The room was still thick with the echo of Eva's verdict when the leaders' voices began to overlap murmurs rising into sharp exchanges. Holographic faces leaned in toward their microphones, throwing out possibilities, countermeasures, desperate theories born more of fear than science.
Eva stood perfectly still at the centre of the chaos, her gaze sweeping over them without judgment. She had already said everything that needed saying. The rest was human noise—reaction, denial, bargaining.
Dr. Renata Voss raised her voice over the din."If containment is impossible, then evacuation must be considered. We have nuclear research facilities. Deep, reinforced structures designed to withstand the highest levels of radiation. We could… selectively relocate key personnel, scientists, engineers—those essential for rebuilding—until we understand the storm's long-term effects."
Her tone was resolute, but her eyes told another story. She had seen the same data as Eva. She knew no wall could withstand a storm that was not only radiation but momentum, a vast tide moving with the force of a planet's death. Still, she offered the plan, knowing it was a lifeline made of glass meant to give hope, to keep panic from igniting across the globe before its time.
Then "Dr. Renata! Eva!" shout came from the far side of the hall. A young engineer stood from his console, face pale, voice trembling with urgency. "You need to see this!"
Both Renata and Eva moved swiftly toward his station, their escorts parting the crowd. Holographic leaders leaned forward, their discussions halting.
On the display, a cascade of solar observation feeds flickered into focus—real-time telemetry from satellites monitoring the Sun.
"We've just observed something… unusual," the crewman said, fingers flying over the controls. "A massive solar flare has been escaped sun. The timing's… strange. It seems to have been… pulled, maybe influenced, by the storm's gravitational disturbances."
The image zoomed in, a bright searing arc of plasma hurled outward from the Sun, twisting and writhing like a serpent made of fire. Lines of projected trajectory appeared in glowing red.
"And it's heading here," the crewman continued, "but not toward Earth. Based on our readings, it's going to intersect the storm's path" He tapped a key, and two glowing lines overlapped on the display. "from angle and speed it would collide when storm will be twenty six hour away from earth. The collision will be momentary… just a split-second, but at relativistic speeds."
He turned to Eva. "what do you think?"
The cyborg stepped closer, her eyes locking on the simulation. In her vision, the raw numbers formed an intricate lattice—the storm's velocity vectors, the flare's expanding wavefront, the magnetic turbulence between them. She ran countless predictive models in the space between heartbeats.
Whether what she was seeing was coincidence, solar physics, or something entirely stranger… was still uncertain.
She looked up from the display, the glow of the hologram painting her features in shifting red and gold.
Eva's gaze lingered on the holographic projection, the storm's deadly trajectory crossing with the blazing arc of the solar flare. For the technicians and leaders around her, the silence stretched into something unbearable, seconds that felt like an eternity.
Finally, she spoke. Her voice was calm, but it carried the weight of judgment.
"The readings are correct," she said. "I don't know… but perhaps this is what you humans call a miracle."
A ripple of whispers passed through the room. Some leaned forward in hope others stiffened, suspecting the sting that often followed such words.
Eva's eyes swept the faces in front of her—Renata's steely composure, the holographic leaders frozen mid-breath, the anxious crew standing rigid at their stations.
"This could become a blessing… or a curse." She took a measured pause, letting the statement settle before continuing. "The solar flare will strip much of the storm's momentum." Her gaze narrowed slightly, processing the probabilistic outcomes in streams of invisible numbers. "But if the flare does not completely destroy the storm, it will still strike Earth slower, yes, but inevitable. The timeline will change eight days until collision between storm and flare. If the storm survives, four additional days before it reaches Earth with lowered velocity."
Her tone remained perfectly even, but every word landed like a stone dropped into deep water.
"And because its momentum will be mostly gone, Earth's gravity will anchor the storm to the planet's atmosphere until it fully dissipates. The duration of exposure could be far longer… perhaps weeks. So... hope that the flare destroys the storm entirely. The current readings are insufficient to confirm that outcome."
The room fell utterly silent. The hum of the displays, the faint whir of ventilation systems, even the sound of shifting chairs all faded under the crushing awareness that everything now hinged on forces no human could control.
Renata's jaw tightened. Some leaders looked away from their holographic feeds, as though unable to meet the eyes of those sharing the same helplessness. And Eva, as still as a statue, kept watching the projection her expression unreadable.
The unease began as a faint vibration in the fabric of daily life. A wrong note that most people couldn't name but could feel. After three days of Pandora's landing, unease had swelled into something heavier.
Not a single president, prime minister, monarch, or minister of state had addressed their nations. No public statements, no press conferences, no appearances. Even their carefully curated social media accounts normally fountains of platitudes and political theatre had gone still.
In the age of constant noise, the absence of it was deafening.
At first, news outlets scrambled to explain it. Confidential meetings, security briefings, international coordination. But when even the anchors began to falter on air, repeating themselves and recycling yesterday's footage, the public's faith cracked.
Then came the panic. It started with the observant people who lived with their ears pressed to the ground. Survivalists, market speculators, journalists who didn't trust the official line. They noticed the wrongness first. These were leaders who could not stay quiet, not for a day, certainly not for three. Even in crises, they had always spoken, had to speak, to maintain control.
The conclusion was instinctive and terrifying if they weren't talking, it was because what they knew was worse than what people could imagine.
