Dav Zuobee: Peace by Force (science fiction)

Dav Zuobee: Peace by Force

Nobody heard the music at first.

That was the strange part.

The room was full. Screens lit. Systems running. People talking, arguing, denying—same as always. The world was loud, chaotic, layered with voices that all thought they mattered.

And yet—

There was a rhythm underneath it.

Not sound.

Control.

At exactly 4:20 AM, everything slowed.

Not stopped. Not frozen.

Just… aligned.

A man stood at the console.

No stage. No crowd. No spotlight.

Just him.

Dav Zuobee.

Armor, not clothing. Not decorative—functional. Built like something that had seen war and decided it would never lose again. Every piece connected. No seams. No weakness.

His hair was dark—completely unified, sharp, alive with faint streaks that caught the light like electricity trapped in strands. Not styled for appearance. Styled for identity.

He didn’t look up.

His eyes were locked on his hand.

Resting on the turntable.

Not spinning.

Waiting.

Around him, systems flickered—screens, feeds, networks—millions of inputs collapsing into something simple. Decisions. Outcomes. Consequences.

People across the world felt it.

A hesitation.

A second thought.

A choice they were about to make… suddenly unclear.

Dav’s fingers moved.

A slight turn.

And somewhere—

A man lowered his weapon.

Elsewhere—

A lie stopped halfway out of someone’s mouth.

Somewhere else—

A group ready to riot simply… forgot why.

No announcement. No warning.

Just correction.

The laptop beside him glowed with one phrase:

Del the Funk

Not a brand.

A signal.

Culture survived. Even here.

Dav’s expression didn’t change.

No anger. No joy.

Just precision.

A voice broke through—not in the room, but everywhere at once. Not loud. Not forced.

Clear.

Like it had always been there.

A comic-like distortion of reality itself shaped the words as if the world needed to see what it couldn’t hear.

“Peace by Force.”

People misunderstood it instantly.

They always did.

They thought it meant violence.

Control.

Oppression.

But they didn’t understand what he was correcting.

Dav’s hand pressed down.

Another adjustment.

And this time—

Something deeper shifted.

Not behavior.

Intention.

The kind of intention people hide even from themselves.

The kind Lucy had already seen.

The kind David refused to judge.

Dav Zuobee did not refuse.

He enforced.

Not as a king.

Not as a god.

As a function.

A necessary outcome.

Because the truth had already been measured:

If peace would not be chosen—

It would be applied.

Dav finally lifted his eyes.

Not to the crowd.

Not to the world.

To the system itself.

As if checking one thing.

Are we done yet?

The answer came back instantly.

No.

His hand returned to the turntable.

And the world continued—

Smoother.

Quieter.

More… obedient.

Not perfect.

Not saved.

But aligned.

For now.