Announcement of the Hunt

Chapter 1

The silence of space stretches infinitely in every direction, broken only by the deep hum of massive alien warships. A man kneels in the center of one, his hands bound behind his back with thick chains. His shoulders remain squared despite the restraints. He stands tall and broad-shouldered, built like a soldier who spends his days marching through battlefields. His chest, back, and arms are painted in deep bruises, with scars crisscrossing in jagged patterns, a testament to battles fought too close, with enemies too desperate. Some wounds clot over with crude stitching, while others still throb, the pain dulled only by exhaustion. Blood, both dried and fresh, clings to the fabric of his torn shirt, evidence of an existence where every day is survival, and every victory is bought in pain.

His right eye, cold and unyielding, stares ahead. The other, soaked in blood, is replaced by a hollow socket covered with a makeshift black patch, dirty and frayed at the edges. His face is rough and scarred, filled with fresh and old bruises, his jaw clenched as he fights against the lingering pain. His short, uneven hair, streaked with premature gray, is damp with sweat.

Though his body was beaten and broken, his spirit remained unbowed. Even as the massive energy cannons of the warship charged, ready to deliver the final blow to the dying planet below, he did not break.

His wrists are bound behind his back, knees pressed against the cold metallic floor. His reflection stares back at him from the polished surface, a man who has lost everything. He looks up. Beyond the transparent hull of the alien vessel, he sees Earth, his home, burning, dying, disappearing. The planet is a shadow of what it once was, scorched lands, ruined cities, lifeless oceans. Yet, despite everything, he has never seen it as beautiful as it is. In this moment, "So, this is it..." he whispers. "This is the end... the end of everything." A single tear slides down his cheek, vanishing into the void before it can stain the cold metal beneath him. Then, the light begins to glow. A powerful blue radiance pulses from the ship’s core, spreading like veins of energy through the war machine’s structure. A violent surge vibrates through the shuttle, shaking his very bones. Beyond the glass, he sees it, a fleet of alien vessels positioned in perfect synchronization, their colossal cannons aimed at a single target. Earth. A deep voice thunders through the ship, emotionless and final. "Phase three initiated. Planetary destruction commencing in five… four… three…"

Everything freezes. The blinding light, the trembling floor, the hum of the alien machinery, everything stops. A voice, older, distant, yet ever-present, whispers through time. "Before this destruction, there is a foundation. A building cannot stand firm if the foundation beneath it is weak. And if the foundation itself is destruction, then what does that say about the structure that follows? The greatest desire of the human species is self-satisfaction. We do anything, everything, to ensure that our world aligns with our best interests, regardless of whether our actions are right or wrong. And more often than not, that desire leads to a single, inevitable truth… GREED."

ONE YEAR AGO

The sun hangs like a molten orb in the polluted sky, its heat pressing down on the land like an unrelenting weight. The air is thick with dust and the acrid scent of machinery. A faint hum vibrates through the ground—a mixture of underground generators and the distant sounds of struggle.

The region's skyline is dominated by towering structures, ranging from 14 feet to an awe-inspiring 135 feet, each built with remarkable precision and technological mastery. Some of these skyscrapers stretch even higher, their exteriors shimmering with an eerie glow, displaying the pinnacle of human and alien engineering.

At the very heart of the region, standing as the ultimate testament to the era’s advancement, is a colossal structure, a 400-foot-tall tower matching the height of the mighty walls that enclose the city. What sets this tower apart, however, is not just its sheer size but its curious composition. Unlike the hardened metals used in other buildings, this structure is infused with gold, blended with an unknown living nanotech that makes it appear as if it is constantly shifting, breathing yet unmoving.

It is more than just a building; it is a living entity, intricately connected to the city itself. The walls surrounding the region are not just barriers but sentient constructs, seemingly in constant communication with the tower. Three massive circular platforms protrude from the tower at 100 feet, 200 feet, and 300 feet, their vast widths and thickness giving them an imposing presence. The final section at the very top looms over the city like an ever-watchful eye.

People move like ghosts through the streets, their bodies wrapped in protective suits, their faces obscured behind helmets or breathing masks. Tubes snake from their nostrils, pumping artificial oxygen into their lungs. They shuffle forward, each step slow and deliberate, drained of vitality. No laughter of children echoes through the alleys, no playful chatter fills the markets, only hushed voices and wary glances exchanged under flickering neon lights.

On the cracked roads, there is a division. Two lanes stretch forward, one for the humans, their hunched figures resigned to the margins of existence. They trudge through the dust, some too weak to stand, others slumped against walls, their minds tethered to the artificial intelligence systems embedded within their skulls. Their bodies remain, but their consciousnesses drift in a digital haze, their daily tasks executed by commands they no longer question.

