The studio lights flickered as if on cue, casting long shadows across the room. Alice adjusted her hat, her fingers trailing over the rim of her teacup with deliberate slowness. Loki, sprawled across his chair with his usual lazy grace, gave a long-suffering sigh. Rumplestiltskin, standing by the grand bookshelf, let out a sharp cackle, shaking his head before speaking.
"Alright, darlings, gather round. Tonight, we tell the story of The War of the Worlds, H.G. Wells’ grand, apocalyptic tale of alien invasion, destruction, and human survival—or rather, how humanity barely survives because, quite frankly, they weren’t ready for this sort of thing at all."
Alice smirked, adjusting the cuffs of her coat. "Oh yes, let’s talk about how the great and mighty human race was caught entirely off guard by aliens—with tripods, heat rays, and the kind of advanced weaponry that makes mortal artillery look like toys. But I suppose we should start at the beginning. Shall we?"
Loki waved a dismissive hand. "Please, by all means, take us through this tale of human incompetence."
Rumplestiltskin grinned. "Very well. Picture it: Victorian England, a time of science, discovery, and men with far too much confidence in their own intelligence. Life is quiet, predictable. People stroll the streets in their high collars and top hats, completely oblivious to the fact that something is watching them from the sky."
Alice leaned forward, her grin wicked. "You see, Mars isn’t just some distant red rock. No, no, no. It’s home to creatures far beyond anything humans could imagine—Martians, highly advanced, utterly ruthless, and looking for a new home. And where better than Earth, with its nice atmosphere and conveniently defenseless population?"
Loki scoffed. "And this is where the humans should have seen it coming. But no, they were too busy with their little telescopes, watching cylinders fall from the sky as if they were curiosities instead of a declaration of war."
Rumplestiltskin chuckled darkly. "The first cylinder lands in the countryside. People, being their usual foolish selves, gather around like it’s some sort of carnival attraction. And then, out come the Martians—hideous things, all tentacles and intelligence, with no regard for human life. And what do they bring with them? The Heat-Ray—a weapon that turns people into ashes in an instant. One moment, they’re gawking, the next? Gone. Poof. Dust in the wind."
Alice gave a slow, sarcastic clap. "Bravo, humanity. Well done. You saw an unknown object fall from the sky and thought, ‘Let’s get closer!’ Truly, brilliant decision-making."
Loki smirked. "And then, of course, panic spreads. The army is called in. The British military, mind you—so very proud, so very sure of themselves. Cannons, rifles, the usual human bravado. But do the Martians care? Absolutely not. They unleash their great, towering tripods—massive machines that walk over cities, crush buildings beneath their feet, and incinerate anything that moves. London, the heart of civilization, becomes a graveyard."
Rumplestiltskin tilted his head. "Ah, but let’s not forget the black smoke—a Martian weapon that spreads through the air like a creeping death. Humans run, they hide, but there is no escape. The Martians don’t just attack—they dominate. It’s a massacre."
Alice sighed, rolling her eyes. "And let’s talk about our narrator, shall we? The unnamed man who stumbles through this nightmare, watching as his world crumbles around him. He sees the destruction firsthand—the panic, the desperation, the sheer hopelessness of it all. He hides, he runs, he watches the people around him fall like insects."
Loki stretched lazily. "He also meets a few delightful human disasters along the way. There’s the artilleryman—oh, he talks big. He’s got a grand vision of building an underground society, training survivors, fighting back. But, alas, he’s all talk. The moment it comes to actual action, he’s just another coward with too many words and not enough backbone."
Rumplestiltskin smirked. "And then there’s the curate—the poor, broken man of faith who completely loses his mind. Can’t handle the horror of it all, starts rambling about divine punishment, and in the end? He gets himself killed because he won’t shut up. The narrator watches as the Martians drag the body away, and he barely survives himself."
Alice let out a dramatic sigh. "Now, here’s where we ask—how should humanity have handled this? Because, let’s be honest, this was an extinction-level event, and they had no plan."
