Episode 4: Dear God
Shoyna, Russia
Amidst the pitch-black darkness and a cold so piercing it bit into the bone, Chris soared through the vast emptiness before descending upon a peninsula that jutted out into the immense, frozen sea. The howling gale collided with the thunderous cracking of ice floes, echoing throughout the area like the roar of a deep-sea leviathan ready to swallow everything in its path. It was a terrifying sound, especially for an eighteen-year-old facing the world entirely on his own.
Yet, Chris remained unnervingly calm. He was unfazed by the sub-zero temperatures, even as frost began to cling to his hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes, turning them a stark white. Clad in Grandpa Erik’s heavy coat, Chris stood tall on the cliff's edge, leaving the haunting frozen sea behind him.
He scanned the surroundings; the place was desolate, devoid of any human trace. Only silence and the biting cold were his companions. Chris decided to settle down, sitting cross-legged at that very spot. He slowly closed his eyes, drifting into a state of profound meditation to rest his physical form and begin the process of "absorbing nature’s energy" to replenish his vitality. The pure energy of the frozen world began to flow slowly into his body.
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The Pentagon
Within the austere office of the highest-ranking General of the United States Armed Forces, the atmosphere was thick with tension. A close aide stepped forward, halting before the massive mahogany desk to deliver a report in a firm, resolute voice.
“Sir... President Noldo has issued a Top Secret urgent directive. All units within the U.S. Space Force, along with commanders from every military branch, are to immediately commence joint war games under the codename 'Space Threat'!”
“Since the order has come from the top, reconfigure the battle plans and military protocols at once. Signal all units to transition to the highest state of readiness!” the General barked with uncompromising authority.
The scene shifted to military bases across the United States. Tens of thousands of soldiers moved with frantic energy. Heavy ordnance—tanks, fighter jets, and satellite signal interception arrays—were being mobilized and deployed in a blur of activity. The roar of engines and the staccato of shouted commands echoed throughout the bases. Every branch of the military was bracing for an encounter with something they could not yet fully define.
While the chaos outside reached its zenith...
“Ring... Ring!”
The telephone on the General’s desk pierced through the internal silence. He reached out to answer, listening in grim stillness to the voice on the other end for a long moment. Suddenly, his thick brows furrowed into a tight knot. His expression shifted to one of intense stress and visible burden—as if what he had just learned was far more staggering than the massive war games currently unfolding.
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A World Ablaze: Content or Catastrophe?
While the military mobilized, social media ignited with unbelievable reports from every corner of the globe.
“Yo, look at this! Someone else caught on camera flying... this time in India!” an American teenager on a bus shouted, excitedly shoving his smartphone screen toward his friend.
Meanwhile, at a street-food stall in Bangkok: “Hey, check out this leaked clip! This Chinese guy, dressed like he walked straight out of a Wuxia film, is leaping over the Great Wall with some insane lightness kung fu.” A Thai youth spoke up while waiting for his basil chicken.
“Probably just a movie promo or some influencer content. They make that stuff look so real these days,” his friend replied dismissively, scrolling past the video without a second thought.
But in England... the story took a blood-red, tragic turn. The headline news reached an office in Japan during lunch break.
“A bus explosion in England—everyone on board died... News says it’s the work of Arab terrorists,” a Japanese office lady whispered to her colleagues.
“England deals with that kind of thing all the time, don’t they?” a senior colleague interjected, calmly sipping her tea.
“But the CCTV footage is incredibly eerie, Ma’am,” the junior staffer insisted, quickly pulling up the evidence. “It caught an older Arab man standing by the roadside. As the bus passed, he simply struck a pose—like he was firing a blast from Dragon Ball at the vehicle. There was no visible beam, no light... but the entire bus just disintegrated into ash right there! Shards of metal and human remains flew everywhere... and the strangest part? The man didn't run. He stayed perfectly still, looking chillingly calm, as if he were reciting a prayer amidst the carnage.”
“It’s just AI-generated video to fool people. You really shouldn't believe everything you see,” the senior woman dismissed it with a shake of her head, leaving the younger girl staring at the clip with a cold shiver running down her spine.
Sydney, Australia
A large production crew was busy filming a spectacular magic performance. The act featured a man performing a mid-air levitation, reminiscent of the world-renowned magician Criss Angel. Thick, clearly visible steel cables were attached to the performer's back, slowly hoisting him upward with a massive crane. The magician’s body rose into the sky in a majestic posture—standing straight with arms spread wide—as if he were truly taking flight.
The planted crowds, part of the staged production, began screaming with feigned shock and excitement. “Whoa! How is that even possible?!” they cried, putting on an act of pure disbelief as if they had never seen such a trick before.
