[ WP ] A stranger approaches you and points a gun to your head . `` I 'm sorry , but we will explain everything at the reset . Hopefully we 'll have a fighting chance now that we have you ... '' He pulls the trigger .

My men control the ship, while I monitor the battlemap holographically laid out in front of me. 
 
 The Qurxil are a race of insectoids known primarily for their brutal nature and alleged teleportation capabilities. They just appeared one day, a massive fleet floating above the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Western Europe, and surgically lasered Calais from the map, vaporising all that were in that part of France. 
 
 Then they, in the immortal words of European president Timothy Pontdeux, `` Buggered off that-away'', and humanity has been pushing harder than ever to have a space capable defence and offence fleet, ready to strike back at the insectoid race. 
 
 We found them, in an otherwise unremarkable nebula, far away from anywhere that could possibly be their home planet, if they even have one, and see the ship that every schoolchild above the age of 6 has seen images of. 
 The ship that attacked Earth and then left for no given reason. 
 
 We hailed them. Neutral, but inquisitive, and a statement of irritation. Their language, picked up from the trail of signals they sent back at us as we followed their movement through the galaxy, our FTL just barely able to move faster than their teleportation hops. 
 
 
 My fleet wait, as we detect life signs erupting into frenzied activity on the potentially enemy ship. 
 
 An answer comes. 
 
 
 `` I'm sorry. but we will explain everything at the reset. Hopefully we'll have a fighting chance now we have you...'' 
 
 They opened fire, and as the gigantic laser blast fires through my head, I see, in my final moments, images of ant-like creatures speaking, talking, and I know they are transmitting memories into our minds. Maybe. Or they're killing us with something with a telepathic component. 
 
 I reintegrate on a planet somewhere. 
 
 It's as I see French street signs, and distant, almost primal, yet alien memories of a biological bomb in the supermarchė in front of me, that I set about my new, implanted mission to try and defuse a bomb that could and nearly did wipe out the human race. Had a giant cannon not been fired at it. 
 
 I question why the Qurxil did not do this themselves, but then thoughts of a Prime Directive style non-interference policy appeared, which they loopholed around by using time travel to make the'primitive' species save itself, then having the primitive suddenly vanish and replace their future self in the'fixed' timeline, ensuring nobody would know of the danger they faced, and the primitive being labelled a madman by their peers. 
 
 I did my duty, and saved the human race, the bomb and supermarket vanishing as I returned to the future. 
 Nobody will believe me, and I have skills for commanding a space fleet that does not exist using technology that does not exist and a lifetime of preparing for a war that was over in seconds. 
 
 It is now 2015. What once was a futuristic space empire of innovation has been stifled by aliens who wanted to reduce the number of human lives lost at a crucial point. 
 
 I hop on Reddit and post my tale in a form that would be accepted by the populace. 
 A story to humanity, to entertain and tell of potential greatness that was taken. 
 To the Qurxil? A warning. 
 
 We have risen once, and we can rise again. We just need the motivation. 
 
 Go ahead. Poke the beast. See it roar. 
 See it escape the confines of the cage your'help' has put it in. 
 
 See it pounce. 
 
 We are coming.
