World peace was by far, mankind's worst idea. A century from now, humanity has finally achieved the impossible. United under one banner, we’ve erased war, poverty, hunger, and disease. Our world thrives, a utopia of compassion and peace.  Then came the message from the stars. Proof that we’re not alone. The cosmos has noticed us and we’ve been deemed worthy to join the grand stage. But reality is not so kind. Our peace, prosperity and kindness? The qualities we believed made us worthy? They mean nothing. Worse, they mark us as weak. It's a cold, malicious universe out there, where strength is currency, and mercy is a weakness to be exploited. In the eyes of the Intersol, we are an oddity, a relic of naïve ideals. Their judgment is swift and sure: humanity is too soft, too gentle, too laughably fragile to stand among the stars. Earth is declared a game reserve, a zoo where we can live out our quaint fantasies, protected, isolated. The price of safety? Biomass harvesting by a hungry universe.  But there is an escape clause. Wargames. A cosmic bloodsport disguised as entertainment, where fledgling civilizations prove their worth—or confirm their insignificance. The Intersol's way of deciding who deserves respect and who’s fit only for food. A hundred thousand humans will compete against billions. A hundred thousand soft, docile souls plucked from a species that forgot how to fight. The aliens think they’ve won before it even begins. But they don’t know us. Not really. They don’t know the darkness we’ve buried under centuries of progress. They’ve never studied our history—the rivers of blood, the empires built on cruelty, the unending appetite for dominance. Humanity hasn’t forgotten war. Not entirely. The instincts are still there, buried beneath the surface. And now, the galaxy will learn a hard lesson: never underestimate humanity’s capacity for malice. It’s time to show them why we’re best left alone.