In homes across America, families gathered around television screens, tension palpable in living rooms from New York to Los Angeles.
In Tokyo, late-night crowds formed beneath massive public displays. In Moscow, early risers huddled over smartphones.
In Rio de Janeiro, cafés fell silent as patrons stared at mounted screens. From London to Sydney, Cape Town to Mumbai, the world held its collective breath.
An hour earlier, an unprecedented global announcement had interrupted regular programming on every network worldwide:
"This is a global emergency broadcast. At noon Eastern Standard Time, world leaders will address a situation of critical international importance.
All citizens are advised to seek access to news broadcasts. This is not a test. Repeat: this is not a test."
No further details had been provided, but rumors had been swirling for days. Strange sightings over Washington D.C. Military mobilizations.
Government officials working through the night. And most disturbing of all, unconfirmed reports (apparent leaks) that the Guardians of the Globe had suffered a devastating defeat against an unknown entity.
In a modest apartment in Chicago, Maria Gonzalez clutched her rosary as she watched the news with her three children.
The small living room felt even smaller with the weight of uncertainty pressing down on them.
"What do you think is happening, Mama?" her youngest asked, eyes wide with fear.
"I don't know, mijo," she whispered, eyes fixed on the screen where reporters speculated wildly about everything from alien invasion to impending nuclear war.
"They wouldn't tell us if it was really bad, would they?" her teenage daughter asked. "They'd just let it happen."
Maria had no answer. Her middle child, twelve-year-old Diego, sat cross-legged on the floor, rapidly scrolling through social media on his tablet.
"People are saying Omni-Man was seen with some weird guy in Washington," Diego reported. "And that the Guardians got beat up real bad."
"That can't be true," his sister scoffed, though uncertainty tinged her voice. "Nobody can beat the Guardians. That's why they're called the Guardians."
"I saw a video," Diego insisted. "It was blurry, but you could see Red Rush getting thrown like a baseball."
"That was fake, an edit-"
"That's enough," Maria said firmly. "No more scary stories. We wait for the official announcement."
Her phone buzzed with a text from her sister in Los Angeles: "Are you watching this? What's happening?"
Maria typed back: "We're watching. Nobody knows anything yet. Stay safe."
------------------------
The newscaster's voice drew their attention back to the screen: "We're getting reports of unusual atmospheric disturbances over the Atlantic Ocean.
NASA officials have declined to comment, but amateur astronomers are suggesting these could be signs of... well, I hesitate to speculate further without confirmation."
"Aliens," Diego whispered. "I knew it."
In a high-rise apartment in Seoul, Dr. Kim Jun-ho watched the international news feed with his colleagues from the university's physics department, their video conference filled with theories.
"It has to be extraterrestrial," Professor Park insisted, adjusting his glasses nervously. "The energy readings from Washington D.C. yesterday were off the charts. Nothing on Earth could generate that kind of power."
"If it were hostile aliens, we'd already be under attack," Dr. Lee countered, her voice steady despite the circumstances. "This feels more like... negotiation."
"Negotiation implies we have something to offer," Dr. Kim said quietly. "Or something to lose."
Professor Yoon, the eldest of the group, had remained silent until now. "The Guardians of the Globe," he said finally. "There are reports they were defeated in some kind of confrontation."
"Defeated?" Dr. Lee's composure faltered. "That's impossible. Even the Mauler Twins couldn't-"
"Not by a human threat," Dr. Kim interrupted. "By something else."
"The American government is being unusually tight-lipped," Professor Park noted. "Even by their standards."
"My cousin works for the Korean Intelligence Service," Dr. Lee said hesitantly. "She texted me this morning. Said something big was happening. Global-scale big."
"The last time governments coordinated a global announcement was the COVID pandemic," Professor Yoon reminded them. "And before that..."
"There is no 'before that,'" Dr. Kim finished. "Not in our lifetime."
His phone chimed with an alert. "They're saying the ISS has been repositioned. Astronauts reported seeing... something... in Earth orbit."
The scientists fell silent, each contemplating the implications.
"Whatever's happening," Professor Park said finally, "the world will be different after today. One way or another."
