Elyra Tanaka drifted into consciousness like a diver emerging from deep waters. The first thing that registered was the sterile scent of antiseptic, so strong it made her nostrils burn. Then came the low, persistent hum of medical equipment - a sound she recognized from countless hospital visits during her research. But this was different. The air felt heavy, pressurized, and when she tried to move, a wave of disorientation washed over her.
Her eyes fluttered open to reveal a room that was both opulent and oppressive. Silk curtains draped the windows, but the doors were reinforced steel. The medical equipment was state-of-the-art, but the two guards standing at attention by the door made it clear this was no ordinary hospital.
As consciousness fully took hold, Elyra became aware of a strange absence. She tried to shift her right leg and felt... nothing. Not numbness, but void. Her hands trembled as she pulled back the crisp white sheets. Where her right leg should have been, there was only neatly bandaged space below her thigh.
A sound escaped her - not a scream, but a choked gasp of utter devastation. The memories flooded back: the plane, Orlov's mocking smile, the terrifying descent, the impact.
A nurse in immaculate whites noticed her distress and pressed a call button. Within moments, a doctor entered, his face professionally neutral, followed by two stone-faced guards who took positions on either side of the bed.
"Dr. Tanaka," the doctor began in carefully accented English, "you're in a specialized military hospital in Beijing. The plane crash... we did everything we could, but the damage to your leg was too severe. We had to amputate to save your life."
Tears streamed down Elyra's face, hot and silent. She wasn't just mourning her leg - she was mourning everything. Zhang, dead. Naira, lost. Azar, turned into a monster by the very people who had tortured a child. And now she was trapped, broken, in the hands of another government that saw her only as a resource.
As if summoned by her despair, a man in an impeccably tailored suit entered. He introduced himself as Minister Chao, his smile not reaching his cold, calculating eyes.
"Dr. Tanaka," he said, "while we deeply regret your... condition, we cannot ignore the opportunity your knowledge presents. The Americans have demonstrated the military potential of cosmic energy. With your expertise, China could develop protective measures. Think of it as contributing to global balance."
Elyra turned her face to the wall, the weight of her depression crushing what little spirit she had left. "I won't help you create weapons. I've seen what that power does - to the children, to everyone it touches."
Minister Chao's smile tightened. "You'll reconsider in time. China is very patient." He nodded to the guards. "For now, rest. We have all the time in the world."
Back in Tokyo, Detective Mori stood in his superior's office, the weight of bureaucracy pressing down on him. Chief Inspector Yamamoto listened with growing impatience as Mori presented Naira's testimony.
"Sir, the child's account completely contradicts the American narrative," Mori insisted, leaning forward for emphasis. "Azar wasn't attacking indiscriminately - he was rescuing her from what amounts to torture! The Americans were using a child as a power source!"
Yamamoto sighed, rubbing his temples. "Mori, look outside! The black rain is dissolving our infrastructure. Thousands are blind. Our economy has collapsed. And you want me to take on the United States over some alien creature?"
"But the truth matters! If we don't—"
"The truth?" Yamamoto interrupted, his voice rising. "The truth is that Tanaka and his conspirators were traitors who brought this disaster upon us! We're better off without any of them. Now, get back to managing the crisis in your district. That's a direct order."
Defeated, Mori returned to the temporary shelter where Naira and her grandmother were staying. The little girl looked up at him with eyes that held too much wisdom for her age, and he felt his heart break as he watched hope die in them.
"They're not going to help him, are they?" Naira whispered, her small shoulders slumping.
Mori knelt before her, his own frustration and shame making it difficult to meet her gaze. "I'm so sorry, Naira. They're... they're afraid, and they're focusing on immediate problems."
Tears welled in Naira's eyes but didn't fall. "He saved me when no one else would. And now he's all alone because of me."
That evening, as Hana prepared a simple meal in their small, government-provided apartment, Naira curled up on the worn sofa and began to speak. The words started slowly, then poured out in a stream of consciousness - part childish innocence, part profound trauma.
"Azar's eyes were like the night sky, Grandma," she said, her voice distant. "But they had storms in them. He was so sad when he left me. He thought he was protecting everyone by going away."
Hana listened while stirring soup, her heart aching for this child who had seen too much darkness.
"Dr. Elyra was nice at first," Naira continued, clutching a throw pillow to her chest. "She showed me the stars and let me play with her models. But then the bad men came, and she couldn't make them stop. They put me in the cold room with the shiny machine that took my dreams away."
She described the procedures in terms a child would use - the "hungry tubes" that drained her energy, the "mean lights" that kept her awake, the constant ache that became her normal.
"But Azar came back," she whispered, a tiny smile touching her lips. "He made the bad machine go away forever. He carried me like Papa used to. He's not what they say. He's lonely, like me."
Hana set aside her cooking and gathered Naira into her arms, rocking her gently as the child finally let her tears fall.
In an emergency virtual session of the United Nations, representatives from around the world appeared on screens, their faces grim. The American ambassador spoke first, his image crystal clear despite the global communications disruptions.
"The entity designated Azar represents an unprecedented existential threat to all humanity," he declared, the edited footage playing on a split screen. "We have witnessed his capacity for violence, his disregard for human life. No being with this much power can be allowed to operate without restraint."
One by one, other nations voiced their agreement. The British ambassador cited "the need for collective security." The French representative spoke of "a threat to civilization itself." Even Russia, despite Orlov's private agenda, publicly condemned Azar, calling for "international cooperation against extraterrestrial threats."
Only China's ambassador remained measured in his response. "The People's Republic is monitoring the situation closely and will take appropriate action to ensure regional stability."
When the vote came, the result was overwhelming. Azar was declared a global threat, and all member states were called upon to contribute resources to what was now being called "the Azar Problem."
In a pristine Moscow hospital corridor that smelled of disinfectant and power, Dimitri Orlov walked alongside Niu. The void child had chosen a new form today - that of a handsome young man with eyes the color of oil slicks.
"The governments of your world continue to amuse me," Niu said, his voice holding that peculiar childlike quality despite his mature appearance. "They gather in their virtual rooms, passing judgments on forces they cannot begin to comprehend."
Orlov smirked, his shoes clicking rhythmically on the polished marble floor. "Let them play their political games. It keeps them looking one way while we move another."
They stopped before a hospital room door numbered 314. Through the reinforced glass window, they could see a patient lying motionless in the bed, surrounded by beeping monitors and blinking lights.
"Are you certain this will achieve our objectives?" Orlov asked, his hand hovering near the weapon concealed beneath his coat.
Niu's smile was a work of art - perfectly shaped and utterly empty. "Oh, I'm quite sure. This is going to be the most entertaining game yet." He placed a hand on the door handle. "Shall we meet our new player?"
The door swung open silently, revealing the patient within - a man with bandages covering half his face, his remaining eye opening slowly as they entered. An eye that held a familiar cosmic depth, though the man himself was entirely human.
Orlov's smile widened. "I do love recruiting new talent."