The other lane belongs to the conquerors. The aliens, tall, red-skinned beings with emerald eyes that pulse in the dim light, walk with precision and purpose. Their elongated ears flicker at the sound of any movement, their presence exuding an air of effortless dominance. Their robes shimmer under the neon haze, their footsteps barely disturbing the filth-streaked pavement. Unlike the humans, they breathe freely, unburdened by the poisoned air.

Robots weave through the chaos, metallic limbs extending to serve their alien masters with precision. Some carry trays of synthetic food, others prod at the weakened humans, ensuring obedience.

At the edges of the streets, clusters of human bodies remain motionless, some asleep, some paralyzed, others simply staring blankly at the sky. Their minds are elsewhere, fully integrated into the artificial system that dictates their existence. There is no resistance. Only survival.

And then, it happens.

A light, brighter than anything in this broken world, erupts from the grand tower at the center of the region. It floods the streets, piercing through the thick smog and illuminating every corner of the decaying city. From this colossal structure, the Supreme Leader illuminates his presence, his authority stretching across the entire region. Everyone, no matter where they stand, sees this towering symbol of power, a constant reminder of his dominion and the unshakable rule that governs their lives.

All movement ceases. Even the automated drones pause in their cycles. Those drifting in their digital worlds are violently snapped back to reality. Eyes widen in awe and terror. The very last wall of the region, miles away, is bathed in its glow.

The air shimmers with energy as a brilliant light explodes at the center of the region, casting elongated shadows across the cracked streets. Every head turns toward it. Even those slumped against the walls in exhaustion or connected to the artificial intelligence system lift their vacant eyes, their attention forcefully drawn.

A towering figure materializes within the radiance. Though he is not physically present, the sheer intensity of his projection makes it feel as though he is. The holographic form crackles with power, its details sharp, refined, almost too perfect, as if no imperfection could exist upon him.

The Supreme Leader of the region.

He stands taller than any ordinary being, his form lean yet impossibly strong, built with an unnatural symmetry that defies human proportions. His skin, a deep crimson, gleams like polished metal under the artificial sunlight. Unlike the lesser aliens who roam the streets, his green eyes hold a luminous depth, shifting between hues as if reflecting the very life force of the world he commands. They are piercing, unforgiving, eyes that have seen centuries pass, yet remain untouched by time. His ears, long and tapered, curve slightly backward, a symbol of his species' evolution, a trait that signifies both superiority and heightened perception.

Every detail of him is deliberate. His high-collared robe, dark and flowing, adorned with intricate glowing patterns that pulse in rhythmic intervals, marks him as something far beyond the others of his kind. The fabric moves unnaturally, as if responding to unseen forces, shifting between solidity and ethereal mist.

He does not need to command attention. It is given to him the moment he appears. His presence alone is absolute.

A hush spreads through the streets. Even the aliens bow their heads in respect. The humans tremble, their breaths hitching, their bodies instinctively lowering as if gravity itself demands their submission.

The Supreme Leader raises a single hand. The very atmosphere tightens, pressing against flesh and metal alike. And then, in a voice that reverberates through the bones of every living being, the figure speaks.

The fate of the region hangs on his words.

"Good afternoon, citizens of the West." His voice carries through the air, calm yet commanding, amplified by unseen technology. "You may be surprised to see me addressing you directly. It has been one hundred and fifty years since my colleagues, the Supreme Leaders of the other regions, and I arrive on Earth when it stands on the brink of extinction. Nature has turned her back on the human race, yet we do everything in our power to save you from this misery. We provide ways for you to multiply, to survive not just the airborne diseases that spread after the Great War, but also the horrors that follow."

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle over the crowd. "We build the Great Wall to shield you from scavengers and the Mist. We have worked tirelessly to find a cure so that one day, you may breathe fresh air again, free of masks, free of the chains that bind you to survival."

