The UGS quarters buzzed with murmurs and thoughts, the kind that crawled under Jude's skin. He heard the silent whispers of each mind, fragmented words slipping past him like ghosts. His eyes darted around the halls, searching the sea of summoned faces for someone, anyone he knew. His steps quickened as he caught sight of Major John Paul Oak.

John stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He was engaged in conversation with a younger officer. Jude pushed through the throng, his shoulder brushing against others as he squeezed closer.

“John!”

The Major’s head turned, his eyes dodging Jude's gaze while he dismissed the lingering officer with a curt nod.

“Jude.”

“What’s going on?” he asked. “All these Watchers summoned at once—what’s this about?”

John still didn't face him as if guarding his thoughts. He lowered his voice, leaning in just slightly. “I was hoping you’d tell me.” His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching as he added, “But I’ve got a feeling it’s big.”

Jude shifted into the Major’s path, his arms outstretched slightly as if to physically block him. “Come on, John,” Jude pressed. “What’s really going on?”

Oak paused mid-step. “Son,” he started, “if I knew, I’d tell you. Hell, even the Eidolons are agitated with this whole damn thing, and that doesn’t happen often.”

Jude caught the fleeting shift in Oak’s expression—the tightness around his mouth, the way his hand twitched. Nervous. Jude could see it, even if the Major wouldn’t admit it outright.

Oak clapped a heavy hand on Jude’s shoulder. “But what I do know,” he continued, his tone softening just enough to feel personal, “is we need you at the front row. Don't ask, just trust me.”

He turned, his boots scuffing against the polished floor as he tried to move past, but Jude was quicker, stepping into his path again.

“Why me?” Jude demanded almost a growl. “What is it about me that puts me in that front row?”

“Because someone up there thinks you’re the one who can handle this,” Oak finally said, “That's all I know.”

Jude watched as Major Oak strode away, planting the order as a simple thought. The words wrapped around Jude's brain like a vice: "You know what to do. Just avoid... you know, no blood."

The auditorium hummed with a low, tense energy. Rows of Watchers filled the room with their murmurs. This wasn’t the typical assembly of dignitaries and delegates—this was something different.

Jude took his place in the front row. Beside him, Agatha Cedar sat hunched over her laptop, her fingers fidgeting at the edges of her bitten nails. The faint click of her nails against the keyboard while her eyes darted nervously across the screen. "This can't be right... doesn't make sense."

Jude’s gaze shifted to the central stage where Major John Paul Oak stood, calm but visibly tense. John’s eyes flicked to Jude, and with a subtle nod and a quick hand motion, he gestured for Jude to relax, to sit, to wait while he sat at the central table with ambassadors from other nations.

The seconds dragged, each one feeling like an eternity. Jude’s fingers tapped absently against his knee, the rhythm syncopating with Agatha’s nervous fidgeting. He glanced at her briefly, but she didn’t meet his eyes, her focus locked on the flickering screen of her laptop.

Why would she look? They never met.

The heavy doors at the back of the auditorium creaked open, silencing the restless murmur instantly. Heads turned as a woman stepped through. She wasn’t alone. An ape walked upright at her side, its hand clasped gently around hers.

On the woman’s other side, a tall man with blond hair strode with a tailored suit. Jude’s heart skipped as his mind played tricks on him—he could swear the man looked exactly like Lazaro. But that wasn’t possible. Lazaro wasn’t real. He was nothing more than a fabrication of the simulation, a product of imagination and code. An error.

The pair’s steps synchronized as if rehearsed. The woman’s hand brushed her jacket, and finally, she reached her place. She was small, almost swallowed by the stage. Her chestnut hair was tightly bound in a practical bun, with no strands loose. She carried no adornment, no armour of makeup to shield the dark circles etched beneath her eyes—sleepless nights and endless worry.

Jude squinted as he leaned forward. There was something achingly familiar about her. Her tired features and her shoulders slumped slightly under an invisible weight. She definitely had the main character syndrome—he’d seen this before: Len.

Her fingers fumbled momentarily with the remote before she steadied herself, gripping it tightly as if it were a lifeline.

