“We need answers!”

  “Where are you taking us?!”

  There were no windows in sight, nothing to give anyone an idea of where they were headed. No information was given. Not even a news broadcast. Nothing. And for that reason, people began to go mad.

  The entire arena sounded like a riot Sloane had never signed up for. Fear bounced off the walls, off people, feeding into itself. Everyone was getting angrier, more aggressive, and somehow even louder. It was spiraling fast, with no sign of anyone stepping in to stop it.

  The last of the medics had left about an hour ago—give or take—and now it was just them and the aliens in gray armor, weapons at the ready. Sloane’s eyes swept the crowd, nerves crawling up her spine, making her fidget. There was no way out. She knew what humans were capable of when they felt trapped—how quickly fear could turn to violence, how easily someone might lash out, clawing their way toward freedom even if it meant hurting the person next to them. Clearly, so did the aliens. They weren’t leaving the humans here alone—not for a second.

  They were stuck in a human fish tank, all circling each other with nowhere to go. The air felt thick. Heavy. Her skin crawled with the awareness that she had no control here. She couldn’t stop the shouting. There were too many of them. If she opened her mouth, she’d just throw gasoline on the fire.

  For once, Sloane didn’t feel unsafe because of the aliens. She felt unsafe because of the humans. And honestly? That tracked. Humans had always been capable of monstrous things.

  They’d been in the arena for at least five hours. Maybe six. Sloane’s eyes burned, sore to the touch, and exhaustion was finally starting to creep in. But sleep was impossible with everyone so restless. How were they not tired? Just give up already.

  At some point she overheard someone say there were fifty thousand people here—either in the arena alone or on the mothership in general. Not everyone spoke English, which meant people had been hauled here from other countries too.

  Fifty thousand. That’s it?

  Are there more motherships? Another arena? Where is the rest of the world’s population? If there were any survivors left on Earth, she didn’t want to imagine how they were managing. The power grid would be rubble. The satellites—gone. Were they even leaving Earth at all? They couldn’t just leave people behind.

  Or were they all dead? A mass extermination on a biblical scale.

  Fifty thousand people, and she still hadn’t seen a single familiar face. Granted, she couldn’t see all the way across the arena, but it still terrified her. With this many people, she thought she’d recognize someone—anyone. The woman who always smiled at her on her walks. The older man she saw every weekend at the farmer’s market. Someone.

  Instead, she felt completely alone. This was what she’d asked for after all.

  A hush fell over the arena. For a moment, Sloane could almost breathe. Her ears still rang, as if she’d been trapped inside a relentless wall of sound. She lifted her gaze to see what had silenced everyone.

  With swollen, burning eyes, she watched as a floating metal island began to rise from a hole in the center of the stadium floor. It carried several humanoid figures dressed in what looked like battle uniforms—tight, all black, molded to their bodies. There were four of them in total. Two male. Two female.

  The sudden silence and whispers weren’t just because they’d risen from beneath the floor. It was because the two males had wings. Massive, pure white wings, the edges tipped with gold that shimmered like molten metal in the light.

  The first had skin as dark as midnight, a shaved head that caught every glint of the arena’s light. He moved with a predator’s grace, each motion precise and controlled, his suit sculpted perfectly to his form, radiating authority. There was no mistaking him—he was danger incarnate.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  The second was fair-skinned, with sunlit blonde hair that fell in effortless waves to his shoulders. His features were softer, almost gentle, but there was an unspoken strength in his posture, a quiet confidence that suggested he could be deadly if provoked. Out of the two, he was the one who drew attention with ease rather than fear—but underestimating him would be a mistake.

  Together, they lifted their wings high over their shoulders, casting long, commanding shadows, settling into a posture of dominance as the platform rose higher. They were magnificent, terrifying, and utterly untouchable.

  One of the females had skin so pale it seemed unreal, almost crystalline, catching the arena lights and refracting them like glass. Every movement made her shimmer, ethereal and fragile, yet impossible to look away from.

  The other had sun-kissed skin, warm and golden, as if she’d spent her life under tropical suns. Her face was marked with splashes of color—green, red, pink—vivid against her skin, like painted sigils or tribal markings. From this distance, Sloane couldn’t tell, but it gave her an aura of wildness, unpredictable and untamed.

  Her eyes went wide. She could accept the strange skin. The colors. Even the uniforms.

  But wings?

  How was that even possible? What were they looking at right now—angels? Were angels real? Maybe she needed to rethink that whole giving up on God thing. She really didn’t want to be smited today.

  Around her, people gaped and gasped in unison. She was ever so thankful that the screaming finally ended. Even if it was temporary.

  One of the winged males stepped forward and began to speak—his voice booming, authoritative. Sloane shuddered. This being could ruin everyone’s afternoon if he felt inclined.

  His voice was amplified, echoing through the entire arena. “I know you are all confused. Afraid. Hurt. Maybe even angry. This may not mean much right now… but we are with you. We cannot imagine what it is like to have everything stripped from you. But we are here to tell you—we will do everything in our power to help.”

  Almost immediately, other voices followed—speaking in different languages, repeating every word in turn. It had to be for those who didn’t speak English. They must have been studying them, cataloging languages, preparing for this moment. It was the only explanation Sloane could come up with.

  “The reality,” the same winged male continued, “is that Earth is your home no more. The short answer is this—there is a war. A war that has gone on for millennia. One your governments were fully aware of… and chose to hide from you. Had they been honest, this might be a bit less shocking.”

  Gasps rippled through the crowd as the translations followed.

  Now Sloane found herself wishing her family was either here with her or already dead. The in-between was unbearable.

  “We saved as many of your people as we could,” the angel continued. “It may be hard to believe, but you are safe. We are taking you to our planet, where you will be fed, housed, and healed. We will be arriving shortly. However, we will require your full cooperation. We will be taking your names… and your blood. This will allow us to reunite you with loved ones and ensure none of you require immediate medical intervention.”

  Blood.

  That word made her flinch. Why their blood? They weren’t science experiments. Sloane wondered how many people would fight over that part alone.

  The arena fell into an eerie quiet—only low murmurs now. No more screaming. Fear had fully set in.

  Someone behind her whispered, “This is it… they got us now. We’re their slaves.”

  Sloane looked back, letting that thought sink in. To hell with that.

  If that angel—person—thing thought his speech was going to calm everyone down, he was sadly mistaken. It only made people more frantic, voices overlapping as questions poured out. The main one echoed again and again: Where are the others? Are we going back to save more people? Others shouted names—family, friends—people who had clearly been left behind. Some even asked to be let out, wanting to go back to their homes.

  It was safe to say the ship wasn’t turning back. If they were talking about war, then Earth was probably already done for. Sloane wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to count her blessings or be annoyed that she was still alive—mangled foot and all.

  But like the winged thing had said, they would try to help reunite families—whoever was here in this arena. She clung to the hope that she would find someone. Anyone. Lord knows she’d thought about her parents day in and day out since the invasion.

  Her heart felt heavy. Maybe it was the grief bleeding off everyone else, soaking into her whether she wanted it to or not. Maybe hearing it spoken aloud had stirred her own feelings to the surface. Whatever it was, it left her drained. Her eyelids felt heavy on their own.

  The anticipation of landing—of finally getting out of this place—was eating her alive. Whether that meant another planet all together, she frankly didn’t care anymore. Selfishly, all she wanted was food, running water, and a place to sleep. Maybe some quiet from all the noise.

  Desperately.