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Short Story S:5 P 1 - "Unseen Hands"

You want noise when something happens.
A blaring warning sign. A whisper of foreboding. A chill of uncertainty.
You want another person nearby.
A hand to hold onto. A rush of moving bodies to motivate you to safety. A sense of unity. A pack survival mentality.  
You want a tool.
A device to give you advantage. Hope for success. A net for security, should you have to risk it all. A life line.
What you don’t want.
What you fear the most.
Is the unpredictability of nothingness.
Because that is where real terror begins.
Humanity is so certain our greatest enemies will meet us on the battlefields in manners we understand, that we never stop to consider....
That they don’t think the way we do.
There will be no siren.
No amount of individuals beside you to make a difference.
No technology to aid you.
All there will be is a moment--a single flickering second of discord--and then....
oblivion.
You see, our greatest enemies can perceive our mortal coil. Can see our fabrics of fate, see our paths of destiny. And, with a single ‘snip’ of their abhorred shears, end our existence entirely.
How do we know the moment?   
How can we predict or anticipate the unwanted strike?
How can we flee or defend?
When we’ll never even know it happened...until we are on the other side.
I don’t know what is worse.
Believing in the simulations we have created to measure our odds and stats for living.

Or not realizing that our models may be obsolete, with plugs waiting to be pulled--at any given second--by unseen hands.

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