UN20:
The world outside was noisier than ever, yet nothing was being said. Silence carried in the streets where people once shouted. It was the silence of distrust: neighbors staring too long, workers blinking too slowly, wives asking their husbands if they were still human. No answer was ever convincing.
The governments—those proud architects of order—were trembling. The great assembly of nations, hastily called, was less a meeting than a theater of madness. Each representative looked at the other as though his smile might stretch too far, his eyes might not blink at the right second.
A delegate from a small nation rose first, his hands shaking, voice sharp:
Delegate A (hoarse, furious):
"Why do you sit here smiling like corpses in fine suits? My city burns! Half our people are shadows—smiling, blinking, walking among us like they belong. And you—" he pointed at the larger powers—"you tell us to wait. Wait for what? For them to finish replacing us?"
Laughter rose—not real laughter, but the dry coughing kind that hides fear. A Chinese official adjusted his papers calmly.
China's Delegate (measured, almost mechanical):
"You misunderstand. This is not about who is replaced. It is about surveillance. If shadows mimic us, then we must build systems that no mimicry can pass. We propose a network—global, absolute. Cameras in every street, every home, every face recorded. Those who smile too long… identified. Those who blink too slow… eliminated."
A murmur rippled. Half the room nodded. The other half recoiled.
France's Delegate (leaning forward, bitter):
"Eliminated? You speak of slaughter as if it were pest control. Do you not see? The shadows are only half the danger. Fear is the other half. If we turn against our own people, what are we then but shadows ourselves?"
A man from a third-rate country, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep, banged his fist on the table.
Delegate C (broken, trembling):
"You philosophers! My government had no choice. We dropped fire on our own villages. Men, women, children. All of them. Shadows, maybe. Humans, maybe. Now—nothing. Ashes cannot lie!"
His voice cracked, then fell into silence. Nobody argued with him.
The American chair tried to restore order. His voice was steady, but his fingers fidgeted on the desk.
America's Delegate:
"We are here to discuss containment, not confessions. This… phenomenon must be studied, classified, controlled. Until then—"
Russia's Delegate (interrupting, sneering):
"Controlled? Do you think this is a laboratory experiment? They adapt! Every hour, every second, they grow closer to us. Who here can say with certainty that the man sitting next to him is not one of them?"
At that moment, silence strangled the hall. Dozens of eyes flicked left and right. A few men forced smiles to prove they were "normal." The smiles looked worse than the silence.
Finally, a woman from Africa whispered, barely audible, yet her words carried:
Africa's Delegate:
"Tell me, what makes us human? Is it the blink? The heartbeat? Or the fear itself? If shadows smile, and we kill in panic… perhaps we have already lost the difference."
The room erupted again. Voices rose, accusations hurled like stones. Some called for total surveillance, others for extermination, others for retreat and prayer. No agreement was reached. Only chaos, suspicion, and the dreadful certainty that trust was dead.
When the assembly ended, each delegate returned home, more frightened of the others than of the shadows. And outside, in the streets, people smiled a little too long, and nobody knew anymore whether to fight or to laugh or to scream.