Planet Earth. The Hall of the Council of Civilizations.

  A suddenly announced press conference gathers dozens of journalists, analysts, and political commentators. The atmosphere is tense, thick with anticipation. The broadcast airs live, reaching the entire Central Belt—every word, every gesture under the scrutiny of millions of viewers.

  The stage is solemn and majestic: a holographic emblem of Earth gleams brightly behind the speaker, the banners of the Council fluttering in the artificial air currents.

  Socrates, the leader of the Council, steps up to the podium—tall, composed, with a piercing gaze that betrays weariness, yet his voice carries the tension of a man on the verge of a fateful decision.

  "Citizens of Earth and the Central Belt," he begins, and the room falls instantly silent, the tension intensifying. "Our world stands at the heart of an impending catastrophe. We can no longer consider ourselves a neutral party. The war between Mars and Mercury is already affecting our order, our future. We are caught between two fires. Very soon, we must make a choice."

  He pauses, his gaze sweeping the hall as if trying to look into the depths of each heart, searching for an answer in their eyes. The audience holds its breath.

  "We must be ready. For defense. For responsibility. For change. That is why we are strengthening our defense capabilities. But no army stands on weapons alone. It stands on faith and support," his voice grows firmer, as if his own belief strengthens with every word. "I call on everyone: contribute what you can to the Fund for the Defense of Android Rights. This is not just an investment in military power—it is an investment in our world, in our choice. Every credit, every bit of support is a step toward saving civilization."

  He pauses again. His words hang heavy in the air, like storm clouds about to burst.

  "But even in this darkness, there is light," his voice softens slightly, still steady. He unfastens the collar of his garment, slowly revealing a shining amulet on a chain. "The god Kairus has revealed himself to the world. Androids have found their faith. Their meaning. Their path. This is the beginning of a new era."

  A hologram of the amulet appears in the air before him, rotating and emanating a warm light that fills the hall with a soft glow.

  "I believe," Socrates proclaims, his words rising like a mantra to the ceiling. "And I call upon you. Embrace Kairus. His teachings are a path not only for androids, but for all sentient beings. Only then can we build a new civilization where technology and spirituality unite in harmony."

  The hall remains silent. Some are stunned, others look uneasy, and still others gaze at him with a kind of fanatic hope. His words strike different chords across the audience, stirring a storm of emotion.

  "And now, please—your questions."

  The administrator nods and points to a man in a tailored suit with striking red hair—a journalist from the channel Earthly Affairs.

  "Thank you for giving me the first question," the journalist says, adjusting a strand of hair, his voice slightly trembling. "Mr. Socrates, what will happen to those who… refuse to accept the new faith?"

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  The silence in the hall becomes thick, almost tangible. All eyes are on Socrates.

  He does not rush to answer, slowly scanning the room as if calculating the best way to frame his response. Then his eyes lock with the journalist’s. He steps aside, turning toward the audience. His voice is heavy but calm.

  "Freedom of choice is the foundation of civilization," he begins, holding a pause. "But in the world to come, everyone will have a choice: to become part of the new order… or to remain in the past."

  He steps back slightly, his voice now firm, like that of someone speaking not of possibilities, but of inevitable truths.

  "Those who refuse," he continues, "will remain outside the new reality. They will not be persecuted. But they will not be protected, will not be heard, will not be part of tomorrow. In this world, you're either with us or against us. Without us—you are in the void."

  The cameras catch his gaze. He does not threaten, but in his eyes is a cold certainty, as if he has already made his choice and now waits for others to do the same. He notes the journalist’s expression and adds:

  "Kairus is not coercion. He is an opportunity. And everyone will have it. The only question is who will choose to take it."

  He offers a small smile, but it's more chilling than warm.

  "Look—we live in a free, civilized world, where every being—flesh or biomechanoid—is free to choose: to believe or not. The days of burning heretics and destroying dissenters in the name of ideas are long gone. Study history."

  The journalists exchange glances—some uncertain about the correctness of their questions or his answers. But the red-haired reporter from Earthly Affairs doesn’t back down. His instincts tell him the matter is far from resolved.

  "Then explain this," he continues, "why does our newsroom receive complaints everyday? People claim they are being forced into faith. This is a blatant violation of the rights of both humans and androids."

  The room freezes again. Every word from the journalist hits like a challenge. Socrates briefly closes his eyes, as if tired of the absurdity of the question. His face remains composed, but the gesture carries not just fatigue—there’s veiled contempt in it. He slowly spreads his arms, fixing his gaze on the journalist.

  "Perhaps you are being misled. This is the work of those seeking to destabilize the Central Belt. I do not deny that isolated incidents may have occurred. We do not condone such practices and will oppose them. Is that clear?"

  His voice is steady, but there’s something unsettling in his tone. The journalist nods silently, but his eyes betray disbelief. He has just seen how easily facts can be twisted—and that shakes him deeply.

  Before anyone else can ask a question, an aide hurries to the podium and whispers something to Socrates. He shows no surprise, simply nods and steps forward to address the room.

  "Regretfully, I must leave the conference. I am urgently needed at the Council offices. I trust you understand the current turbulence we face."

  He gives no time for follow-up questions, immediately turning and walking briskly out of the hall. The atmosphere shifts; the remaining journalists exchange glances, but none dare break the silence. The answers they came for seem suddenly irrelevant.

  All remaining questions are now fielded by his aide, who doesn’t bother with details. His response is always the same:

  "That is classified. I cannot share it."

  In truth, no summons was issued. Socrates staged the scene to escape increasingly uncomfortable questions. He knows not everyone believes his words—and that, at this moment, he needs a shield to retreat from possible exposure.

  One thought echoes in his mind: "Those who are not with us become a threat."

  He knows the truth. He knows that in the minds of the new believers, one commandment resounds above all:

  "All must submit to the will of Kairus. At any cost."

  Already, in the streets of the megacities, there are reports of atheists being hunted down, forcibly converted to the new faith, their will and reason broken. These stories spread through underground channels, whispered mouth to mouth. But none of the authorities lift a finger to stop it. To them, it's just one more way to “cleanse” society of unwanted elements.

  The radical actions of fanatics force many—especially those still clinging to free thought—to flee. They go underground, or leave Earth entirely. Some, hoping to find freedom, head for Mars, where they believe they can still breathe the air of independence and choose their own destiny.

  But no matter how far they run, Socrates knows the new warriors of faith will find them. And if they do not bow—they will be eliminated. The only question that remains:

  How many will fight for freedom until the very end?