The United Nations assembly hall was silent.
Hundreds of delegates sat in their curved rows beneath the high, arched ceiling, flags of every nation hanging like watchful sentinels along the walls. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and nervous anticipation. Cameras from every major network in the world trained their unblinking eyes on the central podium.
One man stepped up—cameras flashed from a distance. Step after step fell behind the man's feet as the podium came closer with each step.
The muscular, dark-skinned giant stepped up to the podium. Tosin Oladeji, Head Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Federal Republic of Okopo. His dark suit was immaculate. He placed both hands on the edges of the podium, steady, patient. The lights caught the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, but his voice, when it came, was clear and resonant, carrying through every speaker in the hall.
"Distinguished delegates,
Ladies and gentlemen,"
He looked directly forward—to a camera pointed at him.
"People of Earth."
"Yesterday, in the city of Rengappon, our world changed forever.
We were not prepared.
And because of that, hundreds paid the ultimate price."
Whispered murmurs rippled throughout the chamber. Oladeji waited.
Then continued.
"Today, I stand before you not as a representative of any single nation, but as the Director of a global organisation born not from politics, but for Earth's survival. The Ministry of Extraterrestrial Investigation. Our mandate is simple: to understand the threat, prepare for it, and ensure that humanity never stands alone again."
He paused, letting the weight settle.
"MEI is not a weapon. It is not a shield for one country alone. It is a bridge. A shared intelligence. A unified front. We have already begun the work—analysing the technology left behind and developing ways to protect every life on this planet."
Tosin leaned forward slightly, his gaze sweeping the hall.
"But we cannot do this alone.
I am here today to ask — no, to urge — every nation represented in this room to join us. Share your intelligence. Share your resources. Share your brightest minds. In return, MEI will share everything we learn. No secrets. No borders. No exceptions.
Because the next time they come—and they will come—they will not ask whether you are Neponese, Troisine, Hispanitine, or Okopan. They will see one species.
Humanity.
And we must be ready to answer as one."
The hall was utterly still.
Tosin straightened, voice ringing with quiet conviction.
"History will remember this moment. Not for the invasion that nearly broke us, but for the choice we make today."
He raised his fist in the air.
"Join us, pledge your support for humanity's sword and shield."
The silence held for one heartbeat.
Then the applause began—slow at first, then rising, swelling, until the entire hall was on its feet. Not all of them. But enough.
Tosin Oladeji remained standing at the podium, fist still raised. Cameras flashed.
As the symphony of applause rang, a different symphony played above the atmosphere: the low thuds of artillery fire, the wailing cries of fighters spiralling before erupting in a ball of fire.
Flames of purple light emanated from George, drifting through space as he moved.
He noticed it.
Zoom! Zoom! Zoom!
Fighters dashed past him—orbiting him like a hurricane, analysing his every move.
This… aura, emanating off of me—He began to think—what is it?
He waved his arm. An arc blasted through the vacuum of space.
An unfortunate fighter made contact with it.
It crumbled in on itself, exploding into scrap.
George looked at his hand—it glowed, pulsating a bright sapphire that flowed like currents from his wrist to his shoulder.
He flicked his wrist outward.
A wave of warmth travelled down his arm to his fingertips. A string of energy uncoiled from his hand, blooming into a violet ball of gas.
It struck another ship—it burst.
That warmth.
He remembered it.
Controlling it, he moved it around his body.
His chest,
His arms,
His feet.
Euphoria.
His head went light—it felt incredible. He'd never felt so much control in his life; godlike power in the palm of his hand. He curled backwards, eyes rolled back. He embraced the warmth enveloping him.
The fighters watched—too afraid to make the first move.
But it didn't matter.
Because within moments, George was gone.
Along with the ships, now chunks of metal and glass floating through space.
A hole carved in a cruiser's carrier bay.
Boxes, ships and engineers flew out of the hole. Blue light appeared, covering the hole. Everything crashed down.
In front of the hole, stood George.
The space was cavernous—rows of fighters lined up like silver teeth. Crew in black armour turned as one. Weapons snapped up. Alarms screamed.
George didn't wait.