However... as the magician hung suspended some 20 to 30 meters above the ground, he looked down at the crew and the gathering spectators with an unreadable gaze.
A split second later... the unthinkable happened!
He suddenly snapped the reinforced steel cables with his bare hands! The sound of metal tearing echoed through the sudden silence. His body began to plummet rapidly, a dead weight falling from the sky! The crew and the onlookers shrieked in absolute terror; some covered their eyes, while others braced themselves for a gruesome impact.
But just before hitting the ground, the man miraculously flipped and soared back upward! He shot into the sky at high speed, vanishing into the clouds within the blink of an eye!
Everyone at the scene stood frozen, eyes wide with utter stupefaction. A dull roar of murmurs began to swell across the area. The faces of the production crew went as white as ghosts. Every single camera on set had captured the entire supernatural event in vivid detail…
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Area 51
“Reports of superhumans are surfacing everywhere since Chris vanished... Some are just fake news chasing clout, but the ones that are real... what the hell is happening to this world?!” the Head of Investigation spat in disbelief, staring at the data cascading across his monitors.
“It’s because your time is up, sir.”
The icy voice echoed from behind him. The chief spun around; his trusted aide, who had stood before him only moments ago, now possessed a hardened gaze, as if he had become an entirely different person.
“The caterpillar has torn through its cocoon... You should join the others in the detention center immediately. We have seized total control of Area 51. Let’s not make this violent, shall we?”
The chief stood frozen, his face pale with a mix of confusion and terror. Suddenly, the staccato of various gunfire erupted rapidly from outside the office. Screams and the sounds of heavy combat raged for a brief moment before two more soldiers kicked the door open, forcing him into handcuffs behind his back.
As he was dragged out into the corridor, the gunfire ceased abruptly. But the sight that met his eyes was far more gruesome. The chief watched in sheer horror...
A soldier stood there with a predatory grin, using an unseen force to choke a loyalist soldier, hoisting him off the floor without even touching him. The hallway was littered with corpses soaked in pools of blood. The wounds were unnatural and grotesque—some bodies were twisted beyond recognition with bones protruding through the skin, others were torn to shreds as if mauled by a Great Beast, and some were charred into blackened husks by intense fire.
The stench of iron-rich blood and burnt flesh hung heavy in the once-orderly halls. Area 51 had been transformed into a slaughterhouse, ruled now by a faction of “Mutants."
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Shoyna, Russia
“Chris... Chris... Chris...”
The voice was faint yet crystal clear. However, it wasn’t the gravelly, aged tone he was accustomed to. Instead, it was the voice of a young boy, sounding unnervingly calm and composed far beyond his years.
“Who’s there?” Chris called back toward the source of the sound within his mind.
“Open your eyes... oh, great Liberator.”
Chris slowly opened his eyes, and the sight before him made him freeze. A small boy, bundled up in a heavy, full-body winter suit, was leaning over, staring directly into his face as he sat in meditation.
“I’m not talking to you telepathically, you idiot!” the boy blurted out.
Chris recoiled in shock. His mind raced—how could this child possess the mannerisms and speech of an adult who had seen the world a thousand times over? And more importantly... why did that insult feel so lingeringly familiar, like a certain someone he knew?
“You need to eat actual food once in a while...” the boy continued in a scolding tone. “Your physical vessel still requires real nutrients, not just elemental energy.”
Chris’s eyes widened even further. How could the phrasing and the train of thought be so identical to his master?!
“Hmph... there isn’t just one butterfly in this world, you idiot!” The boy smirked as if reading his very thoughts. “Fly me over there... if you look, you’ll see the lights from a house. Head straight for that home.”
In that instant, Chris sprang to his feet, driven by a sharp survival instinct. He scrambled backward until he was nearly at the cliff’s edge. The frigid gale lashed at him, sending the frost on his hair swirling into the air, with the haunting frozen sea looming behind him. Chris crouched low, tensing his body in a combat-ready stance.
The eighteen-year-old’s gaze locked onto the mysterious child before him with the utmost suspicion!
“You idiot! Don’t you have enough sense to see that I’m no threat? I’m just a small child, you idiot! Get me out of here now—I’m freezing to death... you idiot!”
The boy barked at him, his voice trembling from the biting cold. His gaze swept over Chris’s frame before locking onto the youth’s chest—right where the six orbs were hidden. He stared for a moment with an unreadable expression.
“We need to get things straight first... who are you? Where did you come from? And why did you—”
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Before Chris could finish, the boy clutched his own chest tightly, his face contorted in agony. “I can’t... take it...” he muttered his final words before sinking to his knees and collapsing in the swirling blizzard right before Chris’s eyes.