“Mesdames et Messieurs,” she began, her voice carrying a distinct French lilt. “I am Hélène Troia. I have come here with my associates to share the latest results of my research. And… I hope you will help me… to help you. Humans and Friends—well, Eidolons."

Hélène raised the remote, pointing it at the large screen behind her. With a soft click, the image of Earth appeared—brilliant, blue, and fragile, as seen from the depths of space.

“This is what we stand to lose.”

She reached for the glass of water beside her. Her fingers trembled faintly, but she steadied herself with a sip.

With a faint click, the screen behind her shifted. The serene image of Earth dissolved into chaos, replaced by a volcanic eruption. Molten lava poured down its sides in fiery rivulets, clouds of ash billowing into the darkened sky like the Earth itself was crying out in anguish.

“For twelve thousand years,” she began again, “the Holocene blessed us with balance—a stable climate, ecosystems, and a world where humanity could thrive. But that time... It is gone. The Anthropocene is ‘ere, defined not by nature’s will but by our actions—industry, pollution, destruction.”

The next slide showed a series of images: oil spills staining vast oceans, forests reduced to ash, and cities cloaked in smog.

“We ‘'ve pushed Earth to its limits.”

The image on the screen shifted with a soft click, revealing a coastline swallowed by rising waters, entire cities submerged under waves that gleamed under a dark, tempestuous sky. Flames danced in another corner of the slide, consuming forests like a ravenous beast, while tornadoes twisted across endless plains, their fury leaving nothing but rubble in their wake.

“Now, the planet fights back.”

She gestured towards the screen. “Rising seas,” she stated. “Fires,” her finger pointed toward the forests. “Storms. These,” she said, “are not punishments. They are Earth’s way of healing. Of returning to the harmony, away from the Holocene. And in that healing, humanity will be wiped away.”

The screen flickered again, this time revealing a vibrant planet that seemed almost too perfect to be real. Its surface was a patchwork of lush pinks and verdant greens, swirling with soft white clouds that hinted at an atmosphere teeming with life. It shimmered against the inky blackness of space, an otherworldly gem that held the promise of salvation.

Hélène stepped closer to the image and extended a hand toward the screen. “A planet,” she began, “300 light-years away. Brimming with the same conditions as Earth once had—lush, fertile, and full of promise. It is a second chance,” she continued, “a sanctuary that we call Nirvana.”

Her eyes lingered on Jude, unflinching, as though she were addressing him directly.

“But let us not fool ourselves,” Hélène added. “This discovery is both a blessing... and a curse.”

Jude's breath caught in his throat as the glass in her hand tilted slightly, the light catching the water inside. Her fingers wrapped around it firmly—except for one. The absence of her pinkie finger sent a chill racing through him, which immediately led him to check on his own hand. But there was nothing abnormal. He had all five. Why would it be otherwise?

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But now, he was certain she was Len.

The screen flickered to life, casting a cool glow over the auditorium. The schematic depicted two human silhouettes, their heads marked with a glowing chip.

"The planet is far," she said, "très loin... but not unreachable. "But humans and Eidolons possess the technology to make the journey. We ‘have the minds, the tools, the power to work as one."

Her gaze swept the room, resting momentarily on the gathered Watchers, the Eidolons, and finally Jude. "But what we do not ‘ave... is time."

She turned back to the screen, her hand sweeping toward the schematic.

"This... this is how the journey works. Un vaisseau—a vessel grown from compatible tissue based on the genetic code. A chip, implanted in your brain, allows the transmigration of consciousness to the chip of your sleeve." She gestured toward the looping arrows that connected the two figures. "Light-years away, but in seconds, you awaken in the sleeve, carrying all zat you are—your thoughts, memories, instincts. And even your abilities that we can amplify."

Len stood upright but was betrayed by her hurried hands.

"Earth is on the brink. "The eruptions, the storms, the collapse," she continued, her accent thickening as her emotions seeped through. It could all escalate in days... hours... or even moments. The technology exists,” she said, “oui. But it comes with a price.”

The shadows of exhaustion beneath her eyes deepened as she took a steadying breath. “This process… It takes time. Time,” she repeated, pacing now. “Time to create the sleeve. Time to correct the genetic markers for any illness, and that makes the transfer safe. Time to ensure the process is complete. And time,” she said, “is a luxury we do not ‘ave.”

