The early 30th century brought with it a feverish surge in technological ambition. Nations sprinted toward military supremacy, forging weapons with the heat of desperation. Nuclear arms became the new currency of power. War was no longer a distant threat — it loomed like a storm on the event horizon.
Tensions escalated. Russia and the United Nations teetered on the edge of open conflict. But it was America, above all, that dared to build something unspeakable — a final gamble. A weapon not of strategy, but of spite. A newly engineered atomic bomb.
There was only one problem: nowhere on Earth could contain such devastation.
Then came an offhand, sarcastic comment from a NASA worker— a joke, barely more than a whisper — and yet it rippled like a tremor through the command chain. Within days, the unthinkable became policy.
The newly developed atomic bomb, dubbed Deospoena (Latin for "God's Punishment"), was launched toward Andromeda I — a galaxy over two million light-years away. While some warned that launching an untested weapon across galaxies was dangerous, political leaders assured the public there was no risk. After all, Andromeda I was far enough away. Right?
Wrong.
Deospoena veered off course and struck the Large Magellanic Cloud.
Hitting SN 1987A, the closest recorded type II supernova that once resided in the Large Magellanic Cloud. In its wake now stands a giant black hole.
Unknown to the researchers the bomb was thermonuclear — the kind of bomb that fuses hydrogen atoms into helium, resulting in an explosion. Coincidentally, the same process by which dying stars burn out, and sometimes turn into black holes.
Unfortunately for nearby planets, the detonation triggered a chain reaction that led to the artificial creation of a black hole.
The room, once filled with celebration and joy, now seemed dim and foreboding — a sorrowful reminder of what had just occurred. Only hours ago, Agnes had celebrated the successful launch of Deospoena. But the joy was short-lived. Minutes later, she and her team stood pale-faced, stunned.
Fuck. I'm definitely going to get fired, Agnes thought.
As the lead of the Space Operations Mission Directorate, Agnes was ultimately responsible for the mission's outcome, not only as the head of her department, but as the person who had suggested it.
Silence fell as every head turned toward her. Her crew stared, waiting for her to say something.
"Agnes, do—" a crew member began, only to be cut off by the booming voice of an older man.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU JUST DID?" he bellowed.