First of all, I have changed.
I am hearing voices and I know that they are not real. I’ve been smoking too much weed for far too long, and now I have damaged my brain. I have fucked up.
I smoke blunts – every day from 5pm until I pass out on the sofa watching reels on my phone and YouTube videos on the telly. I started early today because it’s Saturday.
I smoke pure weed – not skunk. Often, I have a glass of something with it; lately it has been vodka.
I was smoking, sipping vodka neat, scrolling through reels, and watching Pop The Balloon Lagos mainland edition on television when it started.
I don’t do any other drugs. I’ve never tried anything else. Only weed – and only because I believed it was safe because it’s natural.
I am compos mentis, as unbelievable as that sounds. I know that the voices are not real. I know that I am high. I know that I have damaged my brain.
The voice is not in my head. I can hear it as if an invisible person is here in the room with me. I am alone on the sofa in the parlour. I’m still single. I still live alone. No one else is in the house but me.
I know the voice is not real.
It is talking to me now as I am texting you.
Farabalẹ̀. Má bẹ̀rù. Má fòyà. Kò ṣeéwu.
Be calm. Do not fear. Be brave. There is no danger.
I will call for an ambulance after I send this. I will give them your details. I know it’s been years, but I never replaced you as my next of kin. You are still the only person I trust with everything. Please don’t let them commit me. I am not mad. I know the voices are not real. I know that I have damaged my brain. I promise I will never smoke weed again.
Wale clicked send. The voice kept talking. He ignored it, treating it as ambient sound, the mutter of a stranger talking to someone on their phone – something like that. He knew that to listen was to engage, and to engage was to lose his slipping grip on sanity.
He dialled 112.
“Emergency services, which service do you need?”
“I am hearing voices.”
Pause.
“Sir, everybody is hearing them. Haven’t you seen the news?”
Silence.
“Sir? Are you there?”
“Yes. I am still hearing it.”
“Is it telling you about a person called Wale Ojo?”
“I am Wale Ojo.”
“Wale Ojo, the son of Oyinda Ojo, née Babatope?”
“That’s me.”
“Sir, I’m asking you if that is what the voice is telling you.”
“I know. I am Wale Ojo, son of Oyinda Ojo, whose maiden name is Oyinda Babatope.”
Pause.
“Sir, please hold on.”
*
He wasn’t sure if it was lucidity from the effects of the cannabis wearing off or heightened paranoia because he was still ascending to the full effect of the THC. But as he held on, minutes passed, and he realised that he had messed up. In his mild delirium, he had called the Nigerian emergency services and volunteered information that can and would be used against him. He suddenly realised the trick the operator played on him, asking him to hold on so that they could track the call and arrest the self-confessed drug user who claimed to be hearing voices.
In panic, he ended the call. He dropped the phone onto the stool that also held his ashtray or half-smoked blunt and his drug paraphernalia, including crumpled rolling paper, a just-used grinder, and a half-ounce packet of Ghana Gold. Any time now, NDLEA officers would be breaking his door down.
But wait. Did he tell her he’d been smoking weed?
Banging on the door registered a moment too late to startle him.
“Nigerian police. Open the door!”
He looked at the instruments of his addiction: evidence that would seal his conviction. He looked at his discarded mobile, the device that had betrayed him. He considered his options. There were none.
Má fòyà. Kò ṣeéwu.
Be brave. There is no danger.
Shut up! Shut the fuck up!
The door flung open. Officers crowded the doorway. There were four of them; maybe more outside in the sun. They watched him where he sat, waiting for his life to end.
“Are you Mr Wale Ojo?” One of them enquired. He was an older man with a kind face and a gentle voice.
Wale nodded.
“The Wale Ojo they are telling us about?”
He pointed at his head as he said it.
The men gingerly entered the living room. They approached Wale as one would approach a Big Man or a dangerous criminal. They stopped behind his stool, unconcerned about its contents, and watched the man they had come to find, their eyes filled with awe and their postures reflecting deference.
Wale watched them as they stood before him, looking at him as if he were special. Could it be true that they were hearing voices too, and they were telling them about him? Was everybody hearing the voice?