He tucked both hands into his chest. Warmth burned hot like fire—concentrated in his core.
He threw his arms out—the warmth diffused across his body.
The purple aura exploded outward—a perfect sphere of violet force.
Every fighter in the bay crumpled inward. Metal shrieked as hulls folded like wet paper. The crew was flung against walls, then through them. Conduits ruptured in gouts of orange fire. The entire hangar was a wreckage in seconds, glowing white-hot at the edges.
George didn't leave straight away. He scanned the chaos of his own creation in silence for a moment. Alarms continued to ring.
He felt nothing,
Except powerful.
He left—reappeared above the cruiser.
He raised his hands like a conductor lifting a baton before the orchestra, fingers extended, palms open to the stars. The violet energy gathered in his core—swirling, building in rhythmic waves.
The first blast fired from his right hand—a lance of amethyst light.
It pierced the carrier's bow with no resistance, slicing clean through the hull plating like a violin bow drawing across strings.
George's left hand swept low—a second blast, broader, like a cello's deep hum. It struck the carrier's midsection, burrowing into the engineering core.
The impact resonated through the vessel: bulkheads buckled inward with a low groan, then erupted in a cascade of fire.
Sparks danced outward in stuttering arcs, like notes scattering from a frantic melody.
He tilted his head slightly, as though listening to an invisible score. His right hand flicked upward—a third blast, sharp and staccato.
It smashed the bridge above him, shattering the command module in a brilliant shatter of glass and steel.
The cruiser convulsed—its spine warping under the assault.
George's left hand drew a slow, sweeping arc, conducting a final, crescendo blast from both palms.
Violet energy converged into a single beam, thick as a tree trunk—slammed into the vessel's heart.
The core reactor detonated in a silent, blinding fury: orange plasma bloomed outward in a perfect sphere, consuming the hull from within.
Metal vaporised in layers,
Bow melted like wax,
Midsection crumpled into molten scrap,
Stern twisted into glowing ribbons that spun away into the void.
Moments later, the detonation expanded beyond the ship's interior.
Large chunks of the carcass were hurled.
Small, delicate fighters were shattered.
A large chunk smashed into a nearby destroyer, causing a low, ringing scream as metal was bent to its limit. Sparks spattered before flames erupted.
The destroyer turned. The burning carcass retreated.
The fleets began to warp in swarms. Within seconds, they were all gone, leaving George alone in silence, forced to face the aftermath of his destruction.
Chunks of scrap floated in the air—frozen corpses followed. George stared, first silently—then it kicked in.
I… did this…? He thought.
A hunk of the smashed destroyer passed in front of him. From the corridors and rooms of the chunk's interior, drifted cold, lifeless corpses—rotating in a frozen, solid piece.
George averted his eyes swiftly—rotating his whole body 180º in an instant. He closed his eyes—relaxed—then descended.
The black surrounding him faded—bleeding into blue.
The atmosphere returned to him, comforting. The air around him in space felt hollow, like he was walking on nothing. The air felt thick now—it graced his skin.
The city grew below him. Towers still stood tall, but the streets didn't move—silence. He planted his feet on the ground—it felt strange every time. The sapphire enveloping George faded—the warmth disappeared. He looked at his hands to see that they were their normal fleshy tone.
But they were shaky. Why? I saved the city, he thought. But something didn't sit right… the bodies he saw—the ones he created. His stomach knotted in a way he'd never felt before. He hunched over and leaned against the wall beside him in the dim alleyway. The bricks felt cold, yet he felt his hand burning—blood dripped down. George winced. But his fingers dug deep into the bricks.
I saved one species… by sacrificing another.
"Is this really the right thing?!" He called to the heavens.
Silence… The voice that urged him to chase did not respond.
He hung his head low, eyes pressed shut tightly.
"Why won't you tell me anything…" he whispered, "What's going on?"
YOU SAVED THE ONES YOU LOVE
That splitting pain. George burrowed his fingers deeper into the bricks, cracking under the pressure.
"But I killed so many…"
YOU HAD TO.
THEY WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME TO EVERYONE.
MAYBE EVEN WORSE.
