Then the feed cut.
Blackout
Emergency lights flickered on. Screens died mid-sentence.
For the first time in hours, the newsroom was quiet.
Outside, sirens wailed—not in panic, but in coordination.
Maya stood in the dark, heart pounding, unsure whether she’d just helped save the world or push it closer to the edge.
Her phone buzzed one last time before the signal vanished.
UNKNOWN CONTACT:
Now you see it. Help us stop it.
Elsewhere
Deep underground, hands hovered over keys.
In bunkers and boardrooms, people argued about red lines that had already been crossed.
And across the planet, billions of humans looked up at the same sky, finally understanding the same terrible truth:
The war had begun.
Not with fire.
But with a decision.
Epilogue: 23:59 GMT
The day did not end.
No mushroom clouds. No surrender. Just a world holding its breath, waiting to see whether the next move would be made by a person—or a machine.
Somewhere, Maya prepared her next broadcast.
Because if this was the Story Of The Day, tomorrow would demand another.
And history, once awakened, does not go back to sleep.