Bẹẹni.
Yes.
Several vehicles abruptly screeched to a halt outside, shocking both Wale and the officers. Moments later, men in camouflage battle gear crowded the living room. They were armed with automatic rifles, their netted helmets were strapped to their chins, and they treated the police as adversaries, just as they treated Wale. Their leader stood in the space his men had cleared in front of the stool.
“I am Captain Aminu Abubakar of the Nigerian Army Intelligence Corps. Are you Wale Ojo, the son of Oyinda Ojo, née Babatope?”
Wale nodded. He had never had so many men in his living room before.
“Please, come with us,” Captain Abubakar said.
In words it was a request, but in fact he had no choice. Wale took a deep breath, but before he could exhale, the thunderous roar of several helicopters drowned out the captain’s next words. The helicopters hovered above. All the men looked up as if the ceiling was invisible. One by one they went outside to investigate. The captain held Wale’s arm. Four of his men surrounded them. They all went outside as well.
The homes in IITA, Ibadan, have no fences – just bungalows and terraces set in the middle of well-tended lawns and gardens. All the neighbours were outside, watching from behind a line of military and police officers. Clothing flapped violently in the rotor wash, blades tearing through the quiet. Shredded grass and dust flew like shrapnel across the freshly mowed lawns. Above, four Chinook helicopters hovered – three circling the perimeter, and one stationed directly above the lawn in front of Wale’s home. Everyone was looking up. Neighbours raised their camera phones, struggling to hold them steady against the turbulence. Children clung tightly to their parents. No one spoke. The thrum of the rotors drowned out every other sound.
Ropes dropped from the backs and the sides of the helicopters. Commandos abseiled to the ground, their weapons aimed all the way down.
A child was first to point at the sky. Above the compound, above the people, above the helicopters, a drone with wide wings was descending in wide spirals.
The officers of the Nigerian Army and the Nigerian Police were advised to drop their weapons and they complied. One of the helicopter crew members strapped Wale to their body, and the rope was pulled back up into the Chinook hovering right above Wale’s lawn.
The helicopter rotated and flew away with Wale in it. One by one, the other helicopters swallowed up their people and flew north. The drone was last to leave, rising up in its wide spirals until it was beyond the clouds and hidden in the heavens, but its menace remained.
*
They strapped him into a seat in the thunderous machine. Someone secured a helmet onto his head. His entire body shook with the vibrations and he felt sick in his stomach as the Chinook banked sharply, giving him a nauseating view of the forest canopy.
Two men were on either side of him; six sat on the opposite side. Pipes, wires, and instruments lined the fuselage behind them.
“How are you doing this?” he heard someone ask through the earphones on his helmet. He looked around to see who had spoken. It was the man directly opposite him, next to the man who had grabbed him from the ground.
The others watched, their features hidden behind their helmets and the streaks of dark paint on their faces.
“I don’t know,” Wale shouted into the mic. “I don’t know what’s happening. Where are you taking me?”
“Can you make it stop?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry about this,” a female officer said.
Wale turned his head to movement on his left. Hands grabbed him from the right. He felt a sharp prick in his neck.
*
Emergency Special Session of the United Nations General Assembly
General Assembly Hall, UN Headquarters, New York
The phenomenon began at approximately noon West African time and ceased at 1.35 p.m. — soon after American operatives abducted a Nigerian citizen confirmed to be Wale Ojo, the son of Oyinda Ojo, née Babatope.
“Mr Ojo was taken from his home in the residential compound of the International Institute of Tropical Agriculture (IITA) in Ibadan, Nigeria, where he works as an IT specialist.
“It has now been four hours since the United States abducted Mr Ojo. In that time, there has been complete silence: no communication, no response to our queries, and no information about his whereabouts, the motive for his abduction, or his current condition.”
Mrs Ofejiro Emiko, Nigeria’s first female Permanent Representative to the United Nations, removed her glasses, set them gently on her notes, and folded her arms deliberately across them. Then she looked directly at the assembly.