------------------------
In a rural farmhouse outside Melbourne, the Davidson family sat in silence around their television. Three generations under one roof, all feeling the weight of history pressing down upon them.
"Reminds me of the Cuban Missile Crisis," Grandpa Davidson muttered, his weathered hands gripping the armrests of his recliner. "That same feeling in your gut, like the world's hanging by a thread."
"This is different, Dad," his son replied, arm protectively around his wife's shoulders. "Back then, it was humans against humans. This... this feels bigger."
Their teenage son, Alex, refreshed his social media feed compulsively. "People are saying Omni-Man was seen with some giant mustached guy in Washington. And that the Guardians got their asses kicked."
"Language," his mother admonished automatically, but her heart wasn't in it. If the Guardians of the Globe couldn't protect them, who could?
"Sorry, Mum," Alex muttered, not looking up from his phone. "But it's all over the internet. Someone posted a video from yesterday.
It's blurry, but you can see the Guardians attacking this massive bloke, and he doesn't even move. Just stands there while they hit him."
"Probably fake," his father said, but without conviction. "You know how people are with their conspiracy theories."
"The military's mobilized," Grandpa Davidson pointed out, nodding toward the screen where footage showed convoys moving through Washington D.C. "You don't do that for a hoax."
"The stock market's crashing," Alex's mother noted, checking her own phone. "Global panic selling. That's real enough."
Alex looked up from his device, his young face unusually serious. "Do you think... do you think we're about to be invaded?"
No one had an answer for him.
--------------------
In a penthouse apartment in Dubai, investment banker Tariq Al-Fayez watched the news with growing concern, phone buzzing constantly with messages from panicked clients.
"The markets are in freefall," his assistant reported over the phone. "Every exchange worldwide. It's worse than the 2008 crash."
"Of course they are," Tariq replied, eyes fixed on the live feed from Washington D.C., where military vehicles surrounded the National Mall. "Nobody invests during the apocalypse."
His wife, Amira, entered the room, her face pale. "The school called. They're sending the children home early."
"Good," Tariq nodded. "They should be here, with us, whatever this is."
"What is it, Tariq?" Amira asked, sitting beside him on the plush sofa. "What's happening?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But my contacts in government are silent. All of them. That never happens."
His phone rang again – his broker in New York.
"Tariq, what the hell is going on over there?" the voice demanded without preamble. "The Middle East markets are leading the crash."
"It's the same here as everywhere else, Jonathan," Tariq replied calmly. "We're waiting for the announcement."
"There are rumors," Jonathan lowered his voice. "Big rumors. About visitors."
"Visitors?"
"Not from around here. Way not from around here. And supposedly, they've made some kind of demand."
Tariq's blood ran cold. "What kind of demand?"
"The kind you can't refuse. Look, I've got to go. Just... be ready for anything."
The line went dead. Tariq turned to his wife, who had heard enough to understand.
"Call your parents," he told her. "Tell them to come here. Whatever's happening, we should be together."
------------------------
In a crowded bar in Mexico City, patrons who had come to watch a football match now stood in silent attention as the screens showed news anchors struggling to maintain composure.
"They say the American government has been in emergency sessions for the past forty-eight hours," the bartender, Miguel, told a customer as he poured another tequila.
"My cousin works at the embassy. Says nobody's slept since Tuesday."
"What about Omega Man?" someone called out from the back. "Where are the heroes when we need them?"
"It's Omni-Man," another patron corrected, an American expatriate named Dave. "And word is, he's with them. Whoever they are."
A hush fell over the bar. If Earth's strongest hero had switched sides, what hope did humanity have?
"That can't be right," a young woman protested. "Omni-Man protects Earth. He wouldn't betray us."
"My brother-in-law is in the Mexican Air Force," an older man said gravely. "He says they've been on high alert since yesterday. All leaves canceled. Aircraft fueled and armed."
"For what?" someone asked. "What could our planes do against something that beat the Guardians?"
"Die bravely," the old man shrugged. "Sometimes that's all you can do."
Miguel turned up the volume as a news anchor reported: "We're receiving confirmation that an unprecedented joint session of the United Nations Security Council concluded just hours ago. The vote was reportedly nearly unanimous, though on what measure remains unclear."
"A vote?" Dave frowned. "What could they be voting on?"