Loki smirked. "For starters, how about not waiting until after the cities are in flames to realize, ‘Oh dear, perhaps these visitors aren’t friendly’?"
Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers. "Or maybe—just maybe—invest in something better than artillery against alien invaders? If your best strategy is ‘let’s shoot at the giant metal death machines with our tiny bullets,’ you’ve already lost."
Alice grinned. "And yet, the ending? Oh, it’s almost disappointing. After all the chaos, all the destruction, how do the mighty Martians fall?"
Loki shook his head, almost in disbelief. "A virus. Not a weapon, not a battle—bacteria. The tiniest, most insignificant thing on Earth. The one thing humans didn’t create or prepare for is what saves them. The Martians, so advanced, so powerful, never considered Earth’s microbial ecosystem would be their downfall. They start dropping dead, their great war machines falling silent, their reign of terror undone by something they couldn’t even see."
Rumplestiltskin smirked. "So, to summarize: Humanity was completely useless. The Martians should have won. But in the end, it wasn’t human bravery, intelligence, or even strategy that saved the day—it was germs."
Alice snorted. "Imagine surviving the apocalypse only to say, ‘Well, it wasn’t us that won—it was the common cold.’ Embarrassing."
Loki chuckled darkly. "And that, my dear readers, is The War of the Worlds. A tale of destruction, chaos, and the sheer, dumb luck that let humanity survive. The Martians had the power, the strategy, the weapons. Humanity? They had germs. Lucky them."
Rumplestiltskin grinned wickedly. "And so the world moved on, rebuilding as if it never happened. But the real question is—what if the Martians come back, this time prepared? Would humanity be so lucky again?"
Alice’s eyes glinted mischievously. "Oh, wouldn’t that be a tale worth telling?"
The Verdict: The War of the Worlds is a masterpiece of invasion horror, a bleak look at humanity’s powerlessness in the face of an unstoppable force. But let’s be honest—the Martians should have won. Instead, they fell victim to Earth’s smallest inhabitants, proving that sometimes, survival isn’t about strength or intelligence, but sheer, stupid luck.
Alice’s eyes widened as she leaned forward, hands slamming onto the table. “Alright, alright, hold it right there!” she snapped, shooting a glare at Loki and Rumple. “Do you two have any sense of tact? We have readers—loyal readers, might I add—who happen to be human!”
Loki smirked, utterly unbothered. “And?”
“And maybe—just maybe—we shouldn’t call them ‘stupid and lucky’ unless we want our entire readership to pack up and leave faster than the people of London when the tripods arrived!” Alice huffed, crossing her arms. “Let’s try not to insult our audience, hmm?”
Rumplestiltskin cackled. “Fine, fine! Rewriting history to soothe the fragile mortal ego.” He gestured dramatically, but his tone softened—just a bit. “The truth is, humans weren’t stupid. They were outmatched. There’s a difference. They had no reason to expect an interplanetary war, no way to prepare for it. And they did fight back—bravely, desperately. It just wasn’t enough against an enemy so vastly superior.”
Alice nodded approvingly. “Much better. Look, the real takeaway here isn’t that humanity was ‘lucky.’ It’s that even in the face of absolute devastation, they endured. They didn’t roll over and die. They tried. They ran, they hid, they fought where they could. And in the end? They survived. Not because they were foolish, not because they were weak, but because life—all life—has an incredible ability to persist.”
Loki sighed, shaking his head. “You do realize this makes the story less dramatic, don’t you?”
Alice rolled her eyes. “It makes it honest. Humans weren’t stupid. They were human. And that’s why this story matters. It’s a warning. A reminder. Because if the Martians ever do come back, humanity will remember.”
She leaned back in her chair, adjusting her hat with a smirk. “And next time? Oh, they won’t be caught off guard.”
Final Verdict: The War of the Worlds is a tale of terror, survival, and resilience. Humanity may have been outmatched, but they endured. And if there’s one thing to learn from history, it’s this—never underestimate the power of those who refuse to fall.