The hand clutching his chest slowly relaxed and opened toward Chris... and suddenly, a single orb rolled out from that small palm, falling onto the stark white snow.
“Hey!!! What on earth?!” Chris cried out, his heart racing in shock. How could this child possess an orb identical to his? He rushed to check the boy’s pulse and body, but it was too late. The small frame was ice-cold, the skin blanched into a rigid purple.
“What now, Chris...?” he muttered to himself in a panic, his mind replaying the boy’s last words. Chris decided to scoop the lifeless body into his arms and soared into the sky, scanning the darkness for the mysterious lights the boy had mentioned. His mind churned—how did the child know his name? And whose soul was contained within that orb?
“Wait! I forgot the orb!! Dammit!”
Chris cursed out loud as he realized he’d left the crucial object on the snow. He dived back to the original spot at high speed, snatching up the Seventh Orb and gripping it tight. He then carried the small boy through the blackness once more, searching for that cryptic light... the light the child had traded his life to lead him to.
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The Pentagon
Inside a tactical operations center where the tension was so thick it felt as though the very air had been sucked out, the Commanding General stood with arms crossed, glaring at monitors flooded with global rumors of superpowered individuals.
“Unleash every IO (Information Operation) asset we have worldwide! Divert the narrative by any means necessary. Under no circumstances is the world to believe that these 'superhumans' are real!” the General roared at his subordinates. “You know the drill. Contact the BBC, CNN, and every media outlet under our thumb. Flood the airwaves with counter-misinformation. Bury those stories deep, and do it now!”
The high-ranking officers acknowledged the order with grim expressions, prepared to transform reality into a joke or a misunderstanding overnight.
“And what of Area 51 and NORAD? Any breakthroughs?” the General pressed, his voice sharp.
“Neither Area 51 nor NORAD has found a single trace of that kid, Chris, sir,” one unit leader reported, his voice tinged with nervousness. “However, we are currently deploying Special Operations teams to hunt down and apprehend other 'gifted' individuals surfacing in the news for interrogation and containment.”
“Hmph...” the General grunted, his eyes burning with a mix of fury and frustration as the situation spiraled out of control. “Then what the hell are you waiting for? Get out there and do as you're told! Move!”
The General’s shout echoed throughout the room, sent the unit leaders scurrying to their posts. He was left alone with the haunting truth: no matter how well the media suppressed the news, the real storm had already begun to brew.
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The Architect of Lies: Broadcast to a Captive World
“...Regarding the news currently circulating on social media, authorities worldwide, particularly in the United States, are placing great importance on the 'copycat behaviors' of those attempting to pose as superpowered individuals. At this time, officials have begun tracking and apprehending some members of these groups to enter them into an 'attitude adjustment process.'”
The male news anchor, a middle-aged man in a sharp, tailored suit, stared into the camera with a gaze designed to project absolute credibility while reading the script.
“The government asks parents, guardians, and relatives of those detained not to be concerned. Upon completion of the attitude adjustment process, authorities will return them to their families as usual, without any legal penalties. The sole purpose is to foster a 'correct understanding.' Furthermore, President Noldo Funk has expressed deep concern regarding this situation and urges citizens globally not to be alarmed by exaggerated fake news... That concludes our report. I’m David Duff, reporting for BBC News.”
As the "On Air" light flickered off and the broadcast cut to commercials, David exhaled a long sigh, adjusting his tie as he prepared to leave the studio.
“Hey, David...” a cameraman suddenly spoke up. “These reports are popping up all over the world without stopping. I’m starting to feel like it’s more than just stories or fake news. Do you think... do you think any of it is real?”
The other cameramen and the studio crew froze, turning as one to look at David. Everyone sought confirmation from a seasoned veteran like him.
David stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't turn back to face them, but instead replied in a flat voice laced with cold indifference. “We work for a paycheck. Personal opinions are one thing, but as for the job, we just do what we’re told by those above. That’s where it ends. Everyone just play their part.”
With that, David walked out of the studio immediately, leaving the crew to exchange unsettled glances. Whispers began to hiss in the shadows of the studio. Everyone knew... the news they had just reported might be the greatest lie in human history.
David walked through the station’s hallway, lined with expensive carpeting. The fluorescent lights flickered rapidly, as if reflecting the instability of the world's situation. He ignored the questioning looks from other employees passing by. In his head, the words "Attitude Adjustment"—the words he had just broadcasted—kept looping incessantly.
