The Final Briefing

12 hours to Thunderbolt

The black convoy raced across the Potomac, sirens clearing their path. David sat in the lead SUV, arms crossed, watching the darkened skyline through tinted glass. The smoke was thicker now—acrid and bitter, clinging to everything. Transformers burst in the distance, cascading sparks down onto lifeless streets. Whole city blocks stood powerless, quiet, foreboding.

Across from him, Blackstone watched him with that same unreadable, cold calculation. David didn’t return the stare. His focus was elsewhere—on the science, the message, the weight of what was coming.

“You understand the protocol,” Blackstone finally said. “What you choose to share tonight will set global expectations. Panic management is as critical as accuracy.”

David said nothing. There was no point.

The convoy dipped through a secured checkpoint and entered the Continuity Operations Center beneath Arlington. The descent into the earth felt symbolic—sinking into the last bastion of control while the surface world spun further out of it.

Inside, the bunker buzzed with tense coordination. Screens flickered with real-time feeds—floods, firestorms, power grid collapses, seismic spikes. David moved through it all, noting the strain behind every set jaw, the frantic movements disguised as protocol. NOAA, FEMA, the military—every agency was here, trying to hold the line.

In the primary briefing chamber, he took his seat near the front. Cynthia, Elena, Manny, and Grady settled nearby, but David’s mind was on the display ahead. Earth’s magnetosphere was painted in red—solar wind hammering it like a siege. He could practically feel the pressure building behind the numbers.

Dr. Hale, the President’s Science Advisor, stood. “Gentlemen, ladies — let’s get to it.”

Blackstone walked to the podium. His voice was the same calm veneer David had heard too many times before. “You are all aware of the increasing geomagnetic disturbances. What we are seeing is an unprecedented CME strike combined with anomalous cometary activity. Our objective is to contain speculation and provide controlled messaging for the press conference scheduled later tonight.”

David stood, slow and deliberate. His heartbeat was steady, but his jaw was tight.

“I will be altering that message,” he said.

The words echoed across the chamber like a gunshot.

Blackstone didn’t flinch, but the faint twitch in his smile gave him away. “Dr. Mitchell has been under considerable strain. I’m sure we—”

“Enough.” David cut him off. “The world deserves the truth. And that includes this room.”

He clicked the remote. The screen behind him shifted to orbital projections—an elliptical trajectory slicing close to Earth’s path.

“This is not a comet,” David said. “It never was. We’re looking at a planetary body—massive, real, and caught in a decaying orbit. Its path has been temporarily stabilized by electro-gravitational forces—forces your current models don’t account for.”

A mutter rippled through the Joint Chiefs.

“Electro-gravitational?” someone repeated, skeptical.

David didn’t need to look. He knew who would step forward.

Manny’s voice carried across the room. “This is textbook Birkeland current interaction. Plasma physics explains what your gravitational models can’t. The CME outbursts? They’re energy transfers between the Sun and this intruder.”

David watched the confusion ripple through the room. It was the same wall he’d run into a thousand times before—people clinging to known systems as the unknown slammed into them.

The Secretary of Energy spoke up. “That’s not in any of the DOE models. The equations don’t work.”

David saw the fire light in Manny’s eyes. “Because you’re still treating space as a vacuum,” Manny said. “It’s not. Alfven showed us that half a century ago. Space is a conductive plasma medium. What we’re seeing is the result of ignoring that truth.”

David watched as Cynthia stepped forward. Her voice was cool, controlled. “Earth’s crust is already responding. We’ve recorded harmonic tremors worldwide. The stress is building across multiple tectonic systems. Ruptures are imminent.”

Elena followed, citing volcanic instability. Then Grady spoke—tsunamis, ocean displacement, the Pacific Rim. David didn’t interrupt. He let their voices fill the chamber, layering over the silence that had once dominated the discussion.

When they stopped, the quiet returned—but it was a different silence. He felt it settle in, heavy with consequence.

Blackstone finally spoke. “That level of disclosure will cause mass panic. Global markets will collapse within the hour.”

David turned toward him. “Markets are already collapsing. The only thing left is trust.”

He saw Admiral Monroe shift slightly. His voice was calm, but resolute. “Dr. Mitchell— is your analysis final?”

David nodded once. “It is. And I intend to disclose it tonight, live.”

Blackstone opened his mouth, but Monroe cut him off.

“Dr. Mitchell speaks under the protection of scientific autonomy granted by the President’s Executive Order for National Crisis Disclosure.”

David saw the blood drain from Blackstone’s face.

“The President authorized full disclosure if you reached consensus,” Monroe continued. “And it appears your own team now stands with Mitchell.”

He turned to the broader room. “Prepare your agencies for global briefing protocols. We are officially shifting to Phase 3.”

Aides rushed out of the chamber. Conversations turned sharp, frantic. Chaos in motion.

David leaned toward Manny, his voice low. “We’re running out of time.”

Manny nodded, whispering back, “Yes. But tonight we tell them.”