Her final words struck like a hammer. Len stood still, letting the weight of her statement settle over the room.

The man beside her rose smoothly from his seat, his tall frame drawing the eyes of everyone in the auditorium. His blond hair was neatly combed, and his features bore an uncanny resemblance to someone Jude thought he knew—Lazaro. But that was impossible; the thought repeated itself in his mind. Lazaro was just a figure from his imagination. Lazaro was not real. Lazaro was… here?

As he stood, the lights dimmed slightly, and the screen behind them flickered. A new slide materialized, revealing wisps of vibrant green neon light suspended against the backdrop of endless space.

He adjusted the cuff of his crisp suit jacket. Without a hint of hesitation, he began to speak. “These,” he said, gesturing toward the swirling emerald lights on the screen, “are the last records of five alien ships.”

The crowd erupted into a low hum of agitation, a ripple of confusion and unrest spreading through the auditorium. The Eidolons, in particular, shifted uneasily in their seats.

The man, still standing tall at the centre of the stage, raised his hands, palms outward, in a calming gesture.

“Please,” he said. “Please, sit down.”

The murmurs quieted, though a few whispers lingered, pockets of uncertainty that refused to be silenced. Slowly, reluctantly, the Eidolons returned to their seats.

“We know,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the audience, lingering briefly on the Eidolons. “We know it is not you. We know they have an army of empty vessels that act upon order. We know those ships are filled with thousands, if not millions, of pods.”

A shift rippled through the room. The Eidolons exchanged uncertain glances, some crossing their arms defensively while others leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the man.

“And,” he added, “we know that you know who they are.”

He let the silence stretch for a moment, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in before continuing. “We have a plan. We have one watcher that, with his mind, he could be able to override those commands and turn this threat into a tool.”

A few whispers persisted in the quiet that followed, hushed exchanges between those who still sought answers.

"There is a reason the Eidolons chose this planet," he continued. "Chose us—humans. Despite how it all began, the war, the chaos and the misunderstandings, we reached something remarkable after ninety-nine days of global conflict. We reached a consensus. We reached peace. But everyone has an enemy. And we have them."

He gestured toward the screen behind him. "Out there, within the radius of Nirvana, there are five ships. Ships carrying technology we desperately need. Technology to replicate pods on a great scale—enough to connect everyone through a simulation. Enough to save all Humans and all Eidolans and more..."

A murmur started among the crowd, faint but growing. Lazaro didn’t falter.

"But that’s not all," he pressed on, "Here on Earth, we have work to do. The timeline is not in our favour. We need to build bunkers. Safety posts. Structures that will hold when the bigger catastrophes hit. Because it will hit. And when the planet does, we need to be ready—not just for ourselves, but for everyone... Even those we are not thinking of right now."

He glanced at the screen again, then back at the crowd. "From today until the next eight years, this is our mission: to ensure that everyone, human and Eidolon alike, migrates safely."

"What about the children born in those years? How will they fit a sleeve?"

The question hung in the air, an open wound that no one wanted to address.

Len’s head dropped into her hands, her fingers gripping her temples. A muffled groan escaped her lips before she hissed through clenched teeth, "Oh, mais putain!"

Lazaro’s gaze shifted to her briefly, then back to the crowd. His face was unreadable, a stoic mask that betrayed nothing. “What do you think?”

The weight of his words slammed into the room, dragging it into a suffocating silence. Eyes darted nervously, searching each other for answers, but no one spoke.

Agatha Cedar, sitting at the edge of the front row, raised her hand. "You said you had data?" she asked.

Lazaro’s response was a curt nod. "Yes."

"What sort of data?"

Len lifted her head, her expression a volatile mix of exhaustion and irritation. “Enough data,” she snapped.

Jude shot to his feet, the chair screeching against the polished floor as it slid backwards. His finger jabbed toward the ape sitting silently on the stage. “What is this? Why did you bring Albert? What do you want?”

Albert, perched on the edge of his chair, shifted slightly but said nothing. His dark, thoughtful eyes followed Jude with an eerie calm, making his presence feel heavier than it should have been.

Len rose slowly from her seat. Her gaze locked onto Jude’s. “I want those five ships,” she said plainly.