"Whether to fight or surrender," Miguel suggested grimly.
"Surrender to whom?" the young woman demanded.
Before anyone could answer, the television switched to a view of the National Mall in Washington D.C., where a perimeter of military vehicles surrounded the Lincoln Memorial.
"Look!" someone shouted, pointing at the screen. "On top of the memorial!"
A tall, muscular figure stood silhouetted against the morning sky, cape billowing in the breeze.
"Is that him?" the young woman whispered. "The alien?"
"Dios mío," Miguel murmured, crossing himself. "What have we done to deserve this?"
-----------------------
In a modest flat in London, retired schoolteacher Margaret Whitley sat alone, her cat curled in her lap, as she watched the BBC's coverage with remarkable calm.
"I've lived through the Blitz, the Cold War, and more prime ministers than I care to count," she told her cat, Archie. "Whatever this is, we'll weather it too."
But even as she spoke, her weathered hands trembled slightly. The reporters' voices carried an edge of fear she hadn't heard since those dark days of 1940.
Her doorbell rang, startling both her and Archie. She opened it to find her neighbor, Mrs. Patel, standing there with her young daughter.
"Margaret, I'm sorry to disturb you," Mrs. Patel said, her voice strained. "But with my husband away on business... I didn't want to be alone for the announcement."
"Of course, dear," Margaret stepped aside. "Come in, both of you. I've just put the kettle on."
As they settled in the living room, Mrs. Patel's daughter, Priya, asked innocently, "Is it the end of the world, Mrs. Whitley?"
"Priya!" her mother admonished. "Don't say such things."
"It's alright," Margaret smiled gently at the child. "No, Priya, it's not the end of the world. It might be the end of the world as we know it, but that's happened before.
The world changed after the Great War, and again after the Second World War, and again with the internet and mobile phones."
"But this is aliens," Priya insisted. "Everyone at school says so."
"Perhaps," Margaret conceded. "But even if it is, we'll adapt. Humans are quite good at that."
The BBC anchor's voice grew more urgent: "We're getting reports that a large object, possibly a spacecraft, has entered Earth's atmosphere and is currently hovering over Washington D.C. We must emphasize that this is unconfirmed, but multiple sources are reporting-"
"Oh my God," Mrs. Patel gasped, clutching her daughter close.
Margaret reached for her hand. "Whatever happens, we face it together. That's what got us through before."
--------------------------
In a high-security bunker beneath Moscow, Russian President Volkov reviewed the latest intelligence with his cabinet.
"The Americans have capitulated," Defense Minister Petrov reported, sliding a folder across the table. "The Security Council vote was nearly unanimous."
"And what choice did they have?" Foreign Minister Orlova asked, her normally immaculate appearance showing signs of strain after two sleepless nights.
"After what happened to the Guardians? After what this... Thragg demonstrated?"
"So we accept alien rule," Volkov said flatly, pouring himself another vodka. "After all our history, all our struggles, we bow to a man with a mustache from beyond the stars."
"We adapt," Orlova corrected. "We survive. As Russians have always done."
"What of our nuclear deterrent?" Volkov asked Petrov.
"Useless," the Defense Minister replied bluntly. "If the reports about this Thragg's capabilities are even half accurate, our missiles would be as effective as spitballs."
"And our superhumans?" Volkov pressed. "The Red Defenders?"
"They've seen the footage of the Guardians' defeat," Petrov shook his head. "They're standing down on my orders. No sense sacrificing them needlessly."
"So we surrender without firing a shot," Volkov's voice was bitter.
"We survive to fight another day," Orlova countered. "If there is another day to fight."
An aide entered hurriedly. "Mr. President, the broadcast is about to begin."
Volkov straightened his tie and composed his features. In thirty minutes, he would address the Russian people, explaining why their proud nation had bent the knee to an alien power.
But first, he would watch as the American President delivered the news that would change human history forever.
"Pour another round," he ordered. "We may as well toast the end of human independence."
-----------------------
Back in America, in a college dormitory in Boston, students crowded into a common room, their midterm exams forgotten in the face of potentially civilization-altering news.
"My dad's in the National Guard," a young woman named Jenny said, her voice breaking. "They called him up yesterday. No explanation."
