Scene One – The Descent
The prison cell still smelled of iron and smoke. Alexandra's cheek burned from where Leonard had struck her, but the sting was nothing compared to the fury she carried in her chest. He had locked her away as if she were a traitor, when all she had done was speak truth. Her husband—the man she once loved—had become a tyrant who would drown both Mars and Earth in endless bloodshed.
The corridor outside shook with the faint footsteps of guards. She listened, eyes narrowed, every breath steady. They thought she was broken. They thought a queen who had been silenced for years had no allies left. But they were wrong.
A hiss of the locks startled her. The door creaked open and a hooded servant slipped inside. His face was shadowed, but she knew him. Cael, once her husband's page, now hers in secret.
"Your Majesty," he whispered, bowing low. "There is no time. The hangar is lightly guarded tonight. A ship is waiting. You must flee."
"Leonard will kill you if he learns of this," Alexandra said, rising to her feet.
"He will kill us all if he conquers Earth," Cael replied. "Better I die helping you escape than serving him in silence."
She pressed her palm against his shoulder in silent gratitude. Together they moved swiftly through the narrow passageways of the Obsidian Citadel. Cael had memorized every patrol route. Twice they hid in alcoves as guards passed, their boots clicking on black stone. Alexandra's heart thundered, not from fear but from the weight of what she must do.
At last, the cold expanse of the hangar opened before them. Sleek warships lined the chamber, but Cael led her toward a smaller craft, half-hidden in the shadows.
"This is all I could secure," he said. "Its jump engines are old. They will not carry you far. But Earth is within reach."
Alexandra stepped inside. The cockpit smelled of dust and metal. She slid into the pilot's seat, her hands trembling as she powered the craft. Symbols flared across the screens. Warnings lit up instantly—the fuel cells were half-drained, stabilizers unstable.
"Go," Cael urged. "I will seal the bay."
She looked at him one last time. "You are loyal to more than a queen. You are loyal to Mars itself. I will not forget."
Then the hangar doors yawned open. With a roar, the ship lifted, shaking, engines spitting sparks. Alexandra steered it through the void, out into the sea of stars.
Behind her, alarms blared across the Citadel. Leonard would know. His fury would follow her. But she did not look back.
For hours, she sat alone in the cockpit as Mars dwindled into a red ember in the distance. Her mind drifted—not to Leonard, not even to Veronica—but to Marcus. Her son. The boy she had not seen in years. Had he survived? Did he hate her for leaving? Did he even remember her face?
The ship shuddered violently, dragging her back into the present. Lights flashed across the console. The old jump engines screamed as they strained against the pull of a nearby gravity well. The vessel was not built for long hauls. She overrode the failsafes, forcing the course toward Earth's coordinates.
Hours blurred into days. Time lost meaning in the endless dark. Her food rations dwindled. She slept in snatches, haunted by Leonard's voice, his hand striking her, his command to silence her forever. Each time she woke, she clutched the controls harder, forcing herself to remember her purpose: Earth must know. Someone must stop him.
Finally, Earth appeared—a glowing blue sphere, so alive compared to the harsh dust of Mars. Her throat tightened. She had not seen it since her exile. It looked fragile and beautiful, and she knew Leonard's armies would tear it apart if no one stood against him.
Then the alarms screamed.
The ship entered the atmosphere at the wrong angle. Fire erupted across the hull. Metal groaned as if the vessel itself was crying out. Alexandra fought the controls, sweat dripping down her temples.
"Hold," she muttered. "Hold."
The descent grew violent. Flames licked the windows, blinding her. The ship spun, rattling so hard her bones felt like they would break. A stabilizer exploded, throwing the craft into a deadly spiral. Alexandra's hands bled as she gripped the levers, trying to level the fall.
A voice echoed in her mind—Marcus as a child. "Mother, don't let go."
She bit down on her lip, tears stinging her eyes. "I won't," she whispered.
The farmland appeared below: rolling fields, barns, scattered lights of a ranch. The ship tore across the sky like a second sun. Dogs barked in the distance, cows scattered, lights flicked on in farmhouses. Somewhere, a man shouted to his family.