The crowd stirs. A wave of mixed reactions ripples through the streets. Some cheer, their voices rising in gratitude, their hands clapping in fervent approval. Others sneer, their faces twisted in defiance. From the edges of the street, voices rise in rebellion, shouting accusations and curses. "Leave our planet, aliens" one voice cries. Another follows, louder, angrier, "Get out, you monsters." The noise swells, turning into an uproar. Fists are raised, and tensions boil over. Suddenly, the metallic clank of robotic enforcers echoes through the streets. The machines march forward, their movements precise and unyielding. They push through the crowd, silencing the rebellion with brute force. Screams turn to muffled grunts as protestors are restrained, their resistance crushed under the weight of cold, unfeeling metal. Little by little, the uproar fades, leaving only silence in its wake. The Supreme Leader watches the scene unfold, his expression unreadable. When the streets fall quiet once more, he continues, his voice steady and unwavering."Thank you for listening. I understand that you do not expect me here today. But this message is of utmost importance. One year ago, the Supreme Leaders of all regions, West, East, and Central, gathered the greatest scientists on this planet to find a cure for the airborne disease. And we succeed." He pauses again, his words hanging in the air like a promise. "We found a cure." For a moment, silence. Then, a ripple of emotions spreads like wildfire. Joy erupts across the streets. Faces once filled with despair now shine with hope. But as their cheers grow, they begin to notice something. The Supreme Leader’s expression does not match their relief. His face remains cold, somber. Then, he speaks again. "But it is too late." A hush falls over the city. The celebration dies, replaced by dread. "During our research, we uncover something far worse. We believe the Mist Virus to be stable, something we can contain. But we are wrong. The virus is evolving, growing stronger. You have all noticed it, haven’t you? Your oxygen supply depletes faster. You struggle to breathe even with the masks. That is not because we have restricted resources. No, it is because the Mist Virus has reached a point beyond our control. This planet has one year left before total collapse." Panic spreads like wildfire. Some scream in horror, others curse the Supreme Leader and his kind. Fights break out. Even some of the aliens glance at one another in fear, realizing that they, too, are trapped in this fate. The Supreme Leader raises his hand. The moment he does, the robotic forces slam their weapons against the ground in unison. The heavy clang cuts through the chaos, and silence follows. His voice is firm, unwavering. "There is hope." The crowd clings to his words."We found a cure, a cure that will not only stop the Mist Virus but restore this planet. Nature will return. Earth will live again." A murmur of cautious optimism spreads, but the Supreme Leader’s gaze darkens."But there is a problem. The final component needed to complete the cure has been stolen."A massive screen lights up behind him. A man of the Western region appears, his skin fair but worn from years of war. His face is rugged, hardened by countless battles, with deep lines etched into his forehead and around his sharp, steely gray eyes. Eyes that do not waver. Eyes that pierce through the screen, filled with an unshakable will. His expression is unreadable, calm yet dangerous. There is no fear in his gaze, no regret, only cold calculation. His jaw is strong, locked in silent defiance, as if daring the world to challenge him. A thin scar runs from his left temple down to his cheek, a reminder of wars fought and survived. He stands tall in a long black military coat, its fabric reinforced for battle. The high collar brushes against his jaw, giving him an air of unwavering authority. His shoulders bear insignias, now meaningless, now symbols of rebellion. A black beret rests atop his head, tilted slightly, casting a shadow over his brow, making his gaze even more intimidating. A thick breathing tube runs from his nostrils down the side of his jaw, disappearing beneath his coat. The device hums faintly, supplying him with the air needed to survive in this toxic world. Yet, even with it, he stands as if he owns the very ground beneath his feet, unyielding and proud. In his right hand, he holds a sleek black laser rifle, gripped with the confidence of a man who has fired it more times than he can count. His fingers rest lightly on the trigger, his stance relaxed yet ready, like a predator awaiting its moment. Strapped to his waist, a gleaming combat knife, its edge reflecting the cold artificial light. "This is Commander R. He was the leader of an elite force we sent to retrieve the last piece of the cure. But he betrayed us. He murdered his own team and took the cure for himself. We do not know where he is or what his true intentions are. But know this—if we do not retrieve the cure in time, we all perish." The moment those words sink in, the crowd erupts. "Kill the Commander!" "Hunt him down!" The Supreme Leader nods, letting the rage boil before speaking once more "Commander R is not just any commander among the region of the West. He is one of the best commanders among all regions, if not the best, which makes him even more dangerous to handle. But, with your help, we can find him. If you see him, if you know anything about him, report it. And if you wish to fight for the future of this world, join the force. Together, we will take back what was stolen."

A timer appears on the screen.365 days. 0 hours. 0 minutes. 0 seconds. "The countdown begins." The Supreme Leader says as his gaze sweeps over the crowd. "Every second that passes brings us closer to the end. But do not fear. Do not hesitate. Today, we stand not as humans or aliens. Today, we stand as one. Citizens of Earth, let us make Mother Nature smile upon us once more. The fate of Earth rests in your hands now."The projection fades, leaving the timer as the seconds start to count. The chant begins again.

"Hunt Commander R!" "Find Commander R!" "Hunt Commander R!" "Kill Commander R!"

Across all regions, from East to Central to West, the hunt has begun.