"My mom works at CDC," another student, Marcus, added. "She texted that they're preparing for 'unprecedented biomedical integration.' Whatever that means."
"It means we're about to become lab rats," a cynical junior named Tyler muttered. "If we're lucky."
"Hey, they're starting!" someone called out, pointing to the screen where the presidential seal had appeared.
The room fell silent as the American President appeared, his normally confident demeanor subdued.
"My fellow Americans, citizens of Earth," he began, his voice steady despite the extraordinary circumstances. "Today, I address you on a matter of unprecedented significance for our planet.
Two days ago, Earth was visited by a representative of an advanced civilization known as the Viltrum Empire."
Gasps erupted in the dorm room, echoed in living rooms and public spaces worldwide.
"This representative, Grand Regent Thragg, their ruler, presented Earth with a choice: peaceful integration into the Viltrum Empire, or forceful subjugation."
"Holy shit," Tyler breathed. "It's actually happening."
"After witnessing a demonstration of Viltrumite power - power that surpasses anything in our defense capabilities -
and after extensive consultation with world leaders, scientific experts, and military advisors, the United Nations Security Council has voted to accept peaceful integration."
Jenny began to cry silently. Marcus put his arm around her shoulders.
"I understand this news may be shocking, frightening, even infuriating," the President continued.
"But I assure you, this decision was not made lightly. The alternative would have meant global devastation on an unimaginable scale."
"So that's it?" a freshman asked incredulously. "We just... give up?"
"What choice do we have?" Marcus replied grimly. "If they can take down the Guardians..."
"The Viltrum Empire has promised significant benefits to Earth," the President was saying. "Advanced medical technology to eliminate disease.
Agricultural innovations to end hunger. Energy solutions to address climate change. In return, they ask for our cooperation and integration into their interstellar community."
"They 'ask,'" Tyler scoffed. "Like we have a choice."
"I now yield to a live broadcast from Washington D.C., where Grand Regent Thragg will address the people of Earth directly."
The screen switched to a view of the Lincoln Memorial, where an imposing figure stood at the top of the steps.
"Jesus," someone whispered. "Look at the size of him."
---------------------
In her Chicago apartment, Maria Gonzalez held her children close as they watched Thragg appear on screen.
His muscular frame dwarfed the human officials standing nearby, his crimson and white uniform gleaming in the sunlight.
"Is that him, Mama?" her youngest asked, voice small with fear. "The alien?"
"Yes, mijo," she answered, trying to keep her own voice steady. "That's him."
"He looks human," her daughter observed. "Just... bigger."
"Viltrumites," Diego read from his tablet, "appear externally similar to humans but possess vastly superior physical capabilities, including superhuman strength, speed, and durability."
"Where are you reading that?" Maria asked, surprised.
"Government website," Diego showed her the screen. "They just published a whole page about them."
On the television, Thragg began to speak, his deep voice resonating with authority.
"People of Earth," he said. "I am Thragg, Grand Regent of the Viltrum Empire. Your leaders have wisely chosen peaceful integration over conflict. This decision will benefit both our peoples."
"He talks like it's a favor," Maria's daughter muttered.
"The Viltrum Empire spans multiple star systems," Thragg continued. "We bring order, stability, and advancement to all worlds under our protection. Earth will be no exception."
Diego was still reading from his tablet. "It says here the Viltrumites are nearly extinct. A plague reduced their population from billions to just a few dozen."
"Shh," Maria hushed him, focused on Thragg's words.
"In the coming days, Viltrumite representatives will establish contact with your governments, scientific communities, and medical institutions.
The transition to Viltrum governance will be orderly and respectful of human customs and traditions."
"What does that mean, 'Viltrum governance'?" Maria's daughter asked. "Are they taking over our government?"
"I think they already have, sweetheart," Maria replied softly.
On screen, the camera panned to show a group of officials approaching the memorial.
At their head walked Cecil Stedman, the enigmatic director of the Global Defense Agency, flanked by the Guardians of the Globe - all looking notably worse for wear.
"Look!" Diego pointed excitedly. "The Guardians! They're alive!"
Indeed, the heroes were present, but their condition was shocking.
The Immortal's hand was heavily bandaged.
