The endless hours spent mentally mapping the global network of destruction, tracing the cold, impersonal logic of launch codes and arming sequences, brought Arjun to a chilling realization. He could control the bombs, yes. He could, hypothetically, unleash hellfire with a thought. But what then? How would a nuclear deterrent stop a super-flu that silently killed millions? How would it close a gate from which unseen monsters emerged? How would it quell the Earth's tectonic fury?
His heart ached with a profound, terrifying loneliness. The visions of future destruction, now meticulously documented in his digital archive, played constantly in his mind's eye. He saw the world on the brink, teetering on a precipice of multifaceted doom. And he knew, with crushing certainty, that he alone could not fight this. He could delay, disrupt, perhaps even mitigate a single threat, but the sheer scale of what was coming demanded more. It demanded all human civilization's support.
This thought brought with it a fresh wave of despair. How could he possibly rally humanity?
If he told them about the future he saw – the earthquakes, the pandemics, the creatures – he knew the immediate reaction. They would call him delusional, a madman. Who would believe a lone analyst from Jaipur claiming to see tomorrow's calamities and interdimensional beasts? The scientific community would demand proof he couldn't provide without revealing his very self. The governments would dismiss him as a crank, or worse, a potential psychological weapon.And if, by some miracle, they did believe his seer abilities, what about his digital control? The minute they understood he could literally fire nuclear weapons, that he could cripple global infrastructure, that he could manipulate their media, their fear would be immediate and absolute. They wouldn't see him as a savior; they would see him as the single greatest threat to their existence. They would try to contain him, control him, or eliminate him, not rally behind him.
He was caught in a cruel paradox. To fight the destruction, he needed humanity's collective strength, its scientists, engineers, leaders, and people united. But to get that support, he had to reveal powers that would instantly trigger fear and opposition, guaranteeing he'd be seen as a tyrant to be neutralized, not a leader to be followed.
His hands clenched into fists, staring at the complex schematics of a nuclear launch sequence on his screen. He didn't want to destroy the world; he wanted to save it. He didn't want to rule; he wanted to unite. But how do you unite a species that is inherently distrustful, prone to division, and terrified of power it doesn't understand?
The answer remained elusive, a mocking ghost in the vast, interconnected network of his power. He possessed the ultimate key, but the world was locked, and his mere existence might be the very thing that prevented true unity. He felt the immense weight of this impossible decision. He had the power to destroy, but all he truly desired was the power to convince, to warn, to make them see what he saw, and to fight alongside him.