A few days have passed..
It was a normal weekend for most of the world. People slept. People worked. The usual small, safe rhythms of life hummed on.
Then the news flash cut through — sudden, bright, impossible to ignore.
A knock at the door. Someone opened.
"What is it?" the President asked, voice thick with sleep.
"Mr. President — you should see this," the assistant said, breathless. No time for pleasantries.
Within minutes the White House moved from quiet to controlled panic. Nightgowns were shrugged off. A casual shirt was yanked on. Phones lit up. The war room blinked to life; monitors flared. Heads of security, the Joint Chiefs, the generals — they gathered, voices clipping, shoes scuffing on the floor. The air smelled like stale coffee and adrenaline.
The President stepped into the room, suit half-buttoned, eyes narrowing at the bank of screens. Someone pressed a button and the main screen brightened.