War Woman moved with a noticeable limp.
Red Rush, normally a blur of motion, walked slowly, deliberately.
Darkwing's cape was torn, his costume damaged - as if to show his defeat he refused to replace it.
Green Ghost flickered in and out of visibility, as if struggling to maintain her form.
Aquarus's normally lustrous scales appeared dull, damaged.
"What happened to them?" Maria's youngest whispered.
"They fought," his sister answered. "And they lost."
----------------------------
In Seoul, Dr. Kim and his colleagues watched in stunned silence as Cecil Stedman approached Thragg, carrying what appeared to be an official document.
"Is that... a surrender document?" Professor Park asked incredulously.
"An integration agreement," Dr. Lee corrected automatically, though the distinction seemed academic.
They watched as Cecil presented the document to Thragg, who accepted it with regal dignity.
"The United Nations Security Council, representing Earth's governments, has voted to accept your offer of peaceful integration into the Viltrum Empire," Cecil's voice carried clearly through the broadcast.
"A wise decision," Thragg replied, his deep voice resonating. "One that will benefit both our peoples."
"They're just handing over the planet," Professor Yoon said in disbelief. "Just like that."
"What alternative do they have?" Dr. Kim asked. "Look at the Guardians. Whatever Thragg did to them, our militaries wouldn't stand a chance."
On screen, the Secretary-General stepped forward, saying something about assurances regarding human rights and cultural autonomy. Thragg cut him off.
"These assurances are unnecessary. My word is sufficient. But I will review your document as a courtesy."
"The arrogance," Dr. Lee muttered.
"It's not arrogance if it's backed by power," Dr. Kim pointed out. "And clearly, he has power to spare."
Thragg finished scanning the document. "Acceptable," he pronounced. "Though you should understand that while I will honor these principles, the ultimate authority remains mine."
"There it is," Professor Park said grimly. "The truth laid bare. We're subjects now, not citizens."
The scientists fell silent as Thragg looked to the sky. "Now, it is time for Earth to meet its new protectors."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a distant rumble drew all eyes upward.
"What is that?" Dr. Lee whispered as the camera panned up.
Breaking through the atmosphere came a massive warship, its design unlike anything human engineers had conceived.
It hovered silently above the National Mall, casting a shadow over the Washington Monument.
"Impossible," Professor Yoon breathed. "The energy requirements for a ship that size to maintain hover in atmosphere..."
"Clearly not impossible for them," Dr. Kim said.
But it was what followed that truly silenced them. Forty-eight figures descended from the heavens, each physically imposing, only surpassed by Thragg himself.
"More of them," Professor Park whispered. "God help us."
-------------------------
In the Australian farmhouse, the Davidson family watched in horror as the Viltrumites arranged themselves in formation before kneeling before Thragg, full of respect and reverence towards him.
"There's a bloody army of them," Grandpa Davidson muttered.
"Forty-eight," Alex counted quickly. "Plus Thragg and Omni-Man... fifty altogether."
"Fifty super-powered aliens," his father said grimly. "Against seven billion humans."
"And the fifty would win," his mother added, her voice hollow.
They watched as Thragg began acknowledging his subordinates by name. General Kregg. Conquest. Anissa. Lucan. Each rising to report on their specific area of responsibility.
"They've been planning this," Alex's father realized. "This isn't spontaneous. They've had strategies in place, assignments ready."
"Of course they have," Grandpa Davidson snorted. "You don't conquer planets on a whim, boy."
Alex was frantically searching on his phone. "I can't find anything about these other Viltrumites. Nothing. It's like they didn't exist until today."
"Because they didn't," his mother said. "Not to us."
On screen, Cecil Stedman was speaking again, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "I wasn't aware we'd be hosting quite so many... guests."
"The Viltrum Empire's presence on Earth will be appropriate to its importance," Thragg replied. "These are but the vanguard. They will oversee the integration process and ensure compliance."
"Compliance," Alex's father repeated bitterly. "That's what it comes down to."
The Secretary-General asked nervously how many more Viltrumites they should expect.
"None, for now," Thragg stated. "Our numbers are limited. The Viltrumite race faces extinction - a fact I have been transparent about. Including Nolan and myself, there are but fifty of us remaining."