The engines gave out. The ship slammed into the soil, ripping through a field. Dirt and fire exploded skyward. Metal screamed. Alexandra's head cracked against the console, stars bursting in her vision. Pain shot through her ribs.
Then silence. Smoke filled the cabin. She gasped, coughing, her vision swimming. Sparks rained down. Her body screamed in agony, but she forced herself to move, to crawl toward the hatch.
The night air hit her face, cool and sharp. She stumbled out onto scorched earth, collapsing to her knees. Above her, the stars glittered—so peaceful, so indifferent.
Her last thought before darkness claimed her was not of Leonard's wrath or the war to come. It was of Marcus. If he still lived, if he still remembered her, then perhaps there was hope yet.
She fell unconscious, the wreckage smoldering behind her, the fields of Texas stretching endlessly into the night.
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Scene Two – The Farm
The blast rattled the windows of the McKinley farmhouse.
Tom McKinley sat upright in bed, heart pounding. For a moment he thought it was thunder, but the sky outside his window glowed an eerie orange, a streak of fire cutting low across the horizon. He threw off the sheets, muttering under his breath.
"Damn meteor."
Beside him, his wife Clara stirred, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Tom, did you see that? It came down in the east field."
"I saw." Tom was already tugging on his boots. "Stay with the kids. I'll check it."
Clara reached for his arm. "What if it's not safe? Call the sheriff first."
But Tom shook his head. Out here, thirty miles from the nearest town, calling anyone meant waiting. By then, half the pasture could be in flames. He grabbed the old shotgun that leaned by the door and stepped out into the humid Texas night.
The air smelled of scorched earth. A trail of smoke cut across the sky, ending in the eastern fields. He hopped on the ATV and sped through the grass, wheels bumping hard. Fireflies scattered in the dark.
As he crested the ridge, he pulled the vehicle to a stop. His breath caught.
The field was ruined—rows of corn flattened, earth split wide in a smoldering crater. At the center lay not a meteor, but twisted metal, glowing faintly, alive with sparks. The thing hissed like a wounded animal.
Tom gripped the shotgun tighter. This wasn't a meteor. It was a ship.
A groan rose from within the wreck. He froze. Someone—or something—was inside.
Slowly, a figure crawled from the smoke. She stumbled forward, falling to her knees. Pale skin streaked with soot, hair tangled, eyes burning with pain and exhaustion. She wore what looked like armor, though shattered and scorched.
Tom raised the shotgun. "Stay where you are!"
The woman lifted her head. Her eyes—piercing, almost luminous—locked onto his. She spoke, but the words were garbled, strange. A language he didn't know. Then, as if catching herself, she whispered in broken English.
"Help… please…"
Tom's mouth went dry. She was no ordinary crash victim. The ship behind her proved it. But she bled like anyone else. Her voice cracked with human desperation.
Before he could decide, headlights cut across the field. Clara's pickup truck rattled to a stop. She climbed out, barefoot, robe fluttering in the night wind. Behind her, their teenage son Luke trailed, phone in hand.
"Dad!" Luke shouted. "I called 911—"
"No!" Tom barked, louder than he meant. "Shut that off!"
Luke blinked. "But—"
"I said off!"
Clara rushed to his side, her eyes widening as she saw the wreck and the woman. "Oh my Lord…" She dropped to her knees beside Alexandra, ignoring the dirt and blood. "She's hurt. We have to get her inside."
Tom clenched his jaw. Every instinct screamed at him. This wasn't their problem. This was government business. Maybe even military.
But Clara was already lifting the woman's arm over her shoulder. Alexandra winced but tried to stand. "Please," she whispered again, voice rasping. "Hide… me…"
Luke gawked, muttering under his breath. "She's not human…"
Tom shot him a glare that silenced him. "Not a word," he said.
Between them, they half-carried, half-dragged Alexandra to the truck. Clara cradled her as if she were family. Tom drove fast, cutting across the fields, back to the farmhouse.
Inside, they laid her on the living room couch. Clara fetched towels, warm water, and the old first-aid kit. She cleaned the blood from Alexandra's forehead, whispering prayers under her breath.
