The Heartbeat Protocol

The 'Aerie' was a place of complete silence, a man-made emptiness deeper than any natural silence. What separated Victor Aurelius from the cacophonous, chaotic world he both owned and hated was the quiet of filtered air, soundproofed alloys, and kilometers of reinforced rock. The only sound Victor allowed here, on an unnamed hilltop sculpted into a fortress of lethal technology and minimalist luxury, was the almost silent hum of the systems that kept him alive and the world on a leash.

Victor stood in front of the observation window's concave sweep, where a pane of programmable smart glass was showing a peaceful, computer-generated nebula—a whirling ballet of cosmic dust in shades of gold and violet. He was a guy made of contradictions: a brittle thinness covering a physique that suggested strength from the past, and motions that were frugal but tinged with weariness. The little trembling in his left hand as he raised it to adjust the knot of his silk tie, a deep obsidian that matched the frightening purity of his eyes, was not completely concealed by his superbly tailored charcoal suit.

Beneath his finely combed silver hair, his pale, sharp-featured reflection gazed back. The face that the world believed it knew. The mysterious titan Victor Aurelius transformed logistics, communications, and energy. The benefactor whose extravagant actions frequently seemed more like calculated moves. The recluse had not been interviewed in public for almost ten years, choosing instead to allow his deeds and the Aurelius Conglomerate's unrelenting expansion do the talking. They described him as surprising, brutal, and visionary. They didn't know.

The silence was broken by a faint, hardly perceptible chime. Beside him, a single line of text gleamed on a floating console: SYSTEM READY. INITIAL BROADCAST T-MINUS 60 SECONDS.

Victor looked away from the fake stars. He had a deep, settled exhaustion instead of a glimmer of panic; he looked like a guy who had been carrying an impossible load for too long and was finally letting it go, although in the most disastrous way possible. He moved to the center of the room, where a solitary chair—more of a command throne than furniture—faced a wall that was black now but full of possibilities that could not yet be seen. Tucked away on his wrist, behind his shirt cuff, a smooth band throbbed a dim green light, keeping an eye on his heart's steady beat. A thin column of medical equipment, its readouts showing vital indicators with clinical detachment, stood nearby, virtually blending into the minimalist décor.

The pricey synth-leather sighed under his weight as he sank into the chair. With purpose, he positioned his palms on the armrests, feeling for recognizable grooves. There was still a faint sensation against the cool metal, a tremor. degenerative. irreversible. The verdict was clear: his heart, the muscle that had propelled his unwavering desire, was deteriorating. The physicians had used polite, clinical terminology like advanced cardiomyopathy and progressive myocardial fibrosis. They projected it to be twelve months. With the best care, maybe fourteen. Maybe less if you're under stress.

Ten seconds less than the time. The console's screen was updated. THE GLOBAL NETWORK IS OVERRIDE.

Screens blinked around the planet. Digital billboards flashing ads, streaming services mid-binge, news channels analyzing political disputes, televisions airing afternoon soap operas, and even secure military communication hubs all went dark for a split second before settling into a single, cohesive image: the austere, black-on-silver Aurelius Conglomerate logo. Outward confusion spread. Was there a hack? A massive breakdown of the system? A bold marketing gimmick?

The logo then vanished, to be replaced by the image of Victor Aurelius sitting quietly and staring straight into the camera, into billions of eyes at once. The dark, plain background brought all the emphasis to him.

He started out by saying, "Good morning, good afternoon, and good evening," in a calm, inflectionless baritone. It was the voice of unwavering conviction. "My name is Aurelius Victor. Please pardon my extraordinary intrusion into your lives, but the subject I need to address cannot wait, go via any traditional routes, or use any middlemen."

He took a moment to grasp the enormity of his worldwide presence. People stopped in living rooms, offices, and streets all over the world, stunned by the sheer boldness.

"For years," he went on, "you have recognized me as an innovator and builder. A man who wanted to use business and technology to change the world. However, I have also observed. I have seen how, despite being endowed with consciousness and creativity, humanity has continuously opted for strife, division, and self-destruction. The art of survival has been neglected while you have mastered the art of war. Using the justification of "deterrence," you have constructed arsenals that could sterilize this planet a hundred times over."

The screen appeared to be punctured by his eyeballs. The deterrence is no longer effective. It's an illusion of balance. A loaded gun is held to the collective temple of humanity, transferred from one generation of custodians to the next, and your leaders argue while the mechanisms of annihilation remain primed. Each of them prays they won't be the ones to fire the trigger.

One more pause. He leaned a little forward. "A fatal cardiac ailment has been identified in me. I'm given about a year by my doctors. Give or take a few days, three hundred and sixty-five." His delivery of the line was as detached as a stock market report.

Then the change. "Over the last ten years, I have accomplished what nations have only imagined—or feared—by employing resources and technologies created in complete secrecy. All the major nuclear weapons on this world have had their command and control systems systematically, patiently, and totally circumvented, overridden, or co-opted by me. I now have single, unified command over the arsenals of the United States, Russia, China, France, the United Kingdom, India, Pakistan, Israel, and North Korea."

The world seemed to ring with a collective gasp. Klaxons in NORAD started blaring pointlessly. Leaders in Beijing, Moscow, and Washington, D.C., gazed in astonished astonishment as their fingertips lingered over inactive buttons.

Victor said, "This is not a request for ransom," expecting the idea. "A geopolitical power struggle is not what this is. It's a lesson. The last lesson. He made a subtle motion toward his chest. "My own heart is now inextricably tied to the launch mechanism for the entire nuclear arsenal in the world. A highly advanced, multi-redundant, and impenetrable system continuously tracks my vital signs. All of my weapons will be launched simultaneously and instantly if my heart stops beating, whether due to natural reasons, an accident, or an outside attempt to halt it. Think of it as the ultimate switch for dead men. The world's fuse is now my life.

A panic sprung out. The news anchors were visibly stunned and unable to speak. Stock market tickers turned into crimson cascades. The original #AureliusHijack tremor on social media gave rise to the frightened hashtags #NuclearHostage, #HeartbeatClock, and #YearZero.

"You have one year," Victor said, his tone becoming barely audible. "I'm going to start now. I anticipate complete, confirmed, and irreversible worldwide nuclear disarmament within a year. I shall specify the organization of the new, unified international agency that will dismantle all warheads and secure all fissile materials. All of the bombers, missiles, and submarines were rendered inert.

"There won't be any compromise. No appeals. No more extensions. Both my illness and my resolve are irreversible. Because of my action, humanity is at a crossroads that it created. Because of your mistrust and fear, you have held onto your guns as symbols of power and refused to give them up. You have to give them up now because of your survival instinct, which is the most fundamental one.

"It's an easy decision. Stark. Disarm or perish. Live to witness a world free from the nuclear shadow by cooperating. This world will be reduced to radioactive glass and ash when I die, therefore resist, postpone, or try to get around my restrictions."

He took one more look at the invisible billions. "I've laid forth the conditions. With each beat of my dying heart, the clock is ticking away. Decide for yourself. You have a year.

His picture disappeared. The Aurelius logo briefly returned before disappearing as well. Now meaningless, the screens resumed their regularly scheduled broadcast. Moments later, the sound of sirens starting to scream in cities all around the world shattered the deep, frightened silence that pervaded the air.