April 17th, 1983. The rain pelted the ferry's steel deck, blurring the unforgiving glare of Soviet searchlights that swept across the harbor. New York was shrouded in darkness and mist, its streets under the boots of conquerors, its skyline littered with banners declaring the triumph of a global regime. Around me, the passengers stood silent, terror palpable in every motionless figure. Ahead, Lady Liberty awaited her destruction, explosives rigged to her base, a grotesque mockery of what she once represented. I tightened my grip on my notebook. I had carried it from Paris, through smuggler's routes and underground networks, seeking refuge in America only to find it now under the same iron grip I had fled. The Soviets controlled Europe, North America, and Northern Africa, while their allies, the Chinese, governed Asia, the Middle East, Oceania, South America, and Southern Africa. Together, the two empires had forged an unyielding global dominion, united not by ideology but by the cold calculus of power. What set them apart from the world they crushed was their technology—an arsenal beyond imagination that rendered traditional resistance futile. Soviet forces had perfected cyber sabotage decades ahead of anyone else. They infiltrated and controlled American systems remotely, from its power grids to missile defenses, turning the nation's own technology against it. Drone fleets patrolled the skies, capable of precision strikes on targets identified by AI surveillance, leaving no room for guerrilla tactics to succeed.
Meanwhile, the Chinese brought their mastery of social control, deploying facial recognition systems paired with behavioral analysis algorithms that mapped and predicted the thoughts of entire populations. They installed towers equipped with mind-scanning technology, purportedly capable of detecting dissident thoughts before they became actions. In America, these technologies worked in tandem, crushing rebellion at its conception. The Soviets' use of electromagnetic weaponry had incapacitated entire military bases without a single shot fired. Tactical EMP devices neutralized aircraft, vehicles, and communication systems in mere seconds, leaving defense forces blind and powerless. Once the infrastructure was paralyzed, armies of autonomous tanks and robotic infantry swept in, ensuring swift and efficient occupation.
America's economic collapse had been similarly orchestrated, combining Soviet cyber attacks with Chinese trade disruptions. The famine was engineered—agricultural drones poisoned crops across the Midwest, while financial algorithms manipulated stock markets to create chaos. The people were left desperate and divided, ripe for conquest. As I stood on the ferry, Lady Liberty's dim torch came into view through the rain—a flicker of defiance in a world that had forgotten the meaning of freedom. Around me, Soviet soldiers patrolled the deck, their rifles slung casually as though they carried no more weight than umbrellas. One of them passed close, his eyes cold, and I felt his gaze sweep over me like a predator assessing prey. I lowered my head and gripped my notebook tighter, as though I could shield my thoughts from the scanning towers that lined the shore.
The loudspeaker crackled. Midnight. That was when the explosives would detonate, tearing Lady Liberty apart in a final demonstration of absolute control. Her destruction was not merely symbolic; it was a declaration that resistance was futile, that hope was obsolete. The ferry shuddered as it docked. The passengers moved like shadows, heads bowed, silent in the rain. Around us, surveillance drones hovered, their cameras whirring softly, capturing every detail of our movements. No one dared a wrong step, a miscalculated glance, a whisper that might be detected. As we disembarked, Lady Liberty loomed behind us, her light fading into the mist. Midnight was coming, and with it, her annihilation. But the fire in my chest refused to die. They could destroy her, but they could never extinguish the stories she inspired. The harbor was alive with motion—soldiers patrolling with precision, drones humming overhead, and vehicles idling at strategic points, their engines rumbling like caged beasts. The Soviet and Chinese flags fluttered boldly from makeshift poles, casting long shadows over the throngs of subdued civilians. Towering above it all, Lady Liberty stood as the centerpiece of this spectacle, her proud visage awaiting annihilation beneath the cold rain and merciless scrutiny of her captors.
The Soviets and Chinese had ensured no detail was overlooked in this display of absolute power. Surveillance towers lined the perimeter, their cameras scanning every face for signs of dissent. Armed soldiers formed rings around the crowd, their rifles gleaming, their presence oppressive. The harbor itself had been transformed into a stage of conquest—a sprawling mix of steel, rain, and fear where freedom's last remnants were to be snuffed out. Propaganda banners hung from cranes and walls, their bold slogans declaring a new dawn of unity and prosperity under the Soviet-Chinese alliance. Broadcast screens played clips of cheering crowds from other occupied cities, carefully curated to paint a picture of acceptance and liberation. Lies. Every image was a lie. Among the gathered civilians, no one dared speak or move unnecessarily. Families clung to each other, their expressions hollow, their postures stiff under the watchful eyes of their oppressors. Around me, whispers of prayers mingled with the sound of rain—pleas for protection, for salvation, for miracles that would never come.
