My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 539 Shocking Discoveries

The viewport on the cabin's right revealed the moon's rugged surface.

That sight alone stunned them utterly. A boundless gray wasteland sprawled everywhere, craters carved with razor edges and devoid of shadows in the airless void alone, its timeless, pristine texture defying every image ever snapped.

Multiple staff members crowded toward that cabin side instinctively, lured by the very pull that had dragged them to the observation room just an hour earlier.

Then a voice from the left side whispered: "What is that."

It held no interrogative tone. The speaker's voice had dropped the rising lilt all questions demand.

They whipped around.

Beneath them unfolded the moon's far side, with Lunar Base Sanctuary embedded within—or atop, or seemingly sprouted from it, scale erasing such petty divides.

Light hit them first.

Earth's glow never touched the far side, no planetary reflection, only stars and the sun slicing through orbital paths. Set against that utter blackness, the base blazed from inside and out, synthetic radiance surging from edifices stretching beyond the viewport's grasp in all directions. Pure white and soft blue illumination, unwavering and pristine, lacking any combustion's jitter or cozy hue. It flooded the lunar void like a metropolis spilling glow into stormy clouds, but sharper, boundless without atmospheric veil.

Scale struck second.

Announcements had been devoured by the staff. Terms like private quarters for all volunteers and observers, complete dining provisions, medical bays, shuttle pads and launch setups had been absorbed. Mental pictures formed from familiar spots—clinics, labs, luxury resorts, airport hubs.

Each vision missed by magnitudes.

Sprawling across the lunar terrain below wasn't some bloated research outpost. Nor a 'base' suggesting fleeting, confined, humble setup.

It formed a true colony. Linked buildings rose in varied heights and forms, some squat and expansive, others stacked in levels snaring artificial glow and hurling it back in sheets, bridged by sealed tunnels weaving a surface grid screaming vast, deliberate long-term scheming.

The moon's far side. Zero Earthward panes. Erected in humanity's uncharted spacefaring frontier, to a caliber where 'unprecedented' rang hollow.

An Atlanta nurse flattened his palm on the viewport. Eyes glued ahead, he addressed his neighbor: "How long did this take to build?"

No one replied; no one held the answer.

"Look up," somebody urged.

They craned their necks.

Two shapes loomed in orbit over the base against the starry backdrop. Voyager led—iconic from live feeds as the craft that whisked a man beyond the solar system and home. Immense even from afar, its elaborate form complex, hull snatching floodlights to fake motion in perfect stillness.

Staring straight at the second proved tough, not from glare but the brain's revolt against its enormity.

The Emperor Class-II Starship lingered in skeletal stage. Its frame gleamed in stark lines versus the abyss, unfinished, a third yawning to hard vacuum. Yet that partial span outstripped every human orbital construct's full length. Drones flickered as distant lights, hundreds buzzing the skeleton in unison, their spotability from here screaming the behemoth's insane proportions.

The head chef gaped at it endlessly.

"That's being built," he declared. "Right now. That's actively being built."

Descent to the base kicked off in the shuttle, swelling the structures below as they plunged, the base sharpening from light sprawl to sharp-edged complexes, orbital giants climbing the horizon with viewport tilt.

The Synth up front rotated.

"We are beginning approach to the landing bay. Please remain seated until we have docked."

The landing bay yawned open now—a surface gash aglow inside, immense enough for shuttle plunge sans cramped feel. Bay walls climbed beside them as lunar surface vanished above, staff tracking the shift from space's icy gleam to the snug, constant artificial shine of sheltered confines.

The shuttle came to a perfect rest. Its touchdown matched the flawless precision of the JFK landing.

"We have docked," the Synth announced.

***

Disembarking didn't begin right away.

Synths swept through the cabin ahead of everyone, revealing storage panels on the upper walls that had gone unnoticed, and started handing out gear with the smooth efficiency of veterans. And as the staff understood, they truly were.

These suits defied all expectations.

'Vac suit' conjured images of NASA's bulky white pressure gear from archived videos, clunky shapes crafted to sustain human life in voids it was never designed for.

The items distributed by the Synths bore no resemblance to those.

