He stands by the window, a single pane of glass the length and height of the massive living room, and watches the rain pour down on the one billion people living below his feet. He's turned the lights off in the penthouse and the dim light through the window is hardly enough to define him against the shadows.
Dark thoughts swirl in his mind. Press against his shoulders and chest. There are a billion lives living in neon below him. Teeming in filth and luxury alike. All unaware of the decision he must make that will vastly alter all their lives. They do not know who, or what, has contacted him. He doesn't know either. All he knows is that their ultimatum is so alien in scope that no human could have made it with any conviction. But they have shown him a sliver of their power and he believes their threats and promises.
There choice is simple. Half the population dies tomorrow and that's the end of it.
Or.
The entirety of the human population will never die of old age again. And they will never give birth again either. A city of a billion mortals, static with no way to grow.
He does not why he has been chosen to make this decision. Perhaps being the richest man in the city made them think he was worthy to make it.
Only then, an hour before the deadline, does it occur to him that perhaps he isn't the only one given the choice. Perhaps the whole city has heard the whispers, and their choices will define the judgement from alien minds.
Paddy Dobson
15th October 2022