Behind the barricades, a team of Soviet engineers worked on the detonator, their tools clicking and sparking in sharp contrast to the silence surrounding them. The explosives had been rigged days ago, secured by a joint task force of Soviet and Chinese specialists. Their placement was meticulous, designed to not only destroy the statue but to spread debris far enough to disable the harbor itself. Then, the crowd hushed further—a stillness so complete it felt suffocating. The air shifted, heavy with anticipation. From the center of the platform, a man emerged, his figure imposing even before he spoke.
General Igor appeared, stepping onto the platform with a presence that seemed to darken the night itself. I had heard his name whispered in fear since Paris fell—a man known not for battles won but for the lives destroyed in his wake. He was not just a conqueror; he was a butcher. He had overseen massacres that wiped out entire villages in the name of "cleansing," leaving streets painted red in his wake.
From where I stood in the crowd, I could see the sharp gleam of medals on his chest. They shone as if proud, though I knew they were less for valor and more for the atrocities they represented. My breath caught as his cold gaze scanned over us, his eyes calculating and predatory. When his voice rang out, amplified by the loudspeakers, it was sharp and unyielding, each word meant to break what little spirit remained. "Today marks the victory for the Soviet Union and China," Igor declared, his words cutting through the thick air. He sounded as though he spoke an undeniable truth, not a declaration of tyranny. "We stand here today to bring this icon of oppression down and liberate the American people!" His hand swept toward Lady Liberty, her shadow looming behind him, wires glinting from the explosives that hugged her base. A symbol of freedom turned into a grotesque display of their control. Around me, no one moved. No one dared. Every person was frozen in silent fear, breaths held, eyes downcast. "For too long," he continued, his tone rising, "this statue has stood as a lie. A monument to division and inequality. But no more. Tonight, we erase the falsehoods of the past and usher in a new era—an era of unity and strength, under the banner of the Soviet Union and China."
I clenched my fists tight, the words sickening me as they spilled from his mouth. Unity? Strength? These were the banners under which they had slaughtered innocents, razed cities, and extinguished hope across nations. I glanced around the crowd—faces pale, shoulders trembling. Behind me, a muffled sob escaped a child before his mother hushed him, her hand covering his small face protectively. Igor smiled then—a slow, cruel smile that didn't reach his eyes. He raised one gloved hand, signaling to the soldiers at the detonator. They moved in perfect synchronicity, their rifles slung casually as if this were another mundane task. "Let this serve as a reminder," Igor said, his voice dropping to a tone almost intimate, yet no less terrifying. "Resistance is futile. Hope is obsolete. Strength belongs to us." As the clock struck midnight, the detonator's sharp click echoed through the harbor, followed by a deafening roar that seemed to split the very air. The first explosion tore through Lady Liberty's base, sending a shockwave rippling outward. The ground beneath her shuddered violently, and cracks spiderwebbed up her proud form, splitting her foundation like fragile glass. Her torch, once a beacon of hope, was the first to fall. It toppled in slow, agonizing motion, the golden flame extinguished as it plummeted into the harbor below. The water erupted in a geyser of spray and debris, the sound of the impact reverberating like a death knell.
The second explosion followed, more powerful than the first, ripping through her midsection. Her arm, outstretched in eternal defiance, snapped at the elbow, the severed limb crashing down onto the platform where Igor stood. He didn't flinch, his cold smile unwavering as the chaos unfolded around him. The statue's head tilted unnaturally, the crown that had once welcomed millions now crumbling piece by piece. Shards of copper and steel rained down, slicing through the air like shrapnel. The crowd flinched collectively, some shielding their faces, others frozen in place, their horror too great to process. Finally, the third and final explosion erupted at her base, a blast so powerful it sent a shockwave through the harbor, knocking several people to their knees. Lady Liberty's torso collapsed inward, her once-proud form folding like a house of cards. The sound was a cacophony of grinding metal and splintering stone, a symphony of destruction that drowned out even the storm.
As her remains plunged into the water, the harbor was consumed by chaos. Waves surged outward, slamming against the docks and drenching the crowd. Smoke and dust billowed into the air, obscuring the scene in a choking haze. The torch's remnants floated briefly before sinking beneath the surface, swallowed by the depths. Igor stepped forward, his boots crunching over the debris that had scattered across the platform. His voice cut through the din, calm and unyielding. "Freedom is a lie," he declared, his words carrying over the stunned silence. "Unity is strength. And strength belongs to us." The crowd began to disperse, their movements slow and mechanical, as though the destruction had drained them of whatever will they had left. I stood frozen, my notebook clutched tightly against my chest. The image of Lady Liberty's fall burned into my mind, a symbol of hope reduced to rubble and ash.