“This level of impunity is not only repugnant but also callous and dangerous, representing an assault on the entire planet that affects us all.
“Right now, as I speak, thousands of Americans are on the streets demanding answers from their government. Across the world, every human being is asking the same questions: Why did they take Wale Ojo? Where is he? What have they done to him?
“We demand the immediate return of our citizens. We note with dismay the refusal of the United States to attend this extraordinary session. We call on all member states present to join us in passing this urgent resolution. No nation – no matter how powerful, or invested in war – is entitled to do what the United States has done.
“This is unprecedented. No one yet understands what the phenomenon truly was. But what we do know is this: all of humanity experienced it simultaneously – until America kidnapped our citizen, Wale Ojo. The son of Oyinda Ojo, née Babatope.”
*
The White House Situation Room
West Wing basement, Washington, D.C.
“Did we do this?” President Posey asked.
He glanced over the people settling down around the oval table in the JFK room. The National Security Advisor was there, as were the CIA Director, the Secretary of State, and scientists from NASA. They all glanced at one another for an answer to the president’s question.
A man in a black suit, who stood next to the president, his fingers clasped, glanced over the officials. They all averted their eyes.
“Well?” President Posey said.
“It wasn’t us,” the NSA director said and then turned to look at the CIA chief.
“We did not do it,” the CIA director said, returning stares, his voice calm and measured.
“If it’s not us, then how did we make it stop?” President Posey asked. He pointed a rigid finger at the CIA director. “You said it stopped just when we captured him.”
The Secretary of State raised her hand and leaned forward. “Captured is the kind of language we cannot use,” she said. “A statement is being prepared. Please read from it.”
The man in black bent to speak into the president’s ear. Everyone turned their attention to folders they had brought and other items on the table.
The man in black stood straight and clasped his fingers back over his jacket.
“Did we kill him?” the president asked.
“No, we did not,” the CIA chief said.
“Then why did it stop?”
“We sedated him. The agents reported that they stopped hearing it when he fell unconscious. From all accounts, everyone stopped hearing the voices when we sedated him.”
“Why?”
“Why did we sedate him, or why did the voices stop?”
“What do you think?”
“We don’t know why it stopped.”
“And now. Is he awake?”
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly – what does that even mean?”
“We are keeping him in a coma-like state, but he’s responsive. His eyes are open, tracking movement, but there is no speech and no reaction to questions. EEG shows elevated activity – off the charts in some areas. It seems as if he is dreaming with his eyes open.”
“Mr President, sir, if I may?” A young woman with thin cornrows raised her hand.
“Who is she again?” the president asked his chief of staff.
“She’s the one they sent from SETI. Search for Extraterrestrial Life.”
“Aliens?” the president said. He looked at the Black woman. “Go on, then.”
“Mr President, there’s another possibility. We know that the phenomenon stopped when he was sedated, but what if it stopped because he was sedated? That is to say, he could have been the originator.”
President Posey stared at her. “You think he’s an alien?”
“We don’t know that, sir, but we can’t rule anything out.”
“So, what are you saying? That he was broadcasting his name to the entire planet? Like a transmitter?”
“Or a receiver,” she said. “Or both.”
The Secretary of Defence leaned forward. “A human conduit? For what? A signal? An intelligence?”
“Possibly,” the scientist said. “Especially now, we know that the global auditory hallucinations ceased the moment his conscious state was disrupted.”
“So, what happens when he wakes up?” the president asked.
“That’s the reason we are keeping him sedated,” the CIA chief said.
“You said he was in some sort of coma – conscious but not communicative,” the president said. “How did you do that?”
“It’s classified.”
The man in black bent to the president’s ear. Everyone else looked away.
Prior to being admitted to the situation room, the woman from SETI was briefed by security personnel in one of the rooms of the 5,000-foot underground complex. She had cleared security, but since it was her first time visiting the White House for an audience with the president, and during a live global threat that all governments were dealing with, it seemed normal for her to be briefed on procedure and etiquette. What she didn’t expect was to be told, “You may only see the people in the room. You cannot see anyone else, look at anyone else, or talk about anyone else. Understood?”
