Silent Proxy

The story of a human soul forced to live in the shell of a doll

October 1945. The world has just witnessed the end of the second-largest war in human history, concluding with the devastating force of two bombs dropped on Japan. It feels as though the planet is emerging from a long, deadly storm—one from which no one could escape. Millions lie dead in the wake of battle. I sit wounded amidst the ruins of a building, its structure obliterated. Gazing up at the sky, a bitter question runs through my mind: Is this the worst humanity is capable of? A deep sigh escapes me, heavy with regret and pain.

Slowly, I force myself to rise, each movement a struggle. Shrapnel has torn into my legs, leaving them weak and unreliable, but I push forward, limping towards my unit’s encampment. Pain surges through me, and I collapse, only to be caught by my friend, Ash. She hoists me up, draping one of my arms around her shoulders. I give her a faint, tired smile, whispering, “Thanks,” my voice barely more than a rasp, strained from the endless orders and cries of war.

By the time we reach the camp, my body is screaming in protest. I lower myself onto one of the available medical beds, my breath hitching as another wave of pain hits. I groan deeply, the intensity of the moment overwhelming me. Before this, I could never have imagined pain like this.

One of the medics approaches, a familiar face I’ve grown to love in secret. Our connection is known to no one. She places a cool hand on my fevered forehead and speaks softly, her voice a soothing balm. “You need to rest,” she says, her eyes filled with quiet concern. “We’ll work on fixing you up tomorrow before the camp moves.” I try to respond, but my effort is cut short by a violent cough, splattering blood. Defeated, I lay my head back onto the hard, rough pillow, waiting for sleep to take me as the painkillers slowly dull the agony.

The next morning, I wake to the harsh desert sun, its heat irritating my wounds and drawing fresh cries of pain from my throat. A nearby nurse hears me and quickly begins tending to my injuries. There hadn’t been time the day before. Shrapnel is carefully pulled from my abdomen and legs, the wounds stitched together with coarse medical thread. It still hurts, but the pain is bearable now, and I offer her a weak smile, grateful for the relief—though I wish it had been her, the one I care for, who had healed me.

But she’s gone. I search for her in vain, asking the other medics, even our unit leader, but no one knows where she went. She vanished without a word, as if she had never existed. That night, when she placed her hand on my brow and comforted me at my lowest—perhaps that was her purpose. Perhaps she was never meant to stay. Maybe she was an angel, sent to ease my suffering before disappearing into the unknown.

In the months that followed, my wounds healed enough for me to stand and move on my own. I started helping around the camp, packing up supplies as we prepared to return to the States. The war was finally over. The bloodshed and horror that had consumed us for so long were now behind us. I was going home—home to peace, to quiet. But it wasn’t just my life that was changing. The entire world was shifting.

What lay ahead wasn’t just the end of war—it was the beginning of something far greater. The dawn of an era unlike anything humanity had seen before. An era of peace, yes, but also an era of incredible progress. This was the Golden Era, a time when technological marvels, once unimaginable, began to reshape our future.

Yet, this new era didn’t come without a price. It had been forged in the crucible of one of the most violent and destructive conflicts in human history. As we looked forward to brighter days, we couldn’t forget that this golden age had emerged from the shadows of war.

And so, we stepped into the future—one defined not by the weapons we had wielded, but by the innovations we would create.

After the war, a new era of calm, peace, and technological advancement emerged. Fossil fuels were gradually phased out from both commercial and consumer use, replaced by nuclear power. The Earth began to heal, as did the people and animals inhabiting it. Many would call this a utopia—though I say “many” because the governments have evolved into a strange hybrid of communism and dictatorship. While labor is managed by the people, nationwide decisions rest in the hands of a single leader at the top. We didn't dare question it, however.

As nuclear power became the world's primary energy source, the development of micro-reactors soon followed. Over time, they were fully embraced by both corporations and everyday consumers. Cars, planes, computers, homes, and even phones eventually ran on these tiny nuclear reactors. The technology was so safe it could fit in our pockets—something unimaginable to those in the past, who couldn’t have even conceived of such advancements.

Alongside the development of micro-reactors came a revolutionary new technology, considered the successor to virtual and mixed reality: Human Subconscious Interface (HSI). HSI allowed humans to “detach” their consciousness from their original body and transfer it to another device or host. Naturally, safeguards were in place to prevent misuse—such as the inability to transfer into a host body that already possessed a consciousness—along with countless other protections, many of which remained unknown.

We didn’t have flying cars like many imagined before the war. The future wasn’t about airborne vehicles, advanced AI, or any of the typical sci-fi visions. Instead, it became about the evolution of the human race, our success in achieving peace, and the realization of technologies we once thought were only fantasy. That time was now. And while it wasn’t perfect, it was the best we had experienced in the many decades our planet had existed.

Unfortunately, the peace didn’t last forever. Tensions began to rise between the two largest superpowers, and watching the news became a horrifying, tense experience. Going outside—whether during the day or at night—felt unsettling, as jets roared overhead and helicopters hovered above major cities. No one had been harmed yet, but it was clear something was happening. The public, however, remained in the dark about the details.

As tensions escalated, a new technology emerged that utilized the recently developed HSI systems: Dolls. When you hear the word “doll,” you might think of marionettes or action figures, but these were neither. Dolls were military-grade, humanoid host bodies, each specialized for different tasks—some for stealth, others for close combat, and some for heavy artillery. They were designed to replace human soldiers, as governments were unwilling to risk more human lives. However, this technology was still experimental.

Then the worst happened. A major city was attacked, with hundreds—thousands—killed in an instant by what appeared to be a stealth Doll, self-detonating its own micro-reactor. Nearly the entire city was leveled in the blink of an eye. Fear spread like wildfire across the country and the world. What was happening? Why were we being attacked? Soon after, a state of emergency was declared, and soldiers were drafted. This marked the beginning of a new war—a war unlike any we had ever known. It wasn’t fought with guns or blades or any weapons we were accustomed to.

This was the beginning of a war unlike anything we could have ever imagined—one that would come to be known by its survivors as the “Final War.” A third world war, the kind no one ever thought possible. And this was only the start.