Slim and shadowy, the suits clung tightly to the body, hinting that their framework was embedded within the fabric itself. The helmet locked onto the collar with a single decisive click, forming an airtight seal without extra fiddling. Gloves felt paper-thin, allowing full freedom of hand motion.

Synths progressed through the cabin, inspecting each individual—collar seals, glove attachments, overall suit condition. No orders came to self-inspect. They simply verified, tweaked as required, and continued onward.

An occupational therapist gazed down at her suited figure. It showed scarcely any added bulk.

"This is it?" she wondered aloud.

"Yes," replied the nearest Synth. "The suit regulates pressure and temperature on its own. No management needed from you."

Boots followed next.

Magnetic boots came separately, slipping over the suit's lower legs with a firm lock that Synths demoed once before circling to confirm proper attachment on all. Heavier than the suits, they featured a visible dark panel in the soles for the magnetic tech.

"Activation," declared the lead Synth to the group, pivoting to face them. "Strike heels together once to engage the magnets. Do it again to disengage. It toggles on and off."

A handful tested it at once. Heel strikes echoed sporadically across the cabin, chased by the faint hum of magnetic fields activating—not a harsh tug, but a newfound grip beneath the feet.

A translator glanced at her boots, then at the Synth. "Does it work on all surfaces in the base?"

"All floor surfaces in the base are compatible," the Synth confirmed. "Keep them off in pressurized areas. They're just for crossing the bay safely."

With everyone inspected and cleared, the lead Synth approached the cabin door.

"Follow your seating order. Stick close in the bay. Pressurized hatch waits at the opposite end."

The door slid open.

Bay air hit with an unnatural chill and stillness, nothing like earthly cold—no gusts, no moisture, pure uniformity.

Staff descended from the shuttle one after another, boots clamping firmly to the floor, low lunar gravity lending an eerie wrongness to the solidity. Weight existed, yet felt profoundly alien to their experience.

They clustered loosely by the shuttle and scanned their surroundings.

The bay sprawled enormously.

Its ceiling towered so high the shuttle below appeared balanced, not confined—a scale the mind grasped gradually.

Walls stretched beyond clear sight in either direction, bathed in that constant white glow seen from orbit. The floor gleamed spotless and seamless, dark material polished smooth.

Ceiling, walls, floor—none of these halted them.

The other shuttles did.

Rows of them lined both bay sides, fading into the depths where distant ones blurred. Identical to their arrival craft—dark hulls, sleek contours, pristine lines—yet dozens strong, all docked precisely alike.

Staff stood silent, tallying rows until the count swelled endlessly farther on.

The Toronto physical therapist, who had laughed at the JFK touchdown, boarded first, sensed the chill signaling her departure—now she stared at the shuttle ranks, speechless for a stretched moment.

Finally, she murmured: "There's so many of them."

The head chef stood next to her. He'd quit at thirty. Far more than thirty waited.

The five-language translator eyed the rows, their shuttle, then the rows again.

"The world believes the livestreams revealed it all," she declared. "The spacecraft we witnessed. The flights. That was intended as the complete view of their capabilities."

Her eyes returned to the rows.

"That wasn't the whole story."

No one challenged her words.

The lead Synth halted its steps and pivoted back toward the group. It stood patiently, allowing the staff time to scan the bay and absorb the astonishing sight, before proceeding once their focus shifted back. Then it faced forward anew.

"This way," it instructed.

They trailed behind.

Boots gripped and released from the bay floor with a soft, steady beat as they advanced, the magnetic grips operating seamlessly without conscious effort. Shuttles lined the sides in endless rows. Silence hung heavy during the traverse.

At the bay's distant end, a spacious hatch embedded in the wall awaited — sized perfectly for the group's easy passage, bordered by the pristine material matching the rest of the bay. A steady green light shone above it.

The lead Synth came to a stop before the hatch, swiveling to confront them once more prior to activating it.

"Past this threshold, the base maintains full pressurization and an Earth-like atmosphere. Helmets can be removed right away on the far side. Staff awaits in the reception zone." A brief pause followed. "Welcome to Lunar Base Sanctuary."

The hatch slid open.

Warm air wafted out to greet them ahead of the view inside, and they crossed the threshold one after another.