He turned the knob of his private office, locking it securely before sinking silently into his leather chair. With trembling hands, David opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small, burner phone without a SIM card. On it was a secretly transmitted video file...
The footage on the screen was of that Arab man in England... the exact second the bus exploded without a trace of any weapon other than the man's "Will."
David closed his eyes, murmuring into the silence. “Playing our part, huh...? We’re clearly helping them build a cage for all of humanity.”
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The Lonely Light in Shoyna
Cutting back to the frigid darkness above the Russian skies... Chris struggled through the blizzard, carrying the body of the mysterious child. A faint, amber glow from a single house began to emerge on the horizon. It was a small, solitary wooden cabin, standing isolated amidst the ice-covered dunes of Shoyna.
Chris descended slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs in anticipation. Who—or what—was waiting for him inside that house?
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Area 51
Inside a vast hall repurposed into a makeshift detention center, hundreds of high-ranking officials and unit heads were herded together under the tight guard of a new breed of soldiers—men whose eyes burned with a disturbing bloodlust. A wave of paranoid whispers flooded the room: “Who is behind this coup?” “Who are these people?”
Suddenly, the massive steel doors groaned open...
The figure who stepped through caused every prisoner to gasp in disbelief. “General...!” one unit chief whispered, stunned.
The soldiers standing guard throughout the room snapped to attention in perfect unison. The sight confirmed a gut-wrenching truth: the supreme leader they had trusted was the very person who had betrayed them.
“So it’s you... You were the mole all along!” the same unit chief roared with pure, unadulterated rage.
The General didn't respond immediately. He stood still, interlacing his fingers and cracking his knuckles—CRACK!—before tilting his neck until it popped loudly, like someone awakening from a long hibernation and needing to stretch. He then turned his left palm upward before the eyes of every prisoner.
“Time to finally spread my wings...”
With those words, a small orb of fire ignited in the center of his palm. Though it appeared tiny, it radiated a brilliant, searing orange glow that commanded the attention of everyone in the hall.
“Drag that man who just spoke out here... and drench him in gasoline!”
Two soldiers lunged forward, dragging the defiant chief away from the group before pouring a canister of fuel over him until he was soaked. The General approached the trembling man slowly. He brought his flaming palm close, until the flick of the fire touched the gasoline residue...
WHOOSH!!!
Flames instantly engulfed the chief’s body right before everyone’s eyes! Harrowing screams for mercy echoed piteously. The man, handcuffed behind his back, writhed frantically across the floor, trying to extinguish the raging inferno. In that chaos, a stray spark landed on the General’s hand. He and his close aide scrambled in a brief panic to pat the flame out until it was completely extinguished.
Every pair of eyes stared at the burning figure on the floor... The violent thrashing slowed, becoming more and more sluggish, until finally, he lay still within the dying embers. All that remained was the stench of burnt flesh and a charred husk—a grim warning to anyone who dared to resist.
The chaotic cries of the prisoners had been a deafening wall of terror since the flames first began consuming the unit chief’s body.
“Anyone who still disagrees... feel free to step forward and continue ‘serving the nation’ in the old-fashioned way,” the General said in a chilling tone, plunging the entire room into a suffocating silence.
The General gave a formal military salute to the captured officers and staff, as if offering a final, hollow gesture of respect. “A new chapter of American history begins today... and we pay tribute to those who perished before us. America will endure in a form never seen before. I urge you all to open your minds and adapt quickly to this transition... sacrifice remains a necessity, for we shall never again bow beneath anyone's shadow!”
He spoke with a powerful, commanding resonance before turning to the soldiers flanking the room. “Dispose of the remains with honor... and unbind the prisoners. Remove their handcuffs now.”
The soldiers obeyed, rushing to release everyone from their restraints. As their wrists were freed, many began to massage their aching joints, a flicker of desperate hope igniting in their eyes that they might actually survive. However, the General suddenly raised his right hand, holding it poised in the air. His gaze was as cold as ice as he swept it across his former colleagues.
“I’ve reconsidered... I don’t think they’re ready.”
With that, the General snapped his hand down to his side in a sharp, decisive strike!
In that split second, the hall transformed into an execution ground! The guards unleashed a hailstorm of bullets into the newly freed crowd without mercy. The thunderous roar of gunfire merged with harrowing, blood-curdling screams. In certain corners, the "Gifted" soldiers began to manifest their powers—tearing prisoners apart with telekinetic force, crushing bones into powder, or incinerating them with wreaths of wrathful fire.
In mere moments, crimson blood flooded the floors of the once-sophisticated laboratory. Not a single soul was left alive. The General stood watching the devastation with an impassive face... the old power structure of the United States had been erased from history in a heartbeat.