She didn’t understand, but she nodded all the same, assuming it was secret service jargon. Now that she was sitting at a table with people who commanded armies, overthrew regimes, influenced policy, and disappeared people, she understood. There was one person in the room and everyone else treated him as if he were not there. No one so much as looked his way. He was there in her peripheral vision, but as a blur: a man in black. The person in the room that she wasn’t allowed to see.
Her eyes fell on the silver pot on the tea tray on the table. In the gleaming polished surface, she caught the reflection of the man whispering into the president’s ear. His warped side profile looked ordinary. He appeared to be an ordinary middle-aged white man, slightly overweight around the midriff. The only unusual thing about him was that everyone ignored him. As he was whispering into the president’s ear, he turned, and their eyes met in the teapot.
She looked away. Her heart leapt. She felt his gaze lingering on her.
“Okay,” President Posey said. “If it’s not us doing it, who is?”
“China?” someone said.
*
In all the cities of the world, the youth were out in the streets, whether it was day or night in their country.
While the grownups stayed indoors, retreating into seclusion for safety and to make sense of the phenomena, the young were united in demanding the release of Wale Ojo, son of Oyinda Ojo, née Babatope.
They made banners. They made recordings.
They became a global movement: I am Wale Ojo.
They left their parents, uncles, aunts, bosses, and leaders to engage in pointless discussions and debates and to make predictable attempts to explain what every human had experienced. The young cared less about what it was, what it meant, whether it was God, or aliens, or some new technology being tested on humanity. All that mattered to them – all that united them – was justice for Wale Ojo, snatched from his home by the Americans.
They occupied roads, social media, parks, and every other public space.
Not one government tried to police them. The numbers were such that in every city, in every country, the police had never been so vastly and visibly outnumbered.
And it was just the youth.
While the children took over the world in a single, united call for justice, the adults proposed answers, pondered theories, and made predictions:
It was, as some insisted, a global auditory hallucination – but no one could explain its cause or scale.
It was God – but whose?
It was quantum intelligence – but what exactly does that mean?
It was aliens.
Surprisingly, all the leaders of all the religions were silent – each of them had experienced, perhaps for the first time, an actual miracle.
And so, the youth led the world. Unafraid of what they had heard. Only angry that America had done what America does – acted as if it alone were humanity.
*
Zhongnanhai Crisis Command Hall
West Compound, Beijing, People’s Republic of China
“Maybe the time has come for us to show the world what we know about America,” Senior Statesman Song Shujin said.
He was the oldest member of the party. His seat was at the northern end of the Horseshoe, traditionally reserved for the party’s most venerated elder.
“Everything?” Liang Luwei asked. He headed the Ministry of State Security’s Strategic Intelligence Bureau.
The old man nodded. “Yes. Today of all days, the world needs to know who they are.”
“Including the moon?” Vice Premier Yan Wenhao asked.
“Everything. Starting with today.”
President Qiao Meilin sat and listened as the Party decided China’s response. He was glad that the moon landings were on the table, but he remained impassive in his demeanour. It was not his place to influence decisions.
*
The Igloo
USA government secret facility. Unknown location. Antarctica.
Anita heard the voice in her sleep. She thought it was a dream – until the alarms went off and the words, “This is not a drill,” repeated over the shrill mechanical screaming.
She watched from behind the two-way mirror of the viewing gallery above the restricted room. Down below, her colleagues in white hazmat suits worked around the subject, who lay supine on an examination bed that looked like a dentist’s chair with restraints.
Wires already ran from an electroencephalography cap over his head to an EEG computer. Functional near-infrared spectroscopy sensors attached to his forehead were connected to an optical brain imaging system to monitor blood flow in his brain.
They attached EKG electrodes to his exposed chest to monitor his heart rate and the electrical signals from his heart. A pulse oximeter sensor was attached to his finger to measure blood oxygen levels and pulse. They secured a respiratory belt around his abdomen to measure his breathing. A temperature probe was affixed to his forearm for vital signs, GSR electrode pads were attached to his palm to measure emotional arousal, and sensors around his eyes tracked where he looked.
