Chapter Two
The World Hears the Same Voice
The voice did not fade.
It did not echo through air or travel through speakers.
It did not belong to sound at all.
It belonged to something deeper.
It entered every mind on Earth at once—bypassing language, bypassing distance, bypassing disbelief.
A fisherman alone on a quiet sea froze, nearly dropping his net.
A child in a classroom looked up, tears forming without knowing why.
A prisoner in solitary confinement pressed his hands against the walls, trembling.
A dying old woman in a hospital bed smiled faintly, as if she had been waiting.
A president surrounded by guards went pale.
No one was spared.
No one was chosen.
It was simply… absolute.
"For five thousand years…"
The planet held its breath.
In apartments, people dropped their phones.
On highways, cars swerved as drivers screamed and clutched their heads.
In the silence between heartbeats, humanity realized the same impossible truth:
This voice was not coming from outside.
It was inside them.
"I sent signs," the voice continued.
"I sent messengers."
Zheng Wen Te
In one dim apartment, Zheng Wen Te sat completely still.
The cigarette between his fingers had burned down to ash, scorching his skin.
He did not flinch.
His eyes were fixed on the crooked family photograph, but he wasn't seeing it.
He was listening.
The voice was not loud.
It didn't need to be.
It pressed against his soul like a mountain.
"For five thousand years…" it repeated.
And something in Zheng Wen Te twisted bitterly.
Five years of failure had destroyed him.
Five thousand years of humanity had disappointed… Heaven.
He let out a sound that was almost a laugh.
Of course.
Of course the universe noticed now.
The First Panic
At first, humanity did what it always did when faced with the impossible.
It tried to explain it away.
In New York, a woman stumbled out of a café, shaking.
"Did you hear that?"
Her friend forced a laugh.
"Some kind of broadcast prank, maybe…"
But the laughter died quickly.
The entire street had gone still.
Hundreds of people stood frozen, staring upward—not at the sky, but at nothing.
Listening.
All listening.
In Beijing, a subway train screeched to a halt between stations.
The lights flickered.
Passengers screamed as the voice entered their skulls.
In London, a news anchor stopped mid-sentence, lips trembling.
In Mumbai, traffic became a sea of horns and terror.
In Tokyo, thousands stood in perfect silence, discipline shattered by something too vast.
Across the world, one truth emerged:
This was not technology.
This was not terrorism.
This was not imagination.
The voice was everywhere.
And it was real.
Even the deaf heard it.
Even astronauts orbiting Earth turned sharply, choking on breath, because the voice followed them beyond the planet.
There was nowhere to run.
The Governments Awaken
In Washington, the Situation Room erupted.
Screens lit up with frantic reports.
Military advisors shouted over one another.
"Satellite interference?"