Star Trek: Nexus

In the year 2265, as Captain James T. Kirk took command of the starship Enterprise, the El Aurian military found itself embroiled in an endless war against the Borg Collective. The technologically advanced, space-exploring race fostered a spirit of resistance, giving rise to the El Aurian battle cry, 'Resistance is Not Futile!'

The war unfolded light years away from the El Aurian homeworld star system. The homeworld, boasting technology and culture centuries ahead of Earth, stood as a utopian beacon of peace, prosperity, and advancement.

In one of the many cities on this utopian planet lived a man—a father, a husband, and a primary school teacher. His days were filled with the fulfillment of hopes and dreams, as he shaped the minds of the future, instilling the joys of mathematics, science, and technology in young hearts. Neatly groomed and dressed in a sleek and slim suit, the man appeared to be in his thirties, though the El Aurian people enjoyed lifespans spanning thousands of years.

"Bye, Sweetie," he gently kissed his wife on the cheek, a data pad tucked under his arm.

"Bye, honey," she grinned back, clad in a sleek dress. "Try not to have too much fun in class today! Remember, it IS work and a job," she teased.

Their moment was interrupted by a holographic news update in the living room. "The death toll has reached 150,000, but Resistance is Not Futile, as the military continues to push back the Borg from entering the Keluran system," the news reported, displaying images of hundreds of destroyed ships in space.

Worry etched across her face, the wife nervously bit her nails. The husband embraced her, attempting to offer reassurance. "Listen, the war is light years away," he said, trying to lift her spirits. "The El Aurian military is the greatest in the whole quadrant, and we know that because the El Aurian government is also the strongest and most far-reaching—they've mapped the entire quadrant!"

She nodded quickly, attempting to dispel the haunting images from her mind. With a kiss on the cheek, he headed outside their futuristic, perfectly clean home to a hover car waiting at the front.

The man's day unfolded like any other in this futuristic utopia. He spent his time teaching advanced calculus, trigonometry, warp theory, and particle physics to his young primary school students, following the typical curriculum of an El Aurian educational institution.

As the school bell rang, a flood of hundreds of children poured out, greeted by parents and guardians on the steps and school grounds. The man, carrying his bags over his shoulder, left the school premises. The sky overhead hinted at rain with its cloudy appearance.

As he approached his hover car in the staff parking lot, the blaring sounds of disaster warning sirens pierced the air. Panic set in as he looked up, his eyes drawn to the darkening sky. A sun blocked by a gargantuan cube broke through the cloud barrier, its black, twisted metal encompassing all six sides of the massive vessel. Cries and screams of terror from families echoed around the school and neighborhood. Across the sky's horizon, dozens of cubes could be seen in all directions, slowly breaking through the cloud cover.

In a deafening and emotionless noise, the cubes declared, "Species 114, We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Your technological and biological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Resistance is futile." The declaration rang out, followed by a gargantuan pulse of energy emanating from the cubes. Lights and power lines sparked and went dead, and all the flying vehicles in the air suddenly stopped, falling to the ground like raindrops. Power in all skyscrapers and tall buildings ceased.

The man looked on in horror as flashes of green conal beams shone down from the cubes in the sky, obliterating and tearing apart utopian city skyscrapers. As the buildings shredded and tore, victims caught in the beams slowly rose up into the sky, being drawn into the cubes by the thousands.

Realizing he had to get home to his family, the man found his vehicle dead and useless. He ran to the school's emergency teleporter, frantically pressing the buttons, only to discover that the emergency transportation services were also offline and dead. With no other option, he began to run on foot, the utopian suburban streets now littered with crashed and disabled vehicles. He made it about a block from the school, but as he ran, the ground all around his entire neighborhood glowed with a radiant, eerie green. Houses, homes, and other buildings were shredded and torn apart like chaff from wheat. Then, he slowly rose off the ground, as if gravity began to reverse.

Helpless, he flailed his arms and legs, yelling in protest with all his might. Cries and shouts of thousands of others mimicked his. As far as he could see, hundreds of thousands of his kin were being pulled into the cubes. Higher and higher from the ground, he slowly rose, his shouts, yells, flailings, all useless. Unable to change his fate.

Passing through the threshold of the gargantuan cube, the beam's cone pulled and condensed; he floated towards the peak of the cone. The deafening screams of terror and horror echoed around him. The beam forced all to pass through a cloud of green mist, and as soon as helpless victims passed through the mist, their cries of terror quickly began to quiet and subside.

He struggled, moved, flailed, screamed with all his might, each action of resistance futile. He looked on in terror as the mist sprayed and hit his face, eyes, mouth, his whole body. And with a static tingle, a tickling sensation of a million needles, he began to change. His skin grew pale, his veins blackened, and his innermost thoughts morphed.

This man was no one special. A school teacher by day, and a family man by night. Today, he was just another victim, a +1 to the victim toll of billions. Now, his name, personality, gender, identity, creed, wants, desires, likes, dislikes, all irrelevant and gone. Replaced with one, single, hivemind voice of trillions.

Standing in a regenerative alcove, opening his mechanical eyes, he was now Two of Three, Secondary Adjunct of Unimatrix 2901, and he would remain that way for hundreds of years. The sense of helplessness, despair, and horror lingered in the air, echoing through the vastness of the Borg Collective.