Tom stood by the window, shotgun in hand, scanning the fields. The wreck still burned in the distance. Anyone from ten miles out could see it. They didn't have long.
Luke hovered near the couch, phone in hand again. "Dad… we should tell someone. This is… this is alien, right? Like, Area 51 type stuff."
Tom turned sharply. "You say a word, they'll drag her off to a lab and cut her open. You want that on your conscience?"
Luke swallowed hard. "But… the government will come anyway. They've got satellites. They'll see it."
Tom knew the boy was right. The fire, the energy—it wasn't going unnoticed. But Clara glanced up, her expression firm.
"She asked us to hide her. So we will."
Tom muttered something under his breath but didn't argue. He sat by the window, watching, waiting.
Hours passed. Alexandra drifted in and out of consciousness, whispering in her strange tongue. Once, she grasped Clara's wrist and spoke telepathically without meaning to. Clara gasped as images flashed in her mind: red skies, a dark citadel, soldiers marching under a black banner.
"What was that?" she whispered, shaken.
Alexandra's lips trembled. "War," she rasped. "Coming…"
Clara shivered but said nothing.
By dawn, the sound of distant sirens broke the stillness. Tom cursed under his breath. "They're coming."
Out in the fields, black SUVs rumbled up the dirt road. Men in uniforms stepped out, scanning the horizon. One raised binoculars toward the crater. Another spoke into a radio.
Luke's hands shook. "Dad, they're here."
Tom gripped his shotgun tighter. He wasn't a fool—he couldn't fight the government. But part of him wanted to.
Clara stood. Her voice was calm, steady. "We'll tell them we found nothing. She stays here until she's strong enough to move."
But Alexandra stirred, opening her eyes. She tried to sit up, wincing at the pain. Her gaze fell on Tom, then Clara. Her voice was stronger now, though still rough.
"No. They will find me. Always. Better I go… with them. Safer… for you."
Clara shook her head. "You don't understand what they'll do to you."
Alexandra's eyes softened, tired but resolute. "I understand. But they must hear… what I know. Earth must be warned."
The knock on the door came sharp and loud.
Tom froze. Clara looked at him, fear plain on her face.
He cursed again, then walked to the door, shotgun still in hand. Through the glass he saw two men in suits, badges gleaming. Federal. The kind that didn't take no for an answer.
When he opened the door, one of them spoke immediately. "Sir. We're investigating the crash. Did you see or hear anything unusual?"
Tom hesitated. The lie stuck in his throat. Behind him, Alexandra rose shakily to her feet, leaning against the wall. Her presence filled the room with quiet authority, even in her broken state.
She stepped forward. "I am here," she said, voice steady now. "Take me."
The agents' eyes widened. For the first time, Tom saw fear flicker in their hardened faces. They hadn't expected her to walk out willingly.
Clara reached for her arm. "Don't—"
But Alexandra only gave her a faint smile. "Thank you. For kindness. Few would give it."
She let the agents lead her out into the rising sun, her figure silhouetted against the light. Tom watched, fists clenched, knowing this was far from over.
Because whatever she was, whoever she was, the government had no idea what had just landed in their hands.
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Scene Three – First Contact with Government
The black SUVs rumbled away from the McKinley farm, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Alexandra sat in the back seat of the lead vehicle, wrists clasped in restraints that looked almost ceremonial—too careful, too deliberate. The agents had not used steel cuffs but sleek devices that pulsed faintly with blue light. She felt their weight pressing into her bones, sapping what little strength remained.
They were afraid of her.
The man sitting across from her, tall, clean-shaven, in a pressed black suit, stared at her without blinking. His badge read Agent Cole. His partner, shorter, heavier set, kept his hand on a sidearm that would do little against someone of her lineage.
Cole finally spoke, his voice calm but edged. "You're not from here."
Alexandra met his gaze, silent.
"You didn't crash a drone. You didn't fall out of the sky on accident. That was a ship. And you're wearing armor that doesn't exist anywhere on Earth." He leaned forward slightly. "So you're going to tell me who you are and why you're here."
