00:00 AM in District 1
....
In a dimly lit room, three figures sat stiffly across from one another. The bulb overhead flickered intermittently, casting erratic shadows across the walls.
A charged silence hung in the air, stretching taut like an elastic band on the verge of snapping.
The sleek silver table between them gleamed faintly in the half-light, its surface mirroring the tension that enveloped the room.
Two figures sat across from each other, their expressions reflecting the atmosphere around them.
The first was a dark-haired lady in a two-piece black suit. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her brow furrowed in frustration.
The second was a blond young man dressed neatly in a white button-down shirt and blue jeans. His face was twisted in barely restrained frustration.
Three seats away from the blonde was an elderly gentleman who glanced between them, his frown deepening as he observed the unspoken battle of wills.
He twitched uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what was taking the others so long. He didn't sign up for this.
Then, as if on cue from a sci-fi director with a flair for drama, a bluish beam of light pierced the room. It widened, growing steadily to three inches wide and spanning an impressive eighty inches in length.
The elderly man's eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like a kid seeing a magic trick for the first time.
Relief washed over him as figures began stepping through the glowing portal, their silhouettes haloed by the ethereal light. If not for the tension hanging like an invisible anvil, it might've been a beautiful scene.
One by one, the newcomers emerged, blinking at the dimly lit room and exchanging puzzled glances.
The group's numbers swelled to nine, their presence barely acknowledged by the pair still locked in their epic stare-down, who seemed determined to win a contest nobody else understood.
The rest settled into their seats cautiously, like students arriving late to a lecture where they weren't sure if the professor was eccentric or outright unhinged. They exchanged furtive glances, their eyes flickering between the central figures.
Finally, the dark-haired woman broke the silence, clearing her throat with the kind of theatrical purpose that demanded attention. Her piercing blue eyes swept the room before she began, her voice carrying the weight of authority mixed with just a hint of exasperation.
"Welcome, everyone," she announced, her tone as steady. "I called this meeting because we face a significant issue that demands our immediate attention."
Her deliberate pauses only amplified the sense of urgency, giving her words the gravitas of a prophet delivering a bad weather forecast.
"We must collaborate in finding a solution," she continued, her gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "We must address the challenges ahead with full commitment and insight."
Her attention flicked between the attendees. First, it landed on a tall, muscular man whose bald head shone under the flickering light like a freshly polished bowling ball. He nodded solemnly, his air of quiet strength offset slightly by the faint squeak of his leather chair.
Next, she studied a middle-aged woman whose kind expression and crisp white blazer created an odd juxtaposition, as though she were a headmistress who'd traded classrooms for war rooms. She also nodded.
Finally, her gaze rested on a young woman with a doll-like appearance, which was complemented by her outfit. It mainly consisted of a cherry blossom pick crop-top winter jacket and a pair of sky blue jeans. She also nodded in turn.
Their silent agreement added to the room's mounting seriousness.
"They have been spotted in Earth's territory," the dark-haired woman declared, her voice slicing through the air like a knife. "While no conflicts have occurred yet, a confrontation feels inevitable."
"I suggest we implement the 1Ω00 strategy." Everyone froze. This strategy was first used during the war against the Farda as a last resort when humanity was at its most desperate.
The blond man, who until now had been holding his composure with the fragility of a house of cards in a wind tunnel, snapped. His blue eyes turned blood red, an unsettling visual that screamed, "I am both furious and possibly cursed."
"They are just children!" he burst out, his voice a blend of anger, desperation, and something indescribable. "So many lives were lost to prevent this strategy from being used again."
The woman didn't flinch. If anything, she seemed to grow taller, her calm resolve taking on an almost statuesque quality.
"I never make decisions without considering all outcomes," she replied, her voice firm. "Make no mistake: the Farda will strike. The question is not if, but when."
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like a parent on their third PTA meeting of the week.
"We've lost the element of surprise. They know our strengths and weaknesses. The very foundation of our current technology was introduced by them. This puts us at a severe disadvantage."
Taking a deep breath, she added, "I'm not suggesting immediate deployment. I propose training all capable individuals so when the time comes, we're prepared."
Her rare display of emotion struck the group like a slap to the face, leaving them stunned.
Eventually, the room voted. The dark-haired woman's persuasive arguments swayed the majority, leading to a decisive victory for the training proposal.
The blond man, though reluctant, nodded, his resistance softening like butter under the heat of reality.