"Only fifty in their entire species?" Alex looked up from his phone in surprise.
"Fifty is plenty," Grandpa Davidson said grimly. "More than enough to hold a planet hostage."
They watched as General Kregg planted the Viltrumite standard before the Lincoln Memorial, the alien banner snapping in the breeze.
"Let it be known," Thragg proclaimed, "that as of this moment, Earth is officially a protectorate of the Viltrum Empire.
Its people are under our protection. Its resources are under our stewardship. Its future is now bound to ours."
"And that's that," Grandpa Davidson said quietly. "Earth has fallen."
-------------------------
In Dubai, Tariq Al-Fayez watched the proceedings with his wife and children, who had arrived home just minutes before the broadcast began.
His youngest daughter clung to her mother, frightened by the imposing aliens on screen.
"Are they going to hurt us, Baba?" she asked.
"No, habibti," Tariq assured her, though he felt far from certain. "They say they're here to help us."
"Then why do they look so scary?" his son asked.
"Power often looks frightening," Tariq replied diplomatically. "Even when it's not meant to harm."
On screen, Thragg was outlining the immediate next steps. "The transition begins immediately.
I will require facilities for my people, access to your communications infrastructure, and meetings with your scientific community.
The benefits I promised - the elimination of disease, hunger, and war - will commence once these logistical matters are addressed."
Cecil stepped forward. "The GDA has prepared a comprehensive integration plan, as requested.
We've identified suitable locations for your people, established secure communication channels, and assembled teams of our top scientists and medical researchers."
"They've been preparing for this," Amira realized. "The governments knew this was coming."
"Of course they did," Tariq nodded. "This didn't happen overnight."
"Just doing my job," Cecil was saying dryly. "Which apparently now includes facilitating alien occupation."
"Integration," Thragg corrected. "Not simply occupation. A distinction that will become clearer as the benefits materialize."
He turned to address the Viltrumites. "You have your assignments. Proceed."
With that simple command, the assembled Viltrumites rose into the air in perfect formation, then dispersed in different directions.
"Where are they going?" Tariq's son asked, alarmed.
"To their posts," Tariq surmised. "Around the world."
"Will one come here?" his daughter asked fearfully.
"Perhaps," Tariq admitted. "But remember what Thragg said. They're here to help."
Even as he spoke the reassuring words, Tariq's phone buzzed with a message from the UAE's Finance Minister: "Emergency cabinet meeting. 1 hour. Viltrumite liaison arriving tomorrow. Prepare economic impact assessment."
So it begins, Tariq thought. The new world order.
-----------------------
In the Mexico City bar, the patrons watched as the Viltrumites dispersed across the globe. The initial shock had given way to a strange, fatalistic camaraderie.
Miguel poured drinks liberally, on the house.
"To Earth," someone toasted. "May she rest in peace."
"To humanity," Miguel countered. "Too stubborn to die, even now."
"What happens next?" the young woman asked no one in particular.
"We adapt," Dave, the American expatriate, replied. "What choice do we have?"
"We could fight," a muscular man suggested.
"Did you see what happened to the Guardians?" Dave scoffed. "They tried fighting. Look where it got them."
"So we just... accept alien overlords?" the young woman demanded.
"For now," the older man who had spoken earlier said quietly. "We accept. We observe. We learn their weaknesses. Every conqueror in history has eventually faced resistance."
"Not conquerors with superpowers," Dave pointed out.
"Even gods can bleed," the old man replied. "It's just a matter of finding the right weapon."
On the screen, Thragg was speaking to Omni-Man, who stood rigidly at attention.
"You have served well as Earth's protector," Thragg said. "That role will continue, but with expanded responsibilities.
You will serve as liaison between the Viltrum Empire and Earth's governments, ensuring smooth communication and compliance."
"Yes, Grand Regent," Omni-Man replied formally.
"So Omni-Man is working with them," the young woman said bitterly. "He's a traitor."
"Or a prisoner," Miguel suggested. "Look at his face. That's not the face of a willing collaborator."
As if confirming this assessment, the camera caught a brief exchange between Thragg and a younger figure hovering nearby - Omni-Man's son apparently.
