{14:08 PM, 20/05/2024}
Nezro's POV
It had been five days since the first reconnaissance team crossed the exotic gate, venturing into the unknown. Since then, the government had remained eerily silent about their progress, fueling speculation and anxiety among the public. The silence was deafening, a void filled only by the murmurs of a restless population.
Outside, the streets surrounding the wormhole were crowded with people carrying placards reading, "Humanity will succeed ." The optimism seemed hollow, more an act of defiance than belief. Their protests were a needle in the haystack of futility, a tantrum against something so far beyond their control it was almost laughable.
Hope, it seemed, was a fragile thing—worn thin in the face of uncertainty.
The government had long established a system to classify dangers, a hierarchy meant to simplify the chaos of modern crises. It used to have just three levels:
1. Threat from terrorist attacks
2. Natural disasters
3. Hostile threats from other nations (including nuclear warfare)
But after the anomaly's appearance—Red Tuesday, as it had been christened—the system had been expanded to five levels:
4. Appearance of alien or foreign anomalies
5. Actions taken by those anomalies
With the anomaly now firmly in Stage Five, the world felt heavier, the weight of the unknown pressing down on everyone. The government's response wasn't helping either. The administrator, whose cryptic warnings had thrown the country into chaos, hadn't made a single public appearance since his initial meeting with the world's leaders.
Even the details of that meeting remained a mystery. The president's spokesperson had briefly addressed the nation, assuring everyone that the situation was "under control" but the lack of transparency had only stoked the flames of doubt. Negligence seemed to be their answer to fear—a dangerous gamble when lives were at stake.
I leaned back on the couch, my eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling as my thoughts churned restlessly. Outside, the faint hum of the curfew sirens echoed through the streets, a steady reminder of the chaos looming just beyond our doors. But it wasn't the sirens or the anomalies that bothered me the most—it was the sheer absurdity of it all.
Why here? Why Rovia, of all places?
A tiny, barely recognizable dot on the map, Rovia wasn't exactly a country of note. We weren't rich in resources, didn't have cutting-edge technology, and our military was more ceremonial than anything else. We weren't a political powerhouse or a scientific beacon. If anything, we were a footnote in the annals of global affairs. A quiet land of sprawling salt flats, serene lakes, and a population that valued simplicity over ambition.
And yet, we were the ones under siege. The first anomaly had torn through the air just fifty kilometers from the capital, Orion, throwing the entire nation into disarray.
Was it random? A cruel joke of the cosmos? Or was there something about Rovia that drew the attention of these beings from beyond? Or where the rumors spreading in the Internet about a metaphysical rock true?
I frowned, drumming my fingers on the armrest. I'd never thought much about this place before—never needed to. It was home, sure, but nothing more than a backdrop to my otherwise unremarkable existence. Yet now, with the weight of annihilation hanging over us, I couldn't help but question it all.
The world is vast, filled with countries far more prominent, far more threatening. Nations with sprawling armies, nuclear stockpiles, and ambitions that reached far beyond the stars. So why pick on us? Rovia, a nation most couldn't even find on a map, let alone care about?
"Maybe it's because we're weak," I muttered under my breath.
Rukius had been unusually quiet today. My outburst during the news a few days ago, might've been the reason. His skittish behavior made me wonder if he thought I was one of the anomalies, disguised as his roommate. It wasn't an unreasonable fear for someone whose entire worldview had been shaped by fiction and conspiracy theories.
The silence was broken by a knock at the door.
I froze, staring at it. With the curfew in place, visitors were a rare sight.
"Hey, Nezro, don't open the door," Rukius hissed, retreating into his seat like a startled cat. "It might be one of those… things."
I shook my head, disappointed but not surprised. Rukius was usually more grounded, but fear had a way of unraveling even the strongest nerves.
"Relax," I said, my voice dripping with mockery. "The city square's a good distance away. We're fine."
As if to back my claim, a familiar voice called from behind the door.
"It's just me, Joan."
Rukius let out a breath so deep I almost laughed. He was wound tighter than a spring.
I opened the door to find Joan, our next-door neighbor, holding a brown plastic bag packed with foodstuffs. Her face was flushed from exertion, her hair pulled back into a loose bun. She looked at me with her usual warmth, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"I brought you guys something in case you couldn't go out for supplies"
"Thanks, Joan," I said, taking the bag from her. I didn't want to prolong her stay and risk Rukius spiraling further into paranoia.
She nodded, offered a quick wave, and left. I closed the door and began unloading the contents onto the table. The sight of the food—simple as it was—filled me with relief. We were down to our last meal, and even I hadn't thought far enough ahead to restock.
Rukius was already on his feet, his eyes alight with joy as he stared at the spread. I shared his hunger, but his reaction bordered on comical.
-------†††
Later when the sun had begun it's decent, I decided to return Joan's dishware. It was the least I could do after her generosity. As I approached her door, I could smell dinner cooking—a savory aroma that reminded me how ill-prepared I was to fend for myself.
I knocked, my knuckles rapping against the wood.
"It's me, Nezro," I called. "I'm here to return your dishware and thank you for the meal."
"Just a second!"
The sound of her voice drew my attention, and as the door opened, Joan stepped out of her kitchen. She wore an apron over a loose blouse that slipped slightly from her shoulder, exposing her slender neck. Her brown hair, still tied back, framed her face unevenly, one side cascading down to her collarbone. Her waistline, accentuated by the apron, curved into her hips with an elegance that was impossible to ignore.
She was beautiful—objectively so. But beauty like hers, delicate and seemingly frail, had never interested me. I valued strength, resilience, and conviction over aesthetics. Joan, with her unyielding kindness and apparent naivety, struck me as someone who would crumble under real pressure.
"Why don't you come in?" she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm just about to make dinner. You could help, if you'd like."
I hesitated, regretting every decision that had led to this moment. Still, I nodded and stepped inside, knowing that declining would only result in her showing up at our apartment instead.
The atmosphere in her home was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the tension that hung over the city. Together, we prepared dinner—a simple but hearty meal. Joan moved with practiced ease, her hands deftly chopping vegetables and stirring pots.
"Why are you always helping people?" I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity.
She paused, glancing at me with a faint smile.
"Because I can," she said simply. "In times like these, we have to look out for each other."
Her answer, while admirable, left a bitter taste in my mouth. Kindness was a weakness in a world that thrived on exploitation.
Rukius joined us shortly after, his presence lightening the mood. We ate together, the three of us, in a rare moment of peace. But even as I sat there, surrounded by warmth and laughter, I couldn't shake the discomfort. I had never been one for shared meals, preferring solitude over companionship.
When the meal was over, I helped Joan clean up and returned to my apartment, eager for the quiet solitude of my own space.
As I settled onto the couch, Rukius flipped on the TV, his expression unusually alert. The evening news played its usual reel of despair until the broadcast was interrupted by a breaking news segment.
The anchor's voice was tense, her expression unreadable.
"We interrupt this program to bring you an important announcement," she said. "The president will be addressing the nation in one hour to discuss the recent changes affecting our country."
The screen cut to an image of the presidential seal, and the words "Live Presidential Conference" scrolled across the bottom.
Rukius turned to me, his eyes wide.
"What do you think it's about?" he asked.
I didn't answer. Instead, I stared at the screen, my mind racing. Whatever the announcement was, it wouldn't be good. The world had changed irrevocably, and no amount of words could undo that.
For now, all we could do was wait.