After everything was over—the shaking, the loud voices, the thud every time—it was all gone.

  But the aftermath was heinous.

  Out of Earth’s entire population:

  5.44 billion people were fine.

  1.04 billion were dead.

  1.52 billion were injured, barely clinging to life.

  It sounded like a win, statistically.

  But those numbers didn’t walk on broken bones.

  They didn’t sleep beside corpses.

  They didn’t carry the guilt of still being alive.

  The weather was calm, clear—like a perfect day in spring. Birds chirped. The sky glowed blue.

  But it felt wrong. the sky and land said two different things. Clear sky but broken land.

  Because beneath that sky…

  the earth was cracked. Roads snapped. Buildings tilted.

  The land was a graveyard pretending to be okay.

  People—those who could—helped pull others out of the rubble.

  They carried strangers. They cried over family.

  Hospitals that still stood became flooded with bodies—some breathing, some not.

  Doctors with bandaged arms and stitched faces didn’t stop.

  Even bleeding, they moved from room to room.

  Even limping, they stitched and saved.

  And because of their stubbornness,

  because of their refusal to rest,

  almost all of that 1.52 billion survived—

  all around the globe.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  But survival didn’t mean peace.

  World leaders called for another online meeting,

  trying to piece together what had happened.

  The screens flickered.

  Some cameras didn’t turn on—likely dead.

  Others just stared. Blank. Tired.

  The discussion was short and pointless.

  The only thing passed around was more bad news.

  Experts said the skies were clear, the disasters were over.

  “But based on what just happened,” one expert mumbled,

  “we… we can’t be sure.”

  Then came a rushed report from NASA.

  Their voice crackled through the call.

  “There’s something new. A change in the Earth.

  We don’t know what it is yet, but we’re tracking it.

  We’ll report once we know more.”

  And just like that, the meeting was adjourned.

  The screen went black.

  ---

  Ohare sat back in his chair,

  his hands still, his face unreadable.

  But he was furious.

  He didn’t throw anything.

  Didn’t shout.

  He simply said, “Connect me to Henry.”

  The butler nodded and did as asked.

  A broken screen flickered back on.

  There was Henry.

  Surrounded by shadows.

  A room with no furniture, barely lit.

  A bunker, Ohare realized.

  Typical. Safe.

  Henry didn’t waste time.

  “We did our best, Mr. President,” he said. “But time was cut short. Before we could reach the source, the disasters hit.”

  Ohare tapped his finger on the desk,

  slow and sharp.

  Then he snapped.

  “So, all that talk was for thi—”

  Henry interrupted.

  “Stop being foolish. It’s not like it was your loss. If anything, it was mine.

  So how about we look ahead?”

  That silenced Ohare.

  Henry saw it.

  He leaned forward, as if catching a fish.

  With a subtle smile, he glanced at the man behind his laptop.

  The man stood at the corner of the room, gesturing to continue.

  Henry spoke. “We’ve encountered new things. We’ve taken full rights over them. They’re probably results of the recent disasters.

  But theory requires proof. We’re still looking for that.”

  “We don’t know what their use is yet,” Henry added. “But you know how ambitious people are.

  They always find a use.”

  He leaned back and, with that, ended the call.

  It wasn’t a request.

  It was a warning, wrapped in charm.

  With the world in chaos, the hierarchical system had been crushed.

  No one was below. No one was above.

  Both suffered the same.

  Ohare stared at the blank screen.

  He wanted answers.

  Even if incomplete.

  Even if painful.

  Henry had those answers—and that meant Henry held power.

  And Ohare hated it.

  He hated being the one who listened.

  The one who waited.

  He clenched his fists under the table.

  Deep down, he knew—

  he was just a rat, stringing through Henry’s maze.

  ---

  Back in the bunker, Henry leaned in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

  The man stepped into view—calm, unreadable.

  Henry looked at him.

  “Well?” he asked.

  The man replied quietly; his slightly deep voice buzzed in the closed room.

  “Two animal species. A few plants. One mineral. Possibly more, but that’s all for now.”

  Henry hesitated.

  He wanted to ask.

  But the man already knew.

  He cut him off with a single sentence:

  “No. Those animals are dangerous.”

  Henry looked disappointed.

  But he nodded.

  If he said so, there had to be a reason.

  The man turned to leave.

  “See you later, Nova,” Henry said casually.

  Nova paused.

  He didn’t turn, but his lips moved—just slightly.

  A soft, faint smile.

  “Yes. See you soon, Henry.”

  And with that, he was gone.