Military Future

  The night sky over Geneva shimmered with artificial auroras, a display designed to soothe the populace. Beneath the glowing expanse, Captain Samuel Berkley stood at the Grand Assembly’s perimeter, watching the U.W. governors emerge from their armored transport. Beside him, Officer Lian Voss adjusted her sidearm, a sleek black device that doubled as a communicator and a recorder.

  “They’re getting softer,” Voss muttered, nodding toward the delegates as they shuffled inside, their security detail flanking them like silent shadows.

  Berkley smirked. “Not just them. The weapons, the tactics, the soldiers—nothing’s what it used to be.” He patted the compact sidearm at his hip. “Back in the day, a gun was a gun. You pulled the trigger, someone dropped. Now? Now it’s all about ‘pain compliance’ and ‘non-lethal deterrents.’”

  Voss chuckled, though her gaze remained sharp. “It’s practical. No one wants war anymore, just control.”

  “Maybe. But what if someone did? Let’s say a nation decided to rebel—how much of a chance would they stand?” Berkley asked, his tone curious.

  Voss didn’t hesitate. “None. The U.W. ensures peace, stability. Every system is monitored, every potential threat neutralized before it begins. We don’t need war to maintain order. We are the future.”

  Berkley exhaled, watching the city’s glowing skyline. “I don’t miss war. But I do wonder if we’ve lost something in this shift. These uniforms we wear, the drills we do—it’s all for show now. Our weapons stun, not kill. We train for ceremonies, not battles.”

  She considered this. “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe true strength isn’t about how many people you can take down, but how few you have to.”

  Berkley didn’t answer right away. He looked at his reflection in the polished visor of a fellow officer standing at attention. The sleek, modern armor they wore bore none of the battle scars of old combat units. Their ancestors had carried rifles, grenades, knives—tools of war. Now, their greatest weapon was a pulse strong enough to disable but not destroy.

  “The world’s changed,” he admitted at last. “Just not sure if it’s for the better or worse.”

  Voss patted his shoulder as the final delegate disappeared into the Assembly Hall. “Doesn’t matter, Captain. We’re just here to make sure no one forgets who’s really in charge.”

  Berkley nodded and strode inside, disappearing through the heavy doors. As they shut behind him, Voss lifted her communicator to her lips.

  “Commander, this is Voss. Captain Berkley’s been asking dangerous questions. You may want to have a word with him.”

  And with that, she resumed her watch under the shimmering sky, a guardian of an era where war had become a relic, and power was measured not in destruction, but in control.

  Inside, Berkley barely had time to settle before his communicator buzzed. He was summoned to the command office. The cold, sterile atmosphere of the building, all sharp lines and chrome, felt like a warning. A premonition.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  When he arrived, Commander Jacob Meechum was already seated behind a pristine desk, his hands folded in front of him. His steely eyes bore into Berkley as he looked up from the data pads in front of him.

  “Captain Berkley,” Meechum said, his voice calm but firm, the kind of calm that only comes when the person speaking is certain they are in control. “I understand you’ve been having some... philosophical discussions with Officer Voss.”

  Berkley shifted uncomfortably. He could feel the weight of the conversation already, the undercurrent of danger lapping at his heels. “Just observations, sir. Nothing more.”

  Meechum’s expression remained unchanged. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. “Observations can be dangerous, Captain. One might misconstrue them as mutiny, as a threat.” His gaze sharpened, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Do you know how much work has gone into securing this future for us? How many sacrifices were made so that you wouldn’t have to? You should be thankful for the work of others, for the better tomorrow they built.”

  Berkley swallowed, a nervous tension building in his chest. His words had been nothing more than casual musings, simple curiosity about the world around him. But now, here in this sterile room, with Meechum’s unblinking stare bearing down on him, those thoughts seemed treasonous, dangerous. The idea that the future might be imperfect, or that things might not be as they seemed—it was a line of thinking that could quickly become a threat to the order that held everything together.

  He glanced at the door, imagining the possibility of someone walking in, hearing this conversation. His mind briefly flashed to the endless corridors of the facility, where every corner was monitored, every conversation recorded. No one was allowed to question the system—not openly, at least. There was a reason the U.W. thrived in such a tightly controlled society. There was a reason questioning was forbidden.

  Meechum let the silence linger, his eyes never leaving Berkley’s face. “What you don’t understand, Captain, is that your observations, your doubts—they undermine everything we’ve worked for. They suggest a crack in the foundation. You’re not just questioning the current order, you’re questioning the necessity of that order. And that, Captain, is dangerous.”

  Berkley shifted uncomfortably under Meechum’s gaze, the tension in the room thickening like smoke. He hadn’t realized it then, in the moment with Voss, but the consequences of his thoughts were now crystal clear. Even casual musings, when taken the wrong way, could lead to disastrous outcomes.

  Meechum’s voice dropped to a low, chilling tone. “We can’t afford any cracks in this system, Captain. Not now, not ever. We’ve eliminated war, we've eliminated rebellion... and all that's left is the control. The control we ensure.” His gaze grew colder. “So unless you want to test how much of this system is unshakable, I’d suggest you keep your thoughts... to yourself.”

  Berkley’s throat went dry. He could feel the weight of the commander’s warning pressing down on him, a pressure that seemed to constrict with every breath. The realization hit him hard—this wasn’t just about philosophical discussions anymore. This was about loyalty, conformity. This was about survival.

  Meechum’s gaze softened, but the threat lingered in his words. “We wouldn’t want to have to send you to the counselor, Captain. They have ways of... reprogramming misguided thoughts.”

  Berkley nodded quickly, his voice shaking as he responded. “Understood, sir.”

  The commander allowed himself a thin, satisfied smile. “Good. Dismissed.”

  Berkley turned and left, the heavy doors closing behind him with a sound that felt final, suffocating. He stood in the hallway for a moment, heart racing, mind spinning. The walls of order and control had never felt so close, and the question lingered, gnawing at him: how much longer could he toe the line before he found himself on the wrong side of it?

  As he walked away, the hum of the surveillance systems seemed louder than ever. The regime had won. There was no room for questioning, no room for doubt. All that was left was compliance, and for the first time, Captain Berkley wasn’t sure if that was something he could continue to give.