“What the fuck?” he snapped. He turned his attention from Len to the ape, then to the man standing beside her, Lazaro. The edges of his reality felt like they were slipping through his fingers. “Am I in a simulation inside a simulation? What the hell are you doing?”

“No, this is reality,” she said.

With a single motion, she reached up, loosening the tight bun atop her head. Her chestnut hair tumbled down over her shoulders in soft waves, framing her face with a startling humanity that made her seem less like the untouchable leader she had appeared all along.

She didn’t look at Jude, not yet. Instead, her gaze swept over the room. “Leave.”

Chairs scraped against the floor as Watchers and Eidolons alike rose silently, filing out without so much as a murmur. No one opposed her. No one lingered.

The sound of the heavy doors closing echoed in the cavernous space, leaving Jude standing alone with Len, the ape, and Lazaro.

Jude’s eyes darted around. “What the hell is going on?”

Lazaro's lips curved into a faint, sad smirk as he gestured subtly toward Len. The glow of the overhead lights cast a faint halo around her head.

“I told you,” Lazaro said. “Her ability is something you can only experience.”

“I don’t understand,” Jude said.

“The first time we met,” she began, her tone almost clinical, as if reciting history, “the war was everywhere. Every corner of the world burned for over a century. You were alone, a mutt, unwanted, feared—no family, no career, no direction. You had nothing, and you were lost.”

Her footsteps tapped softly against the floor as she approached him. Jude didn’t respond. What was she talking about?

“But,” she continued, “you didn’t break. No, you made a choice. You stood there in the chaos, and you said no. You betray me for what? Nothingness. No purpose... You said, ‘Why would I fight for someone else's happiness if I knew none.” Her lips tightened into a grim line.

“The second time,” she continued, “I gave you everything. A life far away from the chaos—no war to fight against, no struggle. A career you could be proud of. A house to call your own. A wife who loved you. But you said no.”

She locked her eyes in his and continued, “This time, you weren’t just lost—you were angry. You ripped it apart, piece by piece, pointing out every flaw, every crack I hadn’t seen. And you weren’t wrong.”

Jude's breath quickened as her words sank in. He wanted to argue, to deny it, but her presence stilled him, kept him rooted in place. He wasn't able to comprehend why.

“I rewrote everything,” she continued, her hands gesturing as if sculpting an invisible world. “Again and again. I created a place where people cared. Where peace wasn’t just a dream but a way of life. A world without war, without greed. A world you wouldn't say no!”

She turned toward the large screen behind her, where the image of Earth burned brightly. “But I can’t rewrite the universe,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-resigned whisper. “I can't just take what I want... I am so small when facing the whole universe. I am not a god...”

“Where’s Paris?” Jude asked, interrupting her.

Lazaro, leaning casually against one of the tables, didn’t lift his head. Instead, he pointed to a faint, flickering green light on the far wall.

“Somewhere in here.”

“Have you ever asked yourself,” she said, “why he doesn’t smile?”

Jude shrugged. “I just figured he was autistic or something.”

Len’s lips tightened into a thin line, her watery eyes narrowing as the flickering green light reflected off her face.

“Try to imagine all the horrors one man could endure. Not once. Not twice. But endlessly.”

Jude frowned, unease creeping up his spine.

“I always see him as Prometheus. Chained, with an eagle tearing into his liver, over and over. And every time, it regenerates. The agony is endless. Eternal.”

"Is this… is this a love story?" His voice carried an edge of disbelief, almost mocking.

Len didn’t flinch. Her gaze stayed locked on his. “Isn’t it for you too?”

Before Jude could respond, his pocket buzzed. His hand instinctively reached for his comm device, and as soon as he glanced at the screen, his breath hitched. The words flashed like a neon sign in his mind: Marta is in labour.

“Shit!”

Without a second thought, Jude bolted toward the exit, his steps echoing loudly in the empty auditorium until the door slammed shut behind him.

Lazaro leaned against the stage and glanced at Len. “Tu crois qu'il va accepter?” he asked.

Len exhaled deeply, “J’en ai aucune idée,” she murmured. “Je suis trop fatiguée.” Her gaze dropped to the floor, "Putain de connard."