Off-shore, the air fleet of less-dilapidated Aurora Transports was just flying lazily towards their drop point behind Japanese lines. The hum of the engines were partly muffled by the amount of wooden planks used to mend those components, leaving the more noisy chatter of Filipino soldiers unli-calling their families with their personal, individual cellphones.

But these weren't just simple cellphones, they were rugged, military-grade cellphones specially made to provided short-range encrypted transmissions and long-range family calls at the same time. Each one, before being packaged, has been tested for durability by angry wives throwing them, tested for waterproofing by being repeatedly dunked in 'simulated' barracks toilet bowls, and…

And then all calls were cut. Text messages couldn't be sent, nor received either. The incessant chatter of issues personal and domestic was replaced by the beep-beep-beep-beep of keypads as the soldiers tried to reconnect with their families, friends, mistresses, and acquaintances. For a few minutes.

After that, there was an uproar truly terrifying, as hundreds of troops began complaining about how their cellphone service provider did not take extra security measures for all the load they accumulated from the Filipino masses. But then, none, not even one of the three major cellphone service providers had signal. From the aft of the airship emerged Commander Mabini, also looking disgruntled.

"All right, who tripped on the cable?" He had the same problem of lack of wireless communication, and was using the airship's telecom to listen to a boxing match. He had just bet the tattered family manor with ground control, and is really eager to know if he gets to keep his bullet-riddled house, or lose it. "WHO TRIPPED ON THE…"

The chaps at ground control noticed that Commander Mabini's airship fleet lost radio contact. "They finally gone at last, isn't it? Told you those airships were rubbish."

"True, but the enemy Decimator device still stands as a threat. Got any other proposal on how to deal with it?"

"None, general."

"How about the proposed All-Filipino Ultimate Weapon/Tourist Destination?"

"Er, none still sir. They have had no progress ever since internet is lost."

Just then, Turiano Carpio walked up to those distressed generals. Motioning towards the door, there stood the philosopher's lovely secretary, holding a CD. Its case was labeled "Nihilating Proof", in the elegant German Bold Italic typeface.

The junior general growled. "So, philosopher, what is that supposed to be, eh?"

The philosopher plugged a cellphone to his laptop, also with a sound file named 'Nihilating Proof'. He then dialed some number, and the phone was answered.

"Herro? Imperriaw Japanese Psionic Decimator Facility speeking. Whoo is thiis?"

The philosopher then played the Nihilating Proof sound file, motioning to the giant TV screen focused on the Psionic Decimator. The generals looked at the Psionic Decimator, and the surrounding buildings. The superweapon seemed to waver a bit, its image in the camera becoming more and more blurred as if in a photograph at the horror movie The Ring, right down to the odd view of the surrounding units and buildings still looking unaffected. Finally, the blurring disappeared, together with the rest of the Psionic Decimator. The philosopher then called another number, and another, and then another, until one by one the surrounding structures blurred until they all disappeared as well, leaving only the people inside those buildings. The Psionic Decimator receptionist was still going "Herro, herro, herro...whoo is thiis..." until she noticed that she was hung up. In mid-air.

"How humane, Mr. Carpio."

Japanese people hovered for a while wondering how they got up there (or how did the walls and roof and floor disappear around them, which is more accurate), then fell down crumpled on the soil where the ground floor was. They were janitors, scientists, young recruits, and such and so who were working on the upper floors of their respective buildings when magically (or philosophically, which is more precise) the floors beneath them disappeared, together with the rest of the building. While the fall wasn't very painful for some of the lower buildings, the Philippine High Command witnessed some Japanese geek on the upper floor of the Nanotech Mainframe plummeting, while at the bottom there was a man practicing his katana skills while falling as well, while beneath both of them a Japanese soldier was practicing on how to hold the Imperial flag rigidly upward. Ouch. So in total, a sizable chunk of the base was destroyed, or rather, blurred out of existence, leaving nothing more than wounded, shocked, horrified, or just downright confused desk duty people wondering what the hell just happened.

The junior officer just had to ask. "So, philosopher, what the hell just happened?" The philosopher shot an annoyed look at him, wordlessly expressing great doubts if that junior officer was in any of his Military Philosophy classes, or just some bastard who got his position by being relative or friends with anybody in Philippine High Command. "Padrino system…"

The senior officer had to butt in. "Don't you get it, it's the application of what's-that-lesson-again…anyway…what just happened is that those buildings have been disproved out of existence."

Commander Ninja and the unremarkable commander were eating together with Admiral 898 in the stealthily-hidden Imperial V.I.P. bunker nearby. Or rather, Admiral 898 was just there doing nothing except for watching at its co-commanders feed, silently proving to itself that siliceous life forms such as itself are far more superior than their organic counterparts, such as these two Homo sapiens Japanese commanders near him. Meanwhile, the unremarkable commander was sharing on how he met this hot Rocket Angel at the Imperial Army Morale-Raiser Party the other night, and how she seems to dig him, and that he should take his chance because he is rarely noticed anywhere, even at high school dances and promenades… Commander Ninja just nodded, visible bored and uninterested since no one invited him for fear that he would destroy the dance floor with his kickass dance moves and his gigantic DevilCoat. "Besides, I'm a ninja. No one could see me dance because no one could see me, especially in such a dark place." the handicapped commander assured himself. The unremarkable commander seemed oblivious or blissfully unaware to that fact about the guy he's speaking to, and chatted on and on, much to the ninja commander's growing disdain.

"1010. What is happening to the Psionic Decimator Facility? It's…swirling. 1011."

"Heh, admiral, you must be high on…hemp oil or whatever you use to operate.", quipped the ninja commander.

"Admiral, you're destroying a good conversation. Recheck your optics, maybe it's just damage from that stupid videogame programmed into your memory."

"1010. It's real. Check for yourselves. 1011."

"Oh…my…Emperor."