The war room beneath the United Nations complex was never meant to host this many people.
Generals, presidents, prime ministers, admirals, intelligence chiefs leaders who normally spent years avoiding each other were crammed shoulder to shoulder around a circular holographic display.
The map floating above it was a bleeding mess of red.
Red zones: alien-held territory.
Yellow zones: contested.
Blue zones: human control, shrinking by the hour.
Smoke, fire, and screams echoed faintly from the world above.
The invasion hadn't slowed; if anything, the aliens had become more aggressive as their ground forces adapted to human resistance.
General Reyes rubbed his forehead as another red circle appeared over Chicago.
"That's the fifth city lost contact in the last two hours," he muttered.
Across from him, General Sharma of India said, "They're not destroying infrastructure. They're quarantining sectors, removing resistance pockets, and pushing outward. It's methodical."
Admiral Zhang pointed to the map. "Their drones target choke points and evacuation routes first. They're funneling civilians into controlled zones. God knows why."
"Because we're resources," a British intelligence officer said bitterly. "They're herding us like livestock."
A murmur of disgust rippled across the room.
President Alvarez of Brazil slammed his fist on the table. "We need more soldiers on the streets NOW. Not in six hours. Not in a day. NOW."
General Okoye from Nigeria shook his head. "We don't have enough. Our armies are already fully deployed. My troops have been fighting without rest since the first hour."
"And losing," a French commander said quietly.
No one argued.
On a screen, a scientist from CERN appeared, face pale, lab coat stained with dust. "The alien armor… we can't reverse-engineer it yet. Too advanced. Their energy weapons don't use known particles. Their drones rewrite their own code mid-flight."
"We're outmatched technologically," the Secretary-General said, voice cracking slightly. "Our best advantage is… numbers."
Silence.
Not because they disagreed but because they all feared where this was going.
General Reyes stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen… we all know what I'm about to say."
Prime Minister Ito of Japan closed his eyes. "God help us."
Reyes continued. "Our militaries were built for nation-level warfare. Not species-level. We need bodies. We need hands on rifles. We need medics. Engineers. Logistics. Fighters. Every man and woman who can hold a weapon or carry a stretcher."
He took a breath.
"I propose a Global Military Draft."
The room exploded.
"You can't be serious!"
"Our countries will riot!"
"We don't have enough food to support that!"
"Our economies will collapse—"
"IT DOESN'T MATTER IF WE'RE ALL DEAD!"
A Chinese general slammed his hand on the table so hard the hologram flickered.
"SHUT UP," he barked. "The aliens are not slowing down. They adapt every hour. Our cities are falling. Our armies are overwhelmed. If we do not expand our forces, we lose Earth."
The Russian president leaned back in his chair, voice low and grave. "We are discussing conscripting billions."
"Yes," General Okoye answered without pause. "We are."
The Secretary-General raised her eyes to the room. "This is not a question of politics. Or pride. This is extinction."
A British commander added, "If we wait a week to train new forces, there may not be a week left."
A soft voice interrupted.
"People will fight if given the chance."
Every head turned to the Brazilian ambassador, an elderly man with trembling hands.
"When we called for volunteers earlier today, we expected tens of thousands."
He swallowed hard.
"We received six million applications in three hours."
That silenced even the loudest generals.
The ambassador continued, tears in his eyes.
"I read some of the messages. They said things like 'I have no weapon, but I can help carry the wounded.' Or 'I don't care if I die; they killed my family.' Or… 'If aliens think humans will kneel, they've never met us.'"
A long, quiet breath moved through the room.
Reyes spoke again. "We draft. We train. We arm every capable adult. If they can't hold a gun, they support those who can."
The Secretary-General's voice trembled. "The aliens are bound by the Galactic Conquest Rule. They must win on the ground."
Her expression hardened.
"So we give them a ground war they'll never forget."
A European general stood, chin high. "How many do we conscript?"