While operatives monitored the equipment, two others scanned the subject’s cut-off clothing for radiation and sealed it in a transparent bag.
Anita found it excessive. She had no desire to conduct the interview in a hazmat suit.
The door hissed open behind her, letting light into the dark room. In the wide doorway, she saw four figures, three of whom were in army uniform and one in a black suit.
The men walked to the glass pane, Captain James Jones following behind them.
“His eyes are open,” a two-star general said, looking down into the gallery below. “Is he awake?”
Anita looked at James for an explanation. He looked away.
“No, sir,” she said. “I can’t go in there looking like he’s dangerous. We’re waiting for the team to clear him of any biohazard, then we’ll start pulling him out of sedation.”
“We’re not waking him,” the general said.
“Sir, we have to. If we keep him on LD3 much longer, he won’t be able to wake up. He’s already been under—”
“We are not waking him.” The general pointed at James. “You said his brain patterns show he’s still hearing the voice, just not broadcasting it?”
Anita glanced at James. He was a mathematician on the AI/ML team. One of the many geniuses who served at the Igloo.
“Yes, sir. His EEG patterns are unusually structured, far cleaner than normal dream or unconscious thought. It’s like his brain is broadcasting clear linguistic sequences, as if someone – or something is – using his neural architecture like a microphone.”
“And you can isolate the voice?”
“Yes. We’re training a neural decoding model on residual information we’ve scraped: his emails, recordings from his social media, and written material. The model will align the internal neural signals with known language structures.”
“We’ll be able to hear the voice without waking him?”
“Yes.”
Anita: “Sir, if he’s kept on LD3 much longer, he will never wake up.”
He eyed her as if noticing her for the first time. “Who are you again?”
“I’m Major Anita Dijan, PhD in Psychology. Lead Psychologist, Human Enhancement Program.”
The general nodded. “Major, we will take it from here. You are dismissed.”
He turned back to the two-way mirror.
*
As if the world was not in enough turmoil, people were claiming to be the real Wale Ojo – some even insisting that the voice had told them to do things. Some religions were bending their teachings to claim a Wale Ojo figure; other religions were calling him a fraudster, a charlatan, a demon, or the devil. Self-ordained prophets of new religions were sprouting everywhere. Scientists stayed silent – they had no answers yet. Podcasters provided evidence that they alone had deciphered the ancient scripts that foretold his arrival. He was an alien; he was a secret experiment; he was Jesus; he was Èṣù; he was Obàtálá’s return; he was a mirage; he was the end of the world. #IAmWaleOjo was not going anywhere; it was growing larger, becoming more organised, and evolving into a global movement of youth that was connected and coordinated through tweets, posts, and messages that were retweeted and reposted.
All governments could do was observe. Soldiers had heard the voice too. The world had changed all at once. Nobody could explain the phenomena, but every young person in every nation shared one common sentiment: anger towards America for its actions and towards the rest of the West for not labelling it as imperialism. The people could take over at any moment – a theory gained traction: the rebellion was why it happened.
As if all this were not enough, the official account of the Chinese Communist Party of the People’s Republic of China released a video with the hashtag #IAmWaleOjo – a visual map tracing the supersonic flight path of a US military jet from the Sambisa Forest in northern Nigeria to a restricted Antarctic zone, an area kept pristine by international agreement: no flights over it, no satellites above it. The video looped over and over, precise information scrolling beneath, punctuated by the phrase “More to come. Including the moon”.
The outrage was instant. And it was global. America did not have any military bases in Nigeria that were approved by the Nigerian government, especially not at the epicentre of terrorist activity. America had no right to install a secret military base in the Antarctic. The world was incensed.
The president of the United States, along with the chiefs, aides, and experts in the situation room, watched the video on the same screen that Obama used to view the assassination of Osama Bin Laden.
*
Anita kept her eyes on the cardiac monitor as she injected the rest of the NX-9 into the intravenous tube. She sheathed the needle and slipped the syringe into her pocket.