Her lips parted, the words catching in her throat. To admit the truth to them now would bring panic, perhaps chaos. But to remain silent would make her an enemy in their eyes.
Instead she said softly, "I seek audience with Earth's defenders."
Cole frowned. "You mean the Guild."
She inclined her head.
The heavier agent scoffed. "That's classified."
Alexandra's tired eyes narrowed. "Your world is in danger. If you keep me from them, you will regret it."
Cole studied her, unflinching. He pressed a button on the dashboard. "HQ, this is Cole. Package secured. She's asking for Guild contact. Advise."
Static crackled, then a clipped voice responded. "Understood. Redirect to Arlington. We'll handle it there."
The convoy turned onto the highway. Alexandra rested her head against the window, watching the fields pass in silence. Her reflection stared back at her, bruised, pale, unrecognizable. She thought of Marcus again. If fate was merciful, she would see him soon.
The drive stretched long. Helicopters hummed overhead. Drones circled above the convoy like vultures. Even from here, she could sense it: the humans were afraid, but curious.
Hours later, the vehicles pulled into a sprawling facility surrounded by chain-link fences and armed guards. It was not the Guild—it smelled of government secrecy. Floodlights bathed the compound in harsh white.
She was escorted inside, down corridors of steel and concrete, into a windowless chamber. Cameras in each corner followed her. She sat in the lone chair at the table, restraints still pulsing.
The door opened. A new figure entered, his posture rigid, his hair iron-gray. His voice carried authority.
"Queen Alexandra of Mars."
Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "You know me."
The man nodded. "I've studied the Obsidian court for decades. My name is Director Havers. I run the North American Meta-Human Security Division."
She straightened, dignity slipping back into her spine. "Then you know I am not your enemy."
"Not yet," Havers replied. He sat across from her. "You've landed without invitation. You bring warnings of war. And you ask for the Guild." His eyes hardened. "Convince me why I shouldn't treat you as the first wave of an invasion."
Alexandra drew a slow breath. The silence stretched heavy. Finally, she spoke.
"My husband, Leonard, King of Mars, has turned his eyes upon this world. He will not come as a diplomat. He will come as a conqueror. His armies are already preparing. If you waste time treating me as a prisoner, your world will not survive his arrival."
Her words fell like stones in the room. The agents shifted uneasily. Even Havers, stern as stone, tapped his finger against the table.
"You expect us to believe your… husband is planning interplanetary conquest?"
"Believe or not," she said coldly. "It changes nothing. His warships will darken your skies. His Nexus-born will feed upon your gifted. And when Earth burns, you will remember that I tried to warn you."
The weight in her voice silenced even the skeptical agent.
Havers leaned back, his expression unreadable. "You'll have your meeting with the Guild."
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Within hours, a jet arrived. Black and sleek, marked with the Guild insignia. Alexandra watched from the secure hangar as a small team of Guild envoys disembarked. Among them, Mr. Broadman, his tall frame and unshakable calm immediately commanding respect.
When he entered the chamber, Alexandra's eyes widened. It had been years since she had seen him. Older now, but unmistakable.
The agents left, leaving her alone with Broadman and two Guild leaders.
Broadman inclined his head. "Queen Alexandra. You've chosen a dangerous time to return."
Her throat tightened. For a moment she almost forgot her practiced composure. "Earth must know what is coming."
He nodded. "Then speak."
And so she did.
She told them of Leonard's obsession, his armies, his daughter Veronica's zealotry. She painted a picture of Mars trembling under the grip of tyranny. She spoke of the Nexus-born hunger, of how Earth's Meta-humans were the ultimate prize.
The Guild leaders exchanged grim looks.
Broadman, however, never took his eyes off her.
When at last she finished, silence fell. One leader spoke cautiously. "If what you say is true, Earth faces annihilation."
"It is true," Alexandra said simply.
The other leader folded his hands. "And you, Queen Alexandra? Why betray your king?"
Her eyes dimmed. "Because he has betrayed everything we once swore to protect."
The Guild leaders excused themselves, stepping outside to deliberate. Only Broadman lingered.
