An old general hesitates to push a button, knowing that if he does, it will cause untold, wanton destruction. He knows that if he does not push it, someone else will, and cannot bear the thought of pushing that guilt onto another. Steeling his resolve, he turns the key to open a case. One turn for his dead family. One turn for his destroyed city. He lifts the case, it feels as heavy to him as his daughter’s lifeless corpse. He flips three switches to arm the weapon. One switch for the destruction of the alien base. One switch for the aliens methodically combing through the evacuated streets. One switch for the millions dead over the 50 year war. A light turns on. Such a small thing, that light, yet signifying so much carnage, waiting like a coiled snake. He presses the button, and the countdown starts. 5 minutes to impact, 5 minutes till his planet shows the alien invaders they won’t be helpless for long. 4 minutes before the deadliest weapon in their history makes its mark. 3 minutes to avenge his people. 2 minutes before the greatest atrocity of their generation is complete. 1 minute before he ends the lives of millions. These aliens had his hate for the invaders they were, and his respect for the warriors their fighters proved to be. He had fought them one on one and group to group more times than he had lived years. His great grandfather had died in the first wave of their attack. His father and brothers in the second. Of his family, he was the only one to survive the third, and every one after that. His people had learned from their generals, learned from their tactics, learned from their valor and grown. Now, his people would do the teaching. His people would teach the aliens this world was not for them, and never would be.

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Impact.

He watches as a miles high cloud forms off the ground, billowing out like an ungodly mushroom of death. He watches the blinding light flash cook all organic material around. He watches the shockwave tear building, vehicles, and terrain apart all the same. He watches millions of souls be added to his guilty conscience. His only solace the loaded gun waiting for him. He’s resolved to use it the following day, after allowing himself to witness the full destruction of his decision.

The next day, strange reports come in from all across the globe saying that the aliens have left the planet entirely. Could this be it? Could his soul rest knowing that he saving his kind from the alien scourge? Suddenly, his device, and unbeknownst to him, all devices around the world, start to display a message from the aliens, presumably their leader, conveniently translated for him.

“Congratulations people of Hothrar, due to your successful use of nuclear weaponry it is no longer profitable for our company to use your planet to train our recruits. We have vacated your world and wish you the best of luck in your endeavors.”

With that, the human businessman disconnected the transmission, leaving General Kua’tan to wonder if his 15 years of life had all been for nothing.