RAISE YOUR HEAD HIGH, GEORGE, YOU MADE A SACRIFICE FOR THE GOOD OF YOUR PLANET.
FOR EVERYONE YOU LOVE.
"Dammit," George grunted.
He grit his teeth—raised his head. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out from the bricks. Debris crumbled down as his fingers—covered in blood—slipped out of the holes. He raised the blood-soaked hand to his face.
Smoke fizzled from the wounds—it felt like his hands would burst into flames. The many cuts in his hand sealed shut. Blood evaporated.
He walked, hands buried in his pockets. He traced the same steps he once walked beside Krista, along streets that lay barren. The walk felt agonisingly longer than it had before.
"What are you doing out on the streets?" An officer called to George, "You should be inside. Do you have any idea what's going on?"
The officer ran up to George, who stood expressionless with his hands still in his pockets.
"Where do you live? I'll escort you back safely."
"It's fine—"
"The hell it is, where do you live?"
"The Linton Road student accommodation."
The officer dragged George along; he didn't resist.
"If you've been out here, you must've seen it." The officer mentioned.
"The ship?"
"Yeah, and if you looked closely, it looked like fireworks were going on."
"Really, I… wasn't paying too much attention."
The officer snorted, "So what the hell were you doing out here? whatever. Apparently, the guy who chased it was the same one from in Rengappon."
"You don't seem very concerned about what happened." George pointed out.
He chuckled, raised his hand. It trembled fiercely. Yet his smile betrayed the fear his hand so clearly displayed.
"I just want to go home—give my daughter a big hug. However, I have to ensure that the people on the streets are safe. This smile makes them feel safe knowing they've got people to rely on."
He pointed to the sky.
"And in my opinion, as long as we've got… whatever that purple guy is, we'll be just fine."
George looked down at his feet, taking shuffled steps forward. A gentle warmth wrapped his heart.
YOU SEE GEORGE.
George winced—kept it hidden from the officer.
YOUR POWER—YOUR SACRIFICE—ENSURED THAT THIS MAN COULD SEE HIS DAUGHTER AGAIN.
But what about there's? He thought.
GEORGE, IN THIS WORLD—UNFORTUNATELY—IT'S YOU OR THEM.
The officer escorted him back to the flat.
"You stay safe now, alright."
The officer waved as he walked. George waved back gently. Then he turned around—wrapped his fingers around the cold door handle. Tugged.
Creak,
Slam!
George stumbled to the door of his room. Gripped the door handle. But he was interrupted by the sound of muffled footsteps that smacked against the floor hurriedly. One of the doors clicked—Krista's. Slammed open.
"George? Where the hell did you go?" Krista's voice echoed throughout the corridor.
His hand gripped the handle tighter. His eyes couldn't meet hers, no matter how hard he tried—he closed his eyes.
"I'm… sorry, Krista."
"Sorry… is that it?" she sighed, arms crossed, "We've only known each other for about a month now, but I still care about you… It's like you're hiding something, George."
He ground his teeth behind closed lips.
"I… Everything… I just had to go see if my family was safe…" George bumbled the words out through lips that fought against them.
Krista closed her eyes. Her crossed arms released, dropping to her sides slowly, one hand grasping the door.
"I guess I've got no grounds to pry… I hope everything was alright… your family… that is."
A gentle smile formed on her lips, but her eyes remained low, shifting to Georges for only a moment. Then she opened the door, stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.
George followed suit, then rested his head against it. He looked to the ceiling, eyes shut. Swallowed. Sighed.
Why do I put myself through this? He thought.
He sat down on his bed and opened his laptop. The blue screen blared.
In another part of the city—a high-rise apartment just outside the city—a room was a midnight blue, illuminated only by the blaring blue light of the TV. The curtains were drawn shut, stopping any sunlight from entering.
On the worn-down leather sofa, lay Tom, flicking through channels on the TV. A notification rang on his phone. He grabbed it. The message glinted in his eyes for a second before he switched the phone off again.
"Let's go out? The world almost ended, and he wants to go out?"
Tom laughed. The leather moaned as he leaned back on the armrest of the sofa.
"I guess no matter what happens, the world just keeps spinning."