For the first time that night, Alexandra let the mask slip. Her shoulders sagged. Her eyes glistened.
"Will they listen?" she whispered.
Broadman stepped closer. His voice was low. "They will have no choice."
She studied him. Something flickered in his gaze, something almost… familiar.
"Why do you look at me so?" she asked softly.
Broadman hesitated, then spoke carefully. "Because I know what this costs you. And because I know the truth you did not speak here."
Her breath caught.
He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, worn photograph. Her face stared back at her from decades past, smiling, youthful.
"I kept this by my bed," Broadman said quietly. "Because Marcus gave it to me. He never forgot you, Alexandra."
Her knees nearly buckled. She gripped the table for balance, her heart pounding.
"Marcus…" Her voice cracked. "He… still remembers?"
Broadman nodded. "Every day."
Tears blurred her vision. For the first time in years, hope surged through her chest. She pressed her hand over her lips, whispering to herself, "I will make things right. Somehow."
Broadman rested a hand gently on her arm. "You must keep it hidden, for his sake. If Leonard or Veronica learn you are here for him, Marcus will be the first they strike."
Alexandra swallowed hard, nodding. "Then no one must know. Promise me."
"I promise," Broadman said. "But tomorrow… you will see him."
Her tears broke into a fragile smile. "Tomorrow…"
The moment hung between them, heavy with both sorrow and hope.
Outside the chamber, the Guild leaders returned, their faces grim. Decisions had been made. Plans were shifting.
But in Alexandra's heart, a single truth outshone the looming war: her son still remembered her. And she would not fail him again.
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Scene 4 – The First Response
The Dallas Command Center came alive in a storm of alarms and voices. The Pentagon had already been notified, and NORAD flagged the incident as "non-terrestrial contact, priority level red."
Colonel Hayes stood at the center of the operations floor, his jaw clenched as live drone footage flickered across the big screen. The wreckage site burned under the Texas night, the flames painting the sky orange. Shadows of the twisted ship stretched across the cornfields.
"We've got unidentified survivors moving near the wreckage," the drone operator reported, adjusting the thermal feed. Blurred figures showed up, one glowing hotter than human physiology should allow.
Hayes leaned closer. "Zoom. Confirm shape."
The image sharpened. A woman. Not military, not civilian. Tall, regal even in ruin. Her arm draped against her side like she had been hurt. Her eyes glowed faintly with a dim light.
"Contact?" asked one of the analysts, nervous.
"Not yet," Hayes said. His voice was measured, but his pulse was spiking. "Seal off the area. Get containment teams in the air. No one in or out until I say."
A younger lieutenant hesitated. "Sir, if she's alive, she might need medical—"
"Medical teams will wait," Hayes snapped. "We don't know what she is, or what she carries. Quarantine protocols. If this spreads, it won't be on my record."
Meanwhile, out on the farm, dust rose as military transports cut through the night. Trucks sealed the perimeter. Helicopters hovered low, their spotlights sweeping across the burning fields.
The farmer and his wife, who had been the first to call in the sighting, were now inside a Humvee. Two soldiers questioned them, while another unit forced their teenage son to hand over his phone. He resisted until one soldier simply crushed it in his palm.
The family sat silent, shaken, as the military presence expanded around them.
Back at the wreck, Alexandra stirred, her breath shallow. Her vision blurred between Earth's sky and the stars of Mars she still saw in her mind. She felt the chains of her exile, her husband's hand across her face, the betrayal that had left her drifting.
Now Earth's air filled her lungs, heavy and strange. She heard rotors. Voices. The snapping of boots against soil.
She whispered one word, broken but defiant.
"Veronica…"
The spotlights converged on her. Soldiers moved in with rifles raised.
Hayes' voice crackled through the comms. "Do not engage unless engaged. But don't let her leave that field alive if she resists."
The night air held its breath as soldiers surrounded her, rifles gleaming in the glow of fire and floodlights.
Alexandra raised her head. Her eyes opened fully, their light piercing the dark. The ground trembled beneath her fingertips.
For the first time in centuries, Earth had caught sight of a queen.
And Earth had no idea what it had invited in.
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