There was something off, something out of place. The young soldier approaching the checkpoint carried himself with an air of smug confidence, a swagger that seemed incongruous with the tension surrounding the situation.
The two Rangers on guard exchanged glances; the arrogance in the soldier's stride and the self-assured smirk on his face stood out. Since they had been deployed to secure the city’s exclusion zone, every military figure they'd encountered had been on edge, rattled by the alien ship hovering ominously in the sky above.
The soldier flashed his I.D. badge. Everything appeared to check out, but his body language set off alarm bells for the guards.
“Evening, fellas,” the soldier greeted, his tone casual. “Any chance you could point me to the commanding officer around here? Just got drafted in with the 12th Infantry Division, and I’m a bit lost.”
“The 12th?” one of the Rangers chuckled. “You’re more than just a little lost, soldier. Your unit’s stationed downtown, near Central Park with General Dougray's lot.”
The young soldier grinned again. “Cheers, guys. Guess I’ll be on my way then.”
He walked through the checkpoint, leaving the two guards looking at each other, bemused but unsettled.
Central Park was a hive of activity. Soldiers moved like ants across the snow-dusted ground, weaving between military vehicles and makeshift tents. The once tranquil park had become the most fortified place on Earth, with personnel from a dozen nations preparing for what felt like an inevitable conflict. The smell of cooking and engine oil clung to the cold air, the park’s former serenity long forgotten.
General Dougray surveyed the scene. After the debacle in Taiwan, he wasn’t taking any chances. The memories still haunted him—every decision, every death weighing heavily on his conscience.
Could I have done anything differently? he wondered. The situation had demanded swift action; the pre-emptive strike had seemed the only option at the time. Letting the Chinese dig in deeper would have cost more lives. Still, the events of June 16th, 2028—the day China officially declared war on Taiwan—would forever haunt his nightmares.
He had been in command of the US battle group that rushed to the conflict zone. Despite pleas to delay, he had ordered an immediate attack. The result was a disaster.
Dougray shook his head, banishing the thoughts. He was still a general, still had a job to do.
The flap of his command tent opened, and in walked Commander Robert Henna, his trusted second-in-command. Dougray had sent him to the U.N. building for a briefing—why was he still here?
Dougray’s surprise was brief. Had he known Henna’s body was lying cold in a tent elsewhere, he might have felt more than surprise.
“Robert, what are you doing here?” Dougray asked, puzzled. “I thought I sent you to the U.N. for an update?”
The commander quietly closed the tent flap behind him, turning to face the general. Without warning, he lunged forward, striking Dougray across the face with the butt of his pistol. The crack of bone followed, blood spraying as Dougray’s cheekbone fractured. He tried to shout, but Henna—or whatever was masquerading as Henna—stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth, silencing him.
Dougray fought back, gagging and thrashing, but his attacker was relentless. Another blow to the head sent the general spiraling into unconsciousness.
Genera, now breathing heavily, stood over the fallen general. Sweat and blood clung to his forehead. The general had put up more of a fight than expected.
Reaching into his pocket, Genera pulled out a small alien device and pressed a button. Instantly, a shimmer surrounded him, and his form shifted back to his own alien features.
He smiled. This little toy makes it all too easy.
Stepping over Dougray’s body, Genera pointed the device at the unconscious general. With a click, the cloaker scanned the general’s image, capturing every detail. Within moments, Genera would perfectly mimic the head of the military in New York. He turned the device on himself, and with another push of the button, the shimmering field enveloped him once more.
Walking over to a mirror in the corner of the tent, he admired his reflection. The transformation was flawless. No one would see through the disguise; it was perfect.
He was General Dougray now.