uproar.
"Luo Ji?"
"Who is Luo Ji?"
"Is there a mistake? I've never heard this name before."
The live broadcast's chat was instantly flooded with a massive wave of question marks.
The camera quickly swept across the venue, trying to find this mysterious fourth person.
Finally, it stopped at an obscure corner of the audience seating.
A man wearing a casual suit, exuding a somewhat undisciplined aura, was pointing at his own nose with a bewildered expression.
His astonished expression seemed to say, 'Are you kidding me?'
He was Luo Ji, an obscure sociology professor.
He only came here because he received an invitation and figured he could join the fun, writing an observational report on social behavior under doomsday panic.
Meanwhile, in the shadows of the city.
Members of the Earth Trisolaris Organization (ETO) were also watching this live broadcast through secret channels.
"I will personally act as Tyler's Wallbreaker," a hoarse voice sounded in the darkness.
"Leave Rey Diaz to me," another voice responded.
"Leave Hines to me."
But when the name "Luo Ji" appeared, the darkness fell into a long silence.
"I can't find any valuable intelligence. He seems to be just an ordinary scholar."
"There's no need to care about this smokescreen. Focus your energy on the first three."
In their eyes, Luo Ji didn't even have the qualifications to be considered a worthy opponent.
Back in the venue, two security personnel in black suits with stern expressions had already walked up to Luo Ji.
"Mr. Luo Ji, please come with us."
Their tone brooked no argument.
Luo Ji's mind was in utter chaos. He stood up in a daze and was half-pushed, half-invited toward the highly anticipated podium.
The lights were blinding, and countless gazes converged on him.
He just wanted to quickly end this absurd farce, go home, drink a glass of red wine, and forget all of this.
He finally stepped onto the podium and gripped the cold microphone.
He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and prepared to use all his strength to shout the words, "I refuse."
However, in the split second before he could make a sound.
The world stood still.
The boiling voices in the venue, the flickering lights, the flowing air—everything froze into a silent painting.
Luo Ji's consciousness was extracted from this painting, plunging into pure darkness.
A voice, or rather, a thought, echoed directly in his mind.
The next second, an endless torrent of information shattered the dam of his mind.
Next, he saw the future.
He saw human civilization, amidst despair, unexpectedly acquire a technology that transcended the era.
Relying on this technology, they effortlessly destroyed Trisolaris's droplets and forced back that massive fleet.
The crisis was resolved.
Immediately following was a golden age.
Humanity's footprints spread across the entire Milky Way. Confident and proud, they called themselves the "Star People," believing they were the masters of the universe.
That beauty, that brilliance, was so real.
Then, the scene shifted.
A blood-red shadow enveloped the starry sky, and a monstrous, hideous fleet descended.
The name Qu, carrying a fear from deep within his genes, branded itself into his soul.
He "saw" the massacre known as a "war," and saw humanity's pride easily crushed.
But this was only the beginning.
He was no longer "seeing," but "becoming."
His body was melting, his bones and flesh extracted, his genetic chains brutally severed.
He turned into a "Worm Person" that could only wriggle in the dirt, losing the ability to think, left only with instinctual hunger.
After a despairing death, he was remolded again.
His body was infinitely stretched and flattened, turning into a soft "Colonial" paved on the temple floor.
The pain accumulated.
He then became a "Modular Person", his limbs disappearing, his body imprisoned within a cold, cubic chunk of flesh.
But his intellect was preserved.
He lost the ability to move, lost his voice, and even lost the right to be angry.
The only things left were a lucid consciousness and eternal memories.