Theater[1] 7
80°50′30″S, 166°41′10″E
In a desolate whiteness, the South Pole of the planet, a camouflaged facility stood.
White like its surroundings, it looked like a giant igloo tucked behind, towering white mountain ridges.
A space observatory operated by the World Government to secretly observe cosmic events and conduct other space-related activities.
"Chief, I think we might have a problem..." a man adorned in a black polo shirt said to his superior, the latter watching giant displays of the meteorites passing over the planet.
Unlike the human eye, which could not perceive the space dust, the advanced sensors and cameras were able to pick it up as patches of purple, seemingly corrupting the planet's atmosphere.
"You think!!" the man with his back turned retorted, his voice cracking with anger.
He was adorned in a casual T-shirt, his brownish-yellow hair trimmed in a military buzz cut. The air around him, despite his casual demeanor, screamed, 'I am the boss.'
"...I... it's..." Fear gripped the polo-shirt guy, as he knew what his boss was capable of.
A slice in his paycheck would be the least of his worries.
"Sigh..."
The polo-shirt guy tensed upon hearing his superior sigh.
"...We are all to be blamed. This incident was beyond our calculations," he said.
The polo-shirt guy breathed a sigh of relief.
It seemed his superior was in a good mood today.
As the Planetary Defense Unit, they should have been aware of the dangers the passing meteorites posed.
'They' — being the polo-shirt guy who headed the Planetary Defense Unit.
They were responsible for monitoring asteroids, comets, and other near-Earth objects that could potentially impact the planet and finding measures to eradicate such dangers.
Yet he had failed in his job.
He was sure the meteors wouldn't pass through the ozone layer, but he hadn't accounted for the dust particles.
It was relatable, as it should be impossible for something so small and light to make it when even the larger rocks had only passed by.
They shouldn't have the ability to cross the ozone layer, but here they were.
"Thank you, sir. We will immediately start working on the countermeasures," the polo-shirt guy bowed at an unnecessary 90° angle to thank his boss.
He then bolted out of the observatory, going back to the drawing board to find ways to counter this unknown dust in their world and what it even was in the first place.
As he rushed out, he bumped into someone, a bear of a man, standing at an imposing 6'8", his body toned and muscular, threatening to rip the black T-shirt he wore, coupled with the camouflage soldier trousers.
"Hey, Mark, watch where you're going." His voice, hoarse and intimidating, brought Mark, the polo-shirt guy, out of his stupor.
He knew the bear of a man.
Everyone in the G.O. knew him.
He was Boris, the chief's younger brother, a lieutenant commander in the World Government, a monster on the battlefield.
He, having nothing to do usually, hung around the G.O., because his elder brother was here.
The war was over after all, and there shouldn't be any more for a while now.
He could only chill here.
"Ye... yes... sorry, Boris..." Mark apologized, unable to look the giant man in the eyes, partly due to fear, but also the difference in height, Mark being only 5'11".
Gaining a bit of composure, he bolted out. Boris paid him no heed as he went to his elder brother's side.
"Viktor, what did you say to make Mark all edgy like that?" Curious, he asked his brother.
Though he was the youngest, when they stood together, he looked like the father while Viktor looked like the son, even though he was 6'1".
"Forget about that. We have a crisis on our hands..." Viktor pointed to the purple patches on the screen, Boris turning to look at them.
One might think that, as a soldier, he would have no knowledge of such things, yet he quickly picked up on it.
"Foreign space debris... Is a cosmic epidemic about to happen?" he inquired, his nonchalant tone contrasting the severity of the situation.
He looked unfazed despite knowing what it could be.
"We don't know yet. We hope it isn't anything serious..." Viktor sighed, his brows creased in frustration.
"You worry too much, Viktor," Boris shrugged.
"You are really carefree, ain't you..." Viktor pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
Maybe due to his numerous battles, Boris had become numb to most things. He was carefree, always living in the moment.
"I'm not that carefree, you know... it's just that there isn't anything to do here..." Boris replied, his gaze scanning across the observatory.
People sat behind their computers typing away, some moved around with documents, while others hurdled around, discussing the unknown danger.
Basically, everyone had something to do here except him.
"True, you are useless here..." Viktor nodded in agreement, though his words seemed harsh, it didn't bother Boris.
They were brothers after all.
"Let's see..." He took out his phone and scrolled through it.
"District 1.4.7.3..." he muttered, stopping on it.
"The crime rate seems to have risen beyond 20%..." He added, Boris nodding in understanding.
When the crime rate goes beyond the limit of 20%, that means the officials there aren't doing their job properly.
As the new world order, it demanded military interference, to root out the corruption and bring order, reducing the crime rate to zero if possible.
"They really think we've lost our fangs because of twenty years of peace," Boris smiled, remembering the end of the war.
The world brought under one flag, the Northern Alliance flag, after the Great War with the Southern Alliance.
"This is interesting. I will let them realize that peace doesn't mean weakness." His eyes narrowed, as he thought of ways to bring District 1.4.7.3 back on track.
"Well, you do you... Now you can't complain you got nothing to do..."
"Yeah, thanks... I will get going, and don't worry too much about the space dust. My gut tells me it's not such a big deal..." He tugged at his brother's shoulder reassuringly before moving on to his mission.
"I hope you're right..." Viktor muttered, truly hoping his brother's gut feeling, which had never failed, would once again prove reliable.
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A/N
3/4
[1] A Millitary term for continent