The emergency session of the UN General Assembly was already a circus of fear and recrimination. Representatives shouted over each other, their voices a tangled mess of accusation and denial, all amplified in the vast, echoing chamber. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, expensive perfume, and pure, undiluted panic. On the main screen, a live feed showed the tri-colored zones of Los Angeles, a visual representation of a world falling apart.
Scarlett and Alexander stood in the delegates' gallery, a place they'd fought to be recognized in. Now, they wished they were anywhere else. They were here to plead for unity, for time, for trust in a plan they could barely voice aloud. They were losing.
"This 'containment' is a failure!" the Russian ambassador thundered, jabbing a finger at the screen. "You have created supernatural ghettos while this cancer spreads! We demand immediate, unilateral military intervention!"