"Your son will begin formal Viltrumite training immediately," Thragg was saying. "General Kregg will oversee his development."
The young hero - Invincible, some called him since yesterday's heroics - descended to stand beside his father. "And if I don't want to train?" he asked boldly.
A dangerous silence followed.
"Your preference," Thragg said finally, "is noted but irrelevant. You are half-Viltrumite. That heritage comes with responsibilities you cannot shirk."
"Even their own aren't free," Dave observed. "What chance do we have?"
"This world enters a new age today," Thragg announced, rising into the air. "The age of Viltrum has begun."
As Thragg and his entourage departed toward their warship, the broadcast cut back to the American President, who began outlining the practical implications of Earth's new status.
Miguel muted the television. "Well, amigos, it seems we have new management."
"What will you do, Miguel?" the young woman asked.
"Open the bar tomorrow," he shrugged. "Pour drinks. Listen to stories. What else? Life goes on, even under alien rule."
"Until it doesn't," the old man said grimly.
--------------------
In London, Margaret Whitley, Mrs. Patel, and little Priya watched as the broadcast concluded with announcements about "transition protocols" and "adaptation guidelines."
"What does it all mean, Mrs. Whitley?" Priya asked, less frightened now but deeply confused.
"It means change, dear," Margaret replied. "Big change."
"Are they good aliens or bad aliens?" Priya persisted.
Margaret considered this. "I don't think it's that simple, love. They're powerful aliens who want things their way. Whether that's good or bad depends on what their way turns out to be."
"They said they'll cure diseases," Mrs. Patel pointed out. "End hunger. That sounds good."
"Yes," Margaret agreed. "Though I wonder what the price will be."
"The price?" Priya looked between the adults.
"There's always a price for protection, dear," Margaret explained gently. "Always."
Mrs. Patel's phone chimed with a notification. "They're saying one of the Viltrumites will be arriving in London tomorrow. To meet with Parliament and the Royal Family."
"How exciting," Margaret said dryly. "I wonder if one should curtsy to an alien overlord."
Despite everything, Mrs. Patel laughed. "Trust you to worry about protocol at a time like this."
"Protocol matters, dear," Margaret insisted. "Especially with new... management."
Priya looked out the window, where neighbors were gathering in the street, seeking community in this moment of shared uncertainty.
"Will we be okay, Mrs. Whitley?" she asked.
Margaret patted the child's hand. "We'll adapt, dear. Humans always do."
----------------------
In Moscow, President Volkov finished watching the broadcast in grim silence. The vodka bottle was nearly empty now.
"So it's done," he said finally. "Earth belongs to the Viltrumites."
"Not belongs," Foreign Minister Orlova corrected. "Is protected by. There's a distinction."
"A semantic one," Defense Minister Petrov grumbled.
"Nevertheless," Orlova insisted. "The terms matter. Thragg spoke of integration, not simply conquest. Of benefits, not exploitation."
"Pretty words to mask ugly truth," Volkov said bitterly. "We are no longer masters of our own fate."
An aide entered with a tablet. "Mr. President, we've received word that a Viltrumite named Kreax will arrive in Moscow tomorrow to establish formal relations."
"Formal relations," Volkov repeated. "As if we were equals."
"We must prepare," Orlova said practically. "Whatever our personal feelings, Russia must position itself advantageously in this new paradigm."
"You mean curry favor with our new overlords," Petrov said bluntly.
"I mean survive and thrive under changed circumstances," Orlova shot back. "As Russians have always done."
Volkov stood, straightening his jacket. "Prepare my address to the nation. I will speak in one hour."
"What will you tell them?" Orlova asked.
Volkov's expression was grim but resolved. "The truth. That the world has changed irrevocably.
That we must adapt or perish. That Russia will endure, as it always has, regardless of who claims dominion over Earth."
"And then?" Petrov asked.
"And then," Volkov said heavily, "we begin learning how to live under Viltrumite rule."
----------------------------------
(Author note: My God, was this chapter interesting to write.
I hope it wasn't repetetive with the whole "adapt" thing, but I personally wrote it that way as human instinct, their will to survive, that they all begin to think the same thing in this situation.
So yeah, do tell me how you found the chapter and I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)