Chapter 4: Planet Gaia.

  A damaged warship ascended upon the military, trailing smoke as sparks shot from its malfunctioning hull. The human soldiers didn’t falter; they unloaded everything they had, hoping that in their final moments, they would make the alien scum regret attacking humans. Rockets streaked toward the Gaian vessel, and bullets peppered the air. Fire erupted along the warship's metallic skin, but the invaders remained airborne—like stubborn, wounded predators refusing to die.

  For a brief moment, it seemed like a stalemate, a fragile balance between the Gaian warship and Earth's remaining forces.

  But then, the sky turned green. Reinforcements descended from the heavens like an ocean of glowing doom, their ships blotting out the stars. Hope evaporated as the warships continued their assault, methodically wiping out the human defenses.

  Ground troops scattered, some fighting to the last, others retreating in vain as Gaian lasers sliced through their ranks. The Earth itself trembled, buildings collapsing under the relentless onslaught, as the weight of destruction pressed down on the last remnants of human resistance.

  The smoke began to dissipate, but as it lifted, it revealed a world now barely recognizable. Earth lay in ruins—a display of its loss. The sky, a sickly gray, was choked with toxic particles that suffocated the land. The ground, transformed into a charred wasteland, bore the scars of devastation—twisted remnants of buildings and ghostly shadows cast by crumbled facades.

  A silence enveloped the planet, broken only by the occasional groan of settling debris and the distant hum of Gaian warships retreating into the upper atmosphere. The engines, once powerful, now echoed as the hollow whispers of a dying world.

  The Gaians had executed their plan. They felt the humans had mistreated the planet long enough and left, believing the Earth would be of better use in Gaian custody.

  Still, their victory came with a price. Forty warships were sent to Earth, and the humans managed to take down 15.

  Earth bore the unmistakable clues of a catastrophic meteor impact—an event that, to the universe, seemed like a tragic twist of fate. The warships, now mere specks in the sky, had left behind a ravaged planet, with the truth buried beneath layers of expertly crafted deception.

  Far from the devastation, life on Gaia buzzed with vibrant energy. The “meteor strike” dominated every screen and was broadcast to the neighboring planets.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Mrs. Teatree, Gaia’s revered news anchor, appeared on every channel. Her familiar face and calm voice spoke:

  “Good evening, Gaia,” she began solemnly. “We bring you heartbreaking news from Earth. A catastrophic meteor impact has annihilated the planet’s surface. Our thoughts and prayers are with those affected.”

  The broadcast shifted to a heart-wrenching montage designed to evoke visceral responses. Footage panned across Earth’s ruins—empty cities, broken landscapes, and the unmistakable aftermath of destruction. High-ranking Gaian officials stood amidst the wreckage, their faces etched with solemnity. Each shot was perfectly framed, capturing their stoic expressions as they placed flowers among the ruins, a display of empathy that was as calculated as it was hollow.

  In homes across Gaia, viewers sat in stunned silence, their faces illuminated by the sharp images. Some grasped each other's hands, sharing their grief. The scene of mourning stretched across Gaia, a world usually bustling with energy, now fallen into hushed silence. People gathered in squares and communal spaces, abandoning their routines for collective sorrow.

  Mrs. Teatree’s voice returned, underscoring the narrative with authority: “Our Gaian leaders have visited the site to pay their respects. The gravity of the disaster is deeply felt by all. Standing in solidarity with Earth.”

  The broadcast closed with footage of officials lighting candles among the charred remnants, every detail orchestrated to cement the illusion of a natural disaster.

  The truth remained buried beneath layers of propaganda and performance.

  As the broadcast faded to black, a high-ranking official delivered a final speech heavy with faux sympathy. “The human race was not perfect, but they did not deserve such a cruel fate. One can only imagine their last moments—what might their final thoughts have been?”

  His words echoed through the quiet rooms of Gaia, sealing the deception in the hearts of its people. The illusion was complete, and the truth lay hidden in the ashes of a world erased by a lie.

  For years, the Gaians accepted the official narrative: a catastrophic meteor had struck Earth, rendering it uninhabitable. This story became gospel, etched into history books and displayed in museums, where holographic simulations depicted the fiery collision. The truth of the Gaian space pirates' actions remained buried, a whispered rumor among the discontented few.

  The government ensured that their involvement was erased. Nobody knew what truly happened. Other planets suspected the Gaians were lying, but without evidence, Earth’s demise became a forgotten tale to many.

  Years later, the Gaian officials suggested a firmer grip to combat criminals. The Purify Program was established, hacking became illegal, and leaving Gaia was not allowed unless you had a Galaxy tourist visa, with the intention that you would return.

  Conspiracy theories were shut down, and the Gaian version of connected media was controlled. The government decided what the Gaians were allowed to know. Still, since the program became active, crimes on Gaia dropped to 5%.

  Something that never happened on any other planet. Neighboring planets who visited for business negotiations wondered how the Gaians did it.

  You can leave your e-bike outside or your hover car unlocked, and nobody will steal it.

  That's how the propaganda began, where inmates were interviewed and footage of where the inmates were staying flooded the news reports.

  But to some skeptical Gaians, the extra control measure was just a tool to avoid having their secrets come to light.