22 Hours Remain...
The world was burning — not only in flames, but in fear.
But then, something changed.
Across fragmented satellite networks and hacked emergency channels, a strange signal began to spread. It carried no threat, no code — only a voice.
Adam's voice.
"To anyone listening... this isn't over. They think we're parasites. But I've spoken with them. The ones buried beneath. And they're not all the same."
"They believe we hate each other. That we'd never unite. That we deserve the purge. But I told them we're more than our worst moments. I told them we want a second chance."
"We have one shot — to show we can change, and fight together. Not for power. Not for nations. For all of us."
The message played on every cracked screen, every glitching terminal, every forgotten radio.
And slowly, the world listened.
In a devastated UN bunker beneath Geneva, surviving representatives stood in silence.
Then the Nigerian diplomat spoke:
"The boy is right. We've failed alone. But maybe we can still stand together."
In a flooded coastal base in Bangladesh, refugees and soldiers watched together.
Some wept. Some saluted.
In Brazil, a warlord turned militia leader dropped his rifle and picked up his daughter.
Even in Moscow, where the remaining government had gone dark, the signal looped on a cracked cathedral wall where survivors gathered around candles.
Hope — not loud, but present — began to stir.
Back underground...
Adam lay weak, but awake. Mike held his hand.
Sarah wiped her eyes.
"You did it. You made them hear."
But Adam shook his head.
"They'll only believe us... if we act like one."
Mike turned to Sarah.
"Then we get them to the surface. The battalion. The priests who still doubt."
Sarah nodded.
"And we give the world something to believe in."
The Scarab flared once more — but this time, not in fear.
It pulsed with the rhythm of something new.
A second era had begun to stir.
Above, the Red Lotus dimmed slightly — as if curious.
The countdown continued.
21 hours remain.