WHITE HOUSE PRESS CONFERENCE — EARTH [THE TOMORROW WAR]
A few hours later — 2021
The press hall was a storm of noise long before the cameras went live.
Reporters from across the states pressed shoulder to shoulder, their voices overlapping into a single, anxious hum.
The whir of camera rigs, the telescoping of lenses, and the sharp scent of ozone from the lights filled the air — a suffocating symphony of urgency, as though the entire planet were holding its breath.
CLIK. CLIK. CLIK. CLIK.
The rhythm of heels striking marble echoed through the hall — crisp, deliberate, commanding silence like a metronome cutting through chaos.
Press Secretary Elaine Porter stepped up to the podium.
She was a woman who understood stagecraft. Mid-forties. Immaculately composed. Sharp auburn hair pulled into a sleek knot that revealed the cold geometry of her face. Her suit — charcoal-grey, tailored with military precision — caught the camera lights with a faint blue sheen. The small pearls at her ears gleamed, chosen not for vanity but authority. Her posture was straight, and her gaze was steady, though shadowed with exhaustion and the weight of what she had been briefed to conceal.
Behind her, the Seal of the President of the United States hung prominently, flanked by the flags of hastily aligned allies — the U.K., Japan, France, Germany, and Australia.
A tableau of global unity — or at least, the performance of it.
Elaine placed her notes upon the podium with ritual care.
She drew in a steady breath, concealing the tremor in her hands beneath the stillness of habit.
On cue, the red light above the main camera blinked on.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."
Her voice carried firm but reassuring warmth — a tone White House staffers privately called the mother's calm.
"As many of you are aware, earlier today an unprecedented diplomatic engagement occurred on American soil — specifically within the secure perimeter of the Pentagon.
This meeting was conducted under direct authorization from the President of the United States and under the observation of several international agencies."
She paused — as all good Press Secretaries were trained to do — letting the words echo across millions of living rooms.
Cameras flashed.
FLIK. FLIK. FLIK. FLIK!
"In accordance with the administration's commitment to transparency," she continued, "we can now confirm that contact has been made with an extraterrestrial delegation."
Her tone did not rise; she spoke as if reading a quarterly report, not rewriting human history.
"Contrary to public speculation," she added, "there was no act of hostility, and no threat to national or planetary security at any stage. The event was peaceful, measured, and diplomatic in nature."
she paused and let her words sync in.
The room erupted — overlapping voices and chairs scraping
A CNN reporter stood — a name could be seen on his badge. Daniel Keaton. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, a clean-cut and the archetype of composure. His hand, however, trembled slightly as he raised it.
Elaine gave a small nod.
The cameras pivoted toward him.
"Madam Secretary — can you elaborate on the delegation's origin? Are they… from within the solar system?"
"Their exact point of origin is still being evaluated. We are working closely with NASA and the Department of Defense to understand the scientific context of their arrival. What matters most is that their intent was not aggressive."
Her tone was even, but her eyes flicked briefly toward the Defense aide behind her — checking, silently, that she had not crossed a forbidden line.
Hands shot up immediately.
She gestured to a young woman in the second row — ink-stained fingers, half-buttoned blazer, eyes bright with caffeine and adrenaline.
"Thank you, Madam Secretary. Ahem — were they humanoid in appearance?"
"Yes," Elaine said. "They appeared broadly human, though with certain physiological differences that have not yet been confirmed. Our experts believe they were wearing some form of breathing apparatus. Again, I want to emphasize — they were peaceful and cooperative."
A faint smile crossed her lips, perfectly measured — genuine enough for the cameras, hollow enough for those who knew better.
The young woman scribbled fast, eyes darting to her photographer: Get that line.
An older man in a rumpled beige suit rose next. His voice rasped with suspicion.
"There are reports of armed soldiers — both ours and theirs — at the site. Was there, at any point, a standoff?"
"What occurred was a standard security protocol," Elaine replied. "Our forces acted professionally, as did theirs. As the circulating images will show, there were no hostile escalations. The parties involved exhibited mutual respect and patience."
"Madam Secretary! Charles Dean, FOX News Channel 23!"
His tone boomed across the hall as he stood without consent.
"Is it true, ma'am, that their leader demanded to speak to the 'planetary governor'? What does that imply?" he asked
"There was a linguistic misunderstanding," she answered, calm and clipped. "Cultural differences are natural in any first-contact scenario. What matters is that the conversation was resolved amicably, and the delegation recognized the President as Earth's representative for diplomatic purposes."
Her cadence was perfect — rehearsed, almost word for word.
She moved on swiftly, scanning the raised hands like a commander assessing a battlefield.
A man in a grey sweater, glasses fogged from nerves, spoke next.
"Do they plan to return to their world? Or… remain on Earth?"
Elaine let silence hang, the weight of it drawing every ear toward her.
"I'm not authorized to speculate," she said finally. "However, both parties agreed to continued dialogue under secure conditions. The administration's position remains one of caution — and cooperation."
Her voice softened, motherly again, carrying a practiced rhythm of reassurance.
"We urge the public to remain calm. The government has long-established protocols for such events — some dating back decades. There is no reason for panic, and no basis for the conspiracy theories already circulating online."
Her tone smoothed chaos into obedience.
Every word sounded like a lullaby laced with sedatives.
Then, from the back of the hall — a sharper, younger voice cut through.
"Madam Secretary!"
A reporter barely out of college — Maya Thorne, The Atlantic — stood clutching her microphone like a weapon.
Her brown eyes were wide, pupils dilated with fear and urgency.
"Can you confirm the speculation that these extraterrestrials have any form of connection to the future crises?" she asked.
A sudden hush fell.
Even the cameras stopped clicking.
Elaine froze. Her eyes flicked upward — as if hearing something inaudible.
Then came the faintest smile — calm, practiced, deliberate.
"Yes," she said slowly. "It has been confirmed — they have nothing to do with the war."
Each word landed like a stone in still water.
Then, swiftly:
Elaine gathered her papers.
"I apologize, but this is all the time I have to answer your questions. The President will address the nation in due course. For now, let me be absolutely clear — this event marks not a threat, but an opportunity. The United States, in cooperation with our allies, will continue to pursue dialogue with these visitors in the spirit of peace, understanding, and shared progress."
She stepped back from the podium.
The flash storm erupted again.
Questions rose like gunfire.
Microphones thrust forward. Voices merged into chaos.
Security moved quickly to close the session.
Elaine turned her head slightly as she exited — not toward the reporters, but toward the unseen camera lens.
For the briefest second, her expression broke its diplomatic façade.
She looked like a woman who had seen something that should not exist.
And then she was gone.
In homes across the world, millions watched as the broadcast feed
cut to black.