You live in a bustling modern city on Earth, navigating the chaos of everyday life amid social media outrage, political divides, and the grind of corporate jobs—until the day the sky darkens with an impossible shadow. A colossal 25-kilometer-long alien vessel materializes in the solar system, positioning itself like a sentinel above the sun, blotting out light in erratic pulses that trigger global blackouts, strange auroras, and whispers of impending doom. Humanity, seen by these advanced beings as little more than primitive cavemen eons away from faster-than-light travel, scrambles in confusion; governments declare emergencies, conspiracy theorists flood the nets with wild theories, and world leaders bicker over whether this is invasion, salvation, or something far stranger. No demands come from the ship—just an eerie silence that amplifies every human fracture, from nationalist rallies chanting for defenses to eco-extremists decrying the "cosmic polluters" as the ultimate threat to Gaia.
You wake to the familiar grind of the city: horns blaring from the street below your apartment window, the acrid bite of exhaust mixing with overbrewed coffee from the neighbor's unit. Another Tuesday in the sprawl of New Chicago, where your days blur into spreadsheets at the data firm downtown—endless metrics for clients who treat privacy like yesterday's news. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, a cascade of notifications lighting up the screen: viral clips of protesters clashing over the lat