Silent Proxy

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.