In Moscow, the general—once a man of war, unshaken by death—stood paralyzed.
His voice, always so commanding, now wavered with an almost childlike fear. "This… this isn't something we can fight." His words were followed by silence.
His men, hardened soldiers who had seen the worst of humanity, dropped one by one to their knees.
In the streets of Rio, the crowd that once watched with awe now shuddered with fear.
Mothers pulled their children close, shielding them from something they couldn't understand but knew, deep in their bones, was coming for them next.
The hum of the city dimmed, and slowly, as though guided by some unseen force, they began to kneel.
Thud.
One after another, falling to their knees like dominos collapsing under an invisible weight.
It spread like a plague, an instinctive surrender sweeping across the globe.