Forums erupted. Livestreams with shaky voices drew millions. Conspiracy theories multiplied like mold in darkness. Panic buying began in scattered waves across cities. Gas stations emptied. Grocery shelves were stripped.
And beneath it all, the unspoken question burned hotter by the hour 'What could possibly silence the voices that never stopped speaking?'
Far away, in the quiet corridors of USRI's headquarters, Eva observed the escalating unrest through hundreds of public data feeds. Her eyes, unblinking, reflected a world beginning to fray… and she knew it was only the first unraveling.
Day 4 of political silence. 10–6 days to the coming storm. at 0800 hours every television, phone, billboard, holographic panel, and public projection whether in the glittering streets of Tokyo or the dim alleyways of Lagos flickered, froze, and displayed the same live feed.
The seal of the UN shimmered in the background, but the camera was locked on a single podium. The lead speaker of the UN World Conference stood there, posture rigid, hands clenched just enough to betray the weight of the moment. Behind him, rows of tense faces representatives of nations, silent and unmoving.
When he began to speak, his voice was steady, but it had the sound of someone carrying a sentence already decided.
"Dear citizens of Earth. Three days ago, Pandora landed… and made history."
A faint murmur rippled through households across the globe. Those who had followed every second of the mission leaned forward, expecting more triumph. But then his tone shifted slower, heavier.
"The truth of the expedition was that it was sent to destroy an incoming asteroid which would have collided with earth. In that… it succeeded. Unfortunately, that asteroid contained deposits of exotic minerals never before seen. The detonation triggered a chain reaction, turning the entire mass into a giant dust cloud, larger than our planet."
The words landed like hammer strikes. Living rooms, cafés, subway cars all fell into utter stillness.
"Due to the momentum of the asteroid, the storm is still heading our way. The gravity anomaly it created has pulled a solar flare from the Sun toward itself. In four days, they will collide. If we are lucky… both will cancel each other out. If not—"
He drew a long, almost imperceptible breath.
"—then four more days later, the storm will enter Earth's atmosphere. It will remain until every ounce of its energy is discharged… and poured into our world. Our planet itself may not survive."
The silence between his sentences was unbearable. Every pause felt like a countdown.
"For last few days we have utilised our forces worldwide. To fortify underground shelters made during the the tension of potential world war twenty years ago."
"As a last hope, we will utilise these underground shelters worldwide. Evacuations will begin in one hour. God bless Earth."
And then blank. The feed cut mid-frame. For a heartbeat, the world seemed suspended in a vacuum. Then came the sound—piercing, sirens everywhere.In cities and towns, across deserts and mountains, in frozen research outposts and crowded marketplaces, the wail echoed.
In that instant, no one doubted the truth of what they'd heard. Some ran. Some froze. Some sank to their knees in prayer.
The command floor of USRI headquarters was dissolving into a controlled chaos, holographic tables being cleared of sensitive files, servers being pulled into portable cases, teams rushing toward freight lifts that led to the Pacific transport vessels. The whole facility hummed with urgency, every step and voice carrying the weight of knowing this might be their last mission.
Renata Voss stood at the centre of it all, issuing orders with clipped efficiency, her immaculate hair now undone by the strain of the past days. When she caught sight of Eva, her expression flickered of relief, then something harder to read.
"Eva, good. I was going to have someone find you." Renata's voice was steady, but her eyes darted to the evacuation screens hundreds of red dots blinking across the globe, marking cities still not in motion. "The relocation teams are ready. You'll be moved to underwater bunker in pacific seven hundred meters down, beyond the trench shelf. It's the safest place we have."
Eva stepped closer, her synthetic heels silent against the floor. She tilted her head slightly, the movement subtle but enough to catch the light in her silver irises. "No," she said simply.
Renata blinked. "No? What do you mean no? You're the most valuable creation humanity has ever produced. We need you operational ". "No" Eva interrupted, her voice soft yet absolute. "this storm… nothing you build, nothing you hide in, will keep it out. If the flare does not destroy it, the outcome is inevitable. I would rather not spend the end inside a pressure dome pretending survival is possible."
Renata's lips parted, then closed again. Around them, crates floated past on mag-rails, the final pieces of the USRI's work being spirited away to the underwater vault.
"Eva, this isn't about pretending," Renata said finally, quieter now. "It's about giving people something to believe in, even if" She cut herself off, glancing toward a group of evacuation team, all mid-discussion. "We are scientists. We don't surrender to inevitability."
"I am not surrendering," Eva replied. Her gaze drifted toward the massive viewport on the far wall, where a feed from an orbital telescope showed the storm as a faint shimmer, still distant but closing in. "I want… to experience what it feels like to choose without orders. To walk a city street, to hear music, to knowing that no one is asking me to save them."
Renata's brow furrowed. "That's not" She stopped. Something in Eva's calm, unshakable tone made argument seem useless.
Eva tilted her head again, almost in a gesture of curiosity. "Tell your people I can not come. Use whatever reason you like. But understand… I will be here, not because of defiance or duty. Because this… might be my only time to be free."
Renata's jaw tightened, but she nodded once, curtly. "Then don't waste it." Eva's faint smile was unreadable. "I never do." As Renata turned back to the evacuation planning, Eva walked away, the sounds of urgency fading behind her. She did not look back.