Submitted for the November 2025 prompt: Celestial Signals

As a paramilitary medic, my nights are usually bloody. But on the night of the supernova, I saw more red than I wanted to.

 

It started in the evening when I got to work. I was barely suited up with my MPK-18 when the alarm sounded in the locker room. Most clients of Safe-Life Flights get into trouble at clubs once the sun sets across the city skyline. But when I looked at the board, three high-paying clients were already in critical condition, and they were outside the city's syndicate district.

 

When I boarded the hover-copter on the roof, my brain somersaulted. Up in the sky, next to the moon and through the rows of high rises, was another light just as bright as the moon.

 

Betelgeuse had exploded as a supernova.

 

I stood there, letting the high-pitched whirl of the hover-copter fill my ears and light fill my eyes. I have to admit, I was captivated by the glow. One of my team members had to shoulder me in the chest to get my attention back to our ‘emergency’ mission.

 

Our team lead was quick with the sit-rep when I got on board the copter.

 

"Platinum level clients. Hostage situation. Client one is bleeding and has less than two units of blood left. Client two is in high distress. Client three is in critical condition — will not survive."

 

The hover-copter banked hard and pressed me into the jump seat as I continued to read the briefing on my HUD. Saint Sunlight church wasn’t a religious sect that I was familiar with, but the briefing was clear on one thing: the church believed in the End of Days.

 

I find that funny considering the light from that supernova has been travelling for hundreds of years to get here. But logic doesn’t matter to these kinds of people — just faith.

 

The only faith I had was in my primary weapon strapped across my chest and the skill of the pilot, who weaved us through several high rises and onto a straight vector for our mission.

 

Nothing about our approach to the site was subtle. The hover-copter blasted the drop zone with wind, scattering dust and dead plants away as we hit the ground. The parking lot we crossed led to a church where our clients would be.

 

As we got closer, I could hear singing.

 

Four other paramilitary medics and I stacked at the front of the church and began to slow down our movements. I followed my leader's hand signals as we slowly opened the double doors.

 

The singing was louder at the front of the church, where three dozen people stood with their hands in the air, reaching up to the second light of the supernova in the window.

 

We cleared our corners and made our way down the central aisle. I was busy securing the left side when our team leader gave the halt.

 

“Let him go!” Shouted the team leader.

 

I peeled my eyes away from my designated cover area just enough to see all three of our clients on the altar.

 

Or what was left of them.

 

Client two was alive, barely. Standing over our three clients was a priest in tattered black robes. His hands were red from the sacrifices below his feet. And he pointed a bloody Euklid blaster at us.

 

“The end is now!” He shouted. “You cannot stop what God has—“

 

I blew his head off clean with one shot. You can’t point a weapon at a paramilitary medic and think you’re going to get away with it.

 

The shot startled the congregation around the altar, who began screaming and running about, loudly mourning their dead leader.

 

The rest of my team swooped forward and grabbed the second client off the altar. He was breathing but mangled and bleeding profusely. I applied a tourniquet while the rest of the team put him on an expandable stretcher to get him out.

 

“Please! Take me!” Someone shouted.

 

To the left was another person, bound and clearly next in line for the sacrifice for these supernova worshipers.

 

My HUD told me he wasn’t a client, so we continued.

 

I always feel bad leaving injured people behind. But that’s what you get when you privatise healthcare: it tends to be selective. My guilt compelled me to notify the local police about the ‘mishap’ at the church.

 

They probably won’t get to him in time.

 

The living client was babbling some kind of thank-you as we powered through the wind generated by the hover-copter to the ramp. That’s when we got another call through our HUD.

 

Another suicide cult in another part of town was having a similar offering to the strange light in the sky.

 

By the end of my shift, we’d see half a dozen cults all proclaiming the end of days. Some of them were bloodier than others, but all had the same theme: sacrifice a high-value person to the light in the sky.

 

I’ll never understand this city, or how HUDs and hover-copters exist alongside dead religions.