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Shoyna
Chris soared through the oppressive darkness, the frigid gale lashing against his face. In one arm, he tenderly cradled the lifeless body of the mysterious boy; in his other hand, he gripped the new orb with a white-knuckled intensity. The hazy, flickering glow on the horizon grew steadily clearer.
“That has to be it, little brother...” Chris muttered, his eyes trembling as he glanced down at the orb faintly pulsating in his hand. He surged forward, accelerating toward the light.
When he closed to within 150 meters, the door of the ancient wooden cabin swung open abruptly! A group of people emerged, clutching torches that cast dancing, erratic shadows, illuminating the front of the archaic home. They waved frantically, beckoning Chris to hurry. Though his heart was still clouded with suspicion and trepidation, Chris had no other choice. He descended slowly, his boots crunching onto the stark white snow before the house.
The group swarmed forward to receive the boy's body. Chris noticed something striking: every single person there was “Elderly.” Whether men or women, their bodies appeared frail and withered—as if they were a collective forgotten by time itself in this frozen wasteland.
While most helped carry the boy inside, an old woman with a face etched with deep wrinkles and eyes as cryptic as a legendary witch turned toward Chris, her palm held open.
“The orb...” her voice was a raspy whisper, yet it vibrated with an undeniable authority.
“Yes... here it is,” Chris replied, quickly handing over the child’s orb. The old woman took it with trembling fingers and hurried inside, but not before casting a sharp command back at him.
“You, get inside as well!”
Chris hesitated for a heartbeat before stepping over the threshold into the wooden house, which was thick with an ancient, lingering scent. The moment he crossed over, the door was slammed shut, the wooden bolt sliding into place with a heavy “THUD!”—instantly severing him from the biting world outside.
The elders placed the boy's lifeless body onto a weathered, ancient wooden table. They formed a circle, extending their palms to begin a mystical ritual. A faint glow began to envelop the child; his once-blanched skin started to regain a touch of color, but the process was agonizingly slow.
Chris watched for a moment and immediately sensed that this was the very technique he had just mastered. However, given the waning strength of these elderly practitioners, he feared that any further delay would cause irreparable damage to the boy's physical vessel. Without hesitation, he stepped into the center of the circle and joined his hands in the rite.
The elders faltered, looking up at Chris in astonishment. But upon sensing the formidable torrent of energy surging from the youth, they quickly refocused on the ritual. This time, everything happened like a miracle! The boy’s complexion turned radiant, his breathing became rhythmic, and his body returned to normal in the blink of an eye.
The witch-like old woman hurried to place the orb onto the boy's chest. She pressed down, attempting to fuse the soul back into the body... but nothing happened. The orb remained cold and rigid.
“This is bad...” the old woman murmured, her voice trembling. “This method of soul fusion... only our strongest leader possesses the power to execute it.”
Chris didn't wait. He gently moved the old woman’s shaking hand aside and replaced it with his own palm. Upon contact, the orb in Chris’s hand instantly liquefied into a golden fluid, seeping into the boy's chest as effortlessly as water into sand.
Gasp!
The boy jolted upright, his eyes snapping open. He looked at Chris and flashed that same familiar smirk.
“See...? I told you, you idiot Liberator! I knew I had the right person. He is definitely not one of ‘Them’!”
The first words from the resurrected boy’s mouth caused every elder in the room to turn toward Chris as one, their eyes filled with profound reverence and newfound hope.
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Pentagon
Deep within the classified operations sectors, the stench of iron-rich blood and acrid smoke still hung heavy in the air. Dozens of guards worked with frantic efficiency to clear the debris following the massacre. Hundreds of bodies—once fellow soldiers and officials—were hauled away and tossed into colossal bio-waste incinerators without a second thought. Brilliant blue flames roared as they consumed the remains, reducing the former patriots to nothing but ash.
Another unit worked at an incredible speed to sanitize the area. While some used conventional tools to scrub away bloodstains, others utilized their "special gifts" to compress air and manipulate water molecules, erasing every trace of the struggle. In no time, the killing floor had been restored to a pristine state, as if nothing had ever occurred.
The Commanding General stepped over a lingering patch of blood, returning to the opulence of his private office. He picked up the secure line, dialing a mysterious and high-powered individual.
“Everything is in order, sir...”
He spoke in a tone that was smooth, composed, and brimming with confidence. Surrounded by four heavily armed sentries and high-ranking officials who stood in grim, bowed silence, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of the General's mouth. His eyes flickered with the spark of a victory he had been anticipating for a long, long time.
————————————————————————————— Ruth VT-Hin —————