"Every one we can," Okoye answered. "Anyone from 18 to 50. Exceptions only for medical conditions. Specialists first. Civilians next."
"And training?" the South Korean minister asked. "We can't train millions with our old methods. It takes months."
The U.S. Marine Commandant stepped forward. "Then we change the methods."
He tapped a tablet and projected a plan:
3-week emergency combat training
10-day weapons qualification
7-day survival + urban warfare crash course
4-day fitness + discipline regulation
Immediate deployment into support or frontline roles
A Chinese admiral added, "Virtual simulators. AI training modules. Compressed courses. We teach them enough to survive the first hour of battle, then experience teaches the rest."
General Reyes nodded. "We don't have time to create perfect soldiers. We need fighters."
The Secretary-General looked around the room.
"Do we vote?"
Silence hung like ash.
Then one by one, leaders raised their hands.
United States.
India.
China.
Russia.
Brazil.
Japan.
Nigeria.
France.
Egypt.
South Korea.
Germany.
Turkey.
Mexico.
Indonesia.
South Africa.
Canada.
Saudi Arabia.
And dozens more.
A species voting on its survival.
The Secretary-General whispered, "The motion passes."
A tremor of fear and relief washed through the war room.
She turned to her communications chief. "Prepare the announcement. Global broadcast."
He hesitated. "Ma'am… the world won't take this lightly."
"No," she said softly. "But they will take it together."
Seconds later, screens across the world blinked to life.
Shelters.
Hospitals.
Burning streets.
Ruined apartments.
Military bases.
Subways.
Living rooms.
Crowded stairwells.
Underground bunkers.
Rooftops lit by alien fire.
Every screen showed the Secretary-General.
The Secretary-General appeared, shoulders squared, face pale, eyes sunken from hours without sleep.
There was no fire in her voice this time only the decision she hated making.
"To everyone watching," she began, "I will speak plainly."
A quiet tremble shook the camera the ground above them shuddering from a distant impact.
"Our cities are falling. Our armies are outnumbered. We cannot replace our losses fast enough. We underestimated the scale of this invasion, and we are paying for it."
She did not hide the shame in her voice.
"We have identified the limits placed on the invaders. They must win on the ground. They are prohibited from orbital destruction."
She looked directly into the lens.
"That means the planet itself is not lost. But the battle for it will require more than the forces of any nation. It requires all of us."
She inhaled slowly steady, but strained.
"Effective immediately, we are initiating a Global Military Draft.
All able-bodied adults from eighteen to fifty are hereby called into service. Training centers will be established in every major region. You will receive instructions via national broadcast within the hour."
Her hands tightened on the podium.
"This is not a decision we wanted. It is not a decision any leader should ever have to make. But the alternative is extinction."
Her voice dropped lower.
"I will not promise victory. I will not insult you with false hope. This will be the hardest chapter in human history."
She swallowed, voice barely above a whisper.
"We do this because we must. Because there is no one else coming."
The feed cut abruptly no anthem, no slogans, no applause.
Just the truth.
Shelters across the world fell into a dead silence.
People stared at screens, not cheering, not clapping, not rallying just absorbing the enormity of what had been asked.
Some cried.
Some cursed.
Some sat down and stared at their hands.
Some immediately stood, determination carved into their faces.
Most simply felt the same cold realization:
Life would never go back to what it was.
A mother in Cairo held her head as her eldest son stood up quietly.
A student in Berlin stared at his phone, draft summons already appearing.
A factory worker in Mexico wiped his eyes and hugged his wife.
A grandmother in Seoul whispered a prayer for her grandchildren.
A firefighter in New York simply nodded once and gathered his gear.
A teacher in Kenya rose from the floor, tears falling silently, and said, "Tell me where to go."
There was no unified cry.
No brave speeches.
No slogans.
Just billions of individual decisions…
Aligning into one.
Not because they wanted to fight
but because someone had to.