One one-thousand. Two one-thousand…
His heart rate rose.
Four one-thousand, five one-thousand…
The cordyceps in the LD3 counteragent were fast-acting. And painful. She checked her time. She looked at the door.
Ten one-thousand…
He gasped.
He should be writhing in pain, but he wasn’t. They definitely overdosed him. They never meant to wake him up.
“Who are you?”
He was awake!
She checked the monitors. He tried to get up.
She gently held his arms down. She bent down close to his face and whispered.
“Shhhh. Wale, it is me, Anita. Listen carefully. Don’t move. You must stay calm. They will notice your vitals on the monitors and know you’re awake.
“You were abducted by the US government. We are in a secret US base in the Antarctic. America was not responsible for the phenomena. They want to put you into a permanent coma so that they can listen to the voice by reading your brain’s signals.
“I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I need to get you out of here ASAP.” She checked her time. “In sixteen minutes, I’ll give you a shot. It’s going to be painful. I have a plan to get us out.”
“Anita Dijan?” He was confused. “How? What are you doing here? Where am I?”
“I’m a Major in the US Army. There’s no time to explain everything. They grabbed you and they will never let you go. I have to get you out of here.”
“How?”
She checked her watch and glanced at the door.
“Relax. I’m going to give you something. It’s like a steroid. It’s safe. I’m getting a shot as well. It’ll give both of us a burst of energy. We’re going to need it for my plan. There’s no time for me to explain. Just do what I say. We just have to wait until…” She checked her watch. She saw the doorhandle turn.
She slid behind the monitors.
Captain James Jones walked towards him. He looked Wale in the eyes, moved his head from side to side and smiled as Wale’s eyes tracked his movements. He turned his back on Wale to look at the monitors. Wale watched as Anita slid out from behind the monitors, walked silently around the examination chair, staying in the man’s blind spot, and then continued until she was behind him. He must have sensed her. He was starting to turn when she clamped her arm around his head and injected the contents of a syringe into his neck. The man slumped in her arms. She gently brought his body to the ground, then she stood.
She checked her time. Using a knife, she began to cut through a strop holding him in place.
“You killed him,” he said.
She freed one arm. She moved on to the next.
He sat up and looked down at the body by the bed as she went to work on his legs.
“He’ll be okay,” she said.
“How? He’s dead.”
“Yes. And dead people don’t feel pain.”
“Anita, stop. What are you doing?”
“I’m helping you escape.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because they will kill you.”
“But you killed him.”
“Yes. It was him or us. And more will come. Soon.” She checked the time. “Four minutes.”
“How many more will you kill?”
“As many as it takes.”
“Then what? What’s your plan? I was your plan, wasn’t I? You thought that if you woke me, once I’m fully awake, I’ll be able to do something. You thought I could get us out.
“I thought of you when I realised it wasn’t just me hearing it. Anita, it was a joke. I was a stupid kid back then. I wasn’t hearing voices telling me I was God. I made it all up. I was messing with you.
“Anita, do you really think it’s okay to kill many people just to save one person – just like in Hollywood movies? So, you’re now an American soldier. I bet they told you you’re the heroes. Do they have you killing people in foreign lands? Did they tell you it’s okay because those people are bad? Is the shooter trying to kill you? Or, are they protecting themselves, their family, their home, or their country from you?
“Would you have killed all those people if they were good? Do you know they are evil, or is it what they told you?
“They’ve turned you into a killer; their killer – killing far and wide for the protection of American interests. Did they tell you that the so-called American interest is really just that of billionaires and their corporations? The same businesses that would screw you as fast as the American government screws its veterans?
“Do they have you killing babies? Mothers, children, and other people who don’t even know why you’re killing them?
“Are you an American soldier or an American killer? What do you think they’ll do to you once AI and robotics replace you? They will kill you first.
“I’m just another human, and there’s nothing special about me other than being a human being – like you, like him, like everyone on this planet. I’m just Wale Ojo, son of Oyinda Ojo, née Babtope.”
*
President Posey sat facing White House cameras and his image strategist’s mobile phone.
