[ WP ] An emissary from an unfathomably advanced race appears and says that after some consideration , we have been marked for destruction . It then states that we can still save ourselves , if at least one human ( any human ) can make a convincing argument for why we should be allowed to exist .

`` You can save them.'' 
 
 Four words. Four syllables. Strikes me as funny, sitting across from the gargantuan Emissary, that the most important phrase in Human history is so short. 
 
 There's a few more of them in the gloomy room, looking impressive in their chitinous armour with rifles tucked under their arms. 
 
 I arch a brow, say nothing. I roll my cigarette overslow, playing out each motion to add to the tension. The alien bastard opposite me is clicking his mandibles together, practically salivating for my answer. 
 
 `` I could.'' I say, before I lick the length of the rolling paper. The Acacia tastes bitter on my tongue. Reminds me a lot of the conversation I'm having: unpleasant, harrowing, dull. `` But why would I want to?'' 
 
 A confused look passes over the Emissary's face. At least, as close to a confused look as his kind can manage. He was n't expecting that. He wanted me to get on my hands and knees. Wanted me to beg for each and every Human life down on the Big Blue, looking up at the alien fleet who had their devastating canons pointed at them. Might be he even wanted me to cry a little bit. 
 
 `` They're your people.'' He grunts. `` Why would n't you?'' 
 
 Maybe it's a good question. Maybe he expected more than numb apathy from the man that the United Nations sent to negotiate with him. To me, it's a rehash of my life up'till now. 
 
 *Kellen, why do n't you help people out? * 
 
 Quite simply, people do n't need helping. People need a good boot in the arse, or a bullet in the brain-pan: Squish. Their problems blinked out in the time it takes to pull the trigger. 
 
 `` In my experience, Humans are the biggest group of bastards you'll meet.'' I reply, with a small shrug of my shoulders. 
 
 There's a lovely view-port to my left. A thick layer of highly durable glass sitting between me and the Great Black. Looking out I can see Earth. 
 Earth, what a fucking stupid name for a home-world. Why call a planet that's more water than soil Earth, of all things? If our ancestors named the planet after what they thought the most abundant resource was, they should have called it Self-Centred Asshole. 
 
 I've been all over. Did four tours in the United Nations Deep Space Expeditionary Navy. Took shrapnel on a hundred different worlds. Seared by plasma on a hundred more. I lost an eye on Perseus to a Bowie knife and a brother on Eden Nexus to a landmine. But none of that compares to the wounds I took on Earth - physical and mental. 
 
 Earth is a shithole, but we never see the shit because it was us all along. In a same way that a serial killer wo n't admit there's anything wrong with them, we put on this nice face, and smile to other people's faces while we stab them in the back. 
 
 `` I'm the one with a fleet at your door, Lieutenant. Who's the bigger bastard?'' At least he's referring to me by rank now. When I'd first sat down he'd called me'Scum' and that had been that. Something to do with their Holy War against lesser species, or something. I do n't know, I was n't paying attention. 
 
 `` You want to know the difference? Humans would n't have knocked. If the roles were reversed, you think we'd sit down with one of yours to have a chat about surrender? Nah, High Command would order your world burned the moment the fleet left Slipspace.'' That's when I light up. Take a lungful of sweet, sweet tobacco. `` Hell, you're practically a Saint.'' 
 
 From the way he tenses I can tell he does n't like being called a Saint. I'm not wrong, though. 
 
 `` Why did they send you, of all people, to negotiate today?'' The Emissary asks. He's genuinely curious. `` Do your people mock me?!'' 
 
 `` I begged them to. Said I've fought your kind long enough to know you as well as the men I stand beside. Told them that since I've been working With Naval Intelligence I've come to understand where you're coming from. Said I'd make it happen. I lied.'' I tell him. `` It's a thing I do sometimes.'' 
 
 `` The negotiation, then. How does it proceed?'' He asks, and I can hear by his tone that he's growing impatient. 
 
 I lean back in my chair and suck down more smoke. `` Truth be told, I do n't really care. I just wanted off of Earth. Away from the smell, away from the people.'' 
 
 `` So you're saying - `` 
 
 `` I'm saying we're dead either way.'' I cut him off. `` If I tell you to shove your offer of surrender up your arse, you'll burn us. If I say we'll bend the knee and be your lackeys, we might as well be dead anyway.'' 
 
 `` How would the rest of your people feel about the way you're handling this situation?'' He sneers, the disgust in his tone as visible as the smoke curling from my cigarette. 
 
 `` Does it matter? When Naval Intelligence sent me here, they imbued in me the power to decide Earth's fate. They thought I was coming to work out a deal, of course, but that does n't matter now.'' 
 
 `` I'll ask you again, Lieutenant, how shall we decide the fate of your species?'' 
 
 I lean forward in the seat slowly, setting my hands upon the small metal table lying between us. 
 
 `` Tell me,'' I say. `` Have you ever flipped a coin?''