The heads of agencies, chiefs, and scientists in the underground complex with him stood behind the cameras, hoping he didn’t say “USA time” or accuse China or any of the other changes he’d wanted to make.
He read from a prompter.
“At 7am today, the world experienced an unprecedented phenomenon: a global auditory hallucination that affected every human, of every race and every gender, wherever they were. This phenomenon lasted approximately one hour and thirty-five minutes, stopping when the US Africa Force took the individual who appeared to be the subject of the hallucinations into custody.
“I commanded the execution of this mission.
“I acted on the advice of the best scientific minds in the world, the men and women of the Planetary Defence Force, whose one mandate is to protect humanity from threats such as those experienced by all of us.
“I acted on behalf of all humans, for the protection of our planet.
“In addition, as a deterrent to potential hostility from unknown forces that may have just tested our defences with this phenomenon, America is now in DEFCON 1.
“Ever since I was elected into this office, I have wondered what the defining event of my presidency would be. The world has experienced a threat to all of humanity, to all we hold dear, to our planet itself. I am proud to be the commander-in-chief of the only nation in the world that has the strength and resolve to confront and defeat this threat, regardless of its origin, on behalf of our planet.
Someone dubbed flatulence over the president’s speech. They synced his lips to the sound of fluting farts. It was this version of his speech that went viral, spreading laughter across the globe.
Then, minutes after the “live” broadcast, the official account of the Chinese Communist Party posted a shortened URL. It opened to a single webpage. The webpage displayed a world map marked with coloured dots. A digital clock above the map displayed the current time, regardless of the viewer’s location, while a legend underneath it provided an explanation of the colours:
Green indicates a US base that lacks nuclear capability.
Blue = Nuclear launch capability.
Amber = Five steps to deploy
Red = Two steps to deploy
Some of the dots were in the ocean and some were in motion.
Some blue dots turned to amber, and some amber dots turned red.
Beneath the legend:
Total US bases: 4,381.
This number exceeded the 750 bases that America admitted to having in 80 countries, and in reality, every continent, country, ally, and region was infested by a cluster of US military presence.
The military was deployed onto the streets of America to discourage protests and to prevent riots.
*
Anita heard the voice in her sleep.
It was gentle, like the voice of her maternal grandmother speaking to her in Twi.
She woke up.
She sat up in her bed.
She was hearing it again.
She hadn’t killed anyone. She hadn’t tried to rescue him. It was just a dream. However, the dream felt incredibly real, and the voice had returned, speaking directly to her. It was saying, “I have a message.”
*
The door slid open and Anita saw the backs of her colleagues in their white jumpsuits. The two-way mirror was crowded.
Captain James Jones looked back from the pane. “You have to see this,” he said. He made space for her.
Down below, Wale Ojo’s body glowed on the bed he was strapped to. There was no one in the room with him. No one dared to go in.
They watched him from the viewing gallery. They waited for his message.
*
All around the world, everyone heard the voice, even the deaf. Everyone waited for the message. They held hands. They looked up to the sky. The world was silent. There were no cars driving and no trains running. No munition was fired on any battlefront. All of humanity waited.
*
“This is a message for your world. You will receive three gifts to help end the harm caused by war and the burden of extraction. It is within your power to stop both.
“You will receive a gift of ever-present energy; there will be no need to store it, buy it, or go to war for it.
“You will receive a gift for your body; there will be no sickness or disease. You will only need sunlight and the life that is already growing around you.
“You will receive a revelation – a truth that will guide you. Learn from it, and let it unite you.
“You will select young females from each language and culture. They will be taught, and they will carry the knowledge to all.
“When your ambassadors are chosen, I will speak with you again.”
All around the world, people stood stunned into silence. Their minds struggled with the magnitude of what they had just heard. And just as spontaneous celebrations broke out all across the globe, four red dots in the Antarctic on the map that China shared exploded into pulsating bright white light, and bright white lines showed the flight paths of nuclear missiles hurtling towards the Igloo.
* Photo by Bhautik Patel on Unsplash