“ABRID LAS PUERTAS, CABRONES!” 

“ES UNA TRAIDORA Y ME DA IGUAL CUÁNTO VALOR TIENE EL BAR, CARLA! TIRAREMOS LA PUERTA ABAJO!” 

“HAS DADO LA ESPALDA A LOS TUYOS, VENDIDA! TEN OVARIOS Y ASUME LAS CONSECUENCIAS!”

“HIJA DE PUTA, HAS ENTREGADO NUESTRO PLANETA A ESAS ZORRAS GIGANTES!” 

“SI TAN VALIENTE ERES PARA SER LA MASCOTA DE LAS GIGANTAS VEN AQUÍ FUERA A DAR LA CARA!” 

I once thought that the day I revealed to my parents and siblings my… clearly divergent sexual preferences of the 97% heterosexuality in the family so far would be the most tense of my entire life. My youthful innocence made me think that after never seeing any hint of discomfort in the face of any appearance of the Homo factor (as my late maternal grandfather never tired of joking once the opportunity presented itself) they would not mind that his up to the time only daughter turned out to share tastes with her 4 older brothers.

Good heavens, how wrong I was ... 

Seeing my mother drop the glass she was taking out of the dishwasher, my father almost choking on his coffee before bed and my brother Alex almost ripping the door off the fridge... The awkward silence of 4 minutes before Alex ran out of the house screaming with all his might: 

"FI IS A LESBIAN AND THAT MEANS I'M STAYING THE PENTHOUSE, YOU IDIOTS!" 

(Months later I discovered that those four idiots had been betting since I was 11 years old to decide who inherited my grandfather's attic-study to make it his private room)

I perfectly remember how my mother without saying a word approached me pushing aside the remains of glass, taking my hand and leading me to the table. My father waited patiently and motionless until I was already sitting in my seat, getting up slowly (VERY SLOWLY) leaving his phone face down next to the stains of his coffee. 

Her first words and I swear it happened like this were: "Fiore ... you know that lesbian means you like women ... right?" 

Before continuing I want to emphasize that the only reason that Fiore called me and not Fionna as my parents claimed is because the same grandfather who lived in his attic studio decided at the last moment to enroll in the registry that Fionna was not a name Enough Italian to reflect my father's origins.

The talk after confirming to my parents that I perfectly knew the meaning of lesbian, her awkward subsequent questions bathed in a mixture of guilt, doubt and trying not to seem that they were against homosexual people ... I remember so much seeing how my father was searching on his phone Tips for parents of homosexuals while my mother listing each actor on Spanish television in 2013 who seemed attractive in an attempt to "help me clarify ideas".

Both that night and the following days when the news spread both to my family in Barcelona and to the other side of my family in Verona (Italy), they made up the most uncomfortable and most vulnerable week I had felt in my entire life ... OR at least until now where I find myself writing in the bathroom of a friend's restaurant in an attempt to wait for all my acquaintances and other city dwellers to stop asking for my head. 

I never think to regret loving and having married my wife Vell... how much they are still resentful in my hometown with the giantesses of Acheron ... perhaps I would have reconsidered coming alone to visit after so many years.

Seeing that Carla (my best friend earthling… Damn, maybe they wouldn't hate me anymore if I stopped using Acherian expressions) has not come  to let me know that I can go out ... and that I still hear my old friends and acquaintances ask for my neck out there, I suppose I have time to start from the beginning.

My name is Fiore Lenoe Romero, daughter of Gustavo Leone and Joana Romero, fifth sister of the seven heirs to the Leone fortune made up of 4 trucks and high-ranking member of the EEA. (Earth Embassy of Acheron)

I'm in a super-tense situation so I think I can afford a flourishing introduction. 

Born on December 4, 2000, I grew up in a two-story, 6-room house with 4 older siblings (the youngest of them 5 years older than me), a mother addicted to shakes (no symbolism here, my mother went through a very terrible phase due to her addiction), a trucker father who spent a week and a half a month at home and a maternal grandfather who enjoyed too much of his illusion of dominating the neighborhood from his attic in his handmade house.

I have always been a good student and athlete, without ever being the best in my class but always in the top 10. Keeping myself in good situations, entering all extracurricular activities to the best of my ability to earn my scholarship possibilities… From even Before knowing that I liked women, I knew that I wanted to work at the UNO as a great secretary, and following that dream and knowing my limitations, I decided to try the social sciences along the way.

This is the story of how a young woman from the periphery of Barcelona, r03;r03;working hard and never giving up, managed to fulfill her dream of working for the UN. Except for the small detail that ... she didn’t work exactly in the position she had dreamed of. 

My previous position, prior to the Union-Week events, was as a translator and interpreter at the UN headquarters in Geneva. 

Yeeep, it turns out that I was not so good at studying social sciences compared to my physical training and language qualities ... so I took what I liked and knew how to do and followed the path. 

A year before the Union-Week I was informed that my application had been accepted from Geneva, so without taking a week I stood with my suitcase and my motorcycle in a rented apartment an hour and a quarter from my job, ready to give it my all and climb stalls until you reach headquarters in New York. 

The week before, on June 21, 2026, I was in the exact same place where I had arrived, with the same old motorcycle and ready to deliver my resignation letter written two months earlier ... and despite the crucial that were the following 168 hours, the first half of 2026 is not a time of my life that I feel very proud, really. 

I guess with a brief general introduction done it starts time to get down to what really matters, the story of how I met the girl who stole my heart with a single glance from her turquoise eyes, the love of my life, my future girlfriend and even more future wife, all in a 55-foot-tall package. And how my actions to get into her panties (figurative sense, I wouldn't get to get literally into her panties until 10 years later) saved the humanity from losing one of our most important allies off the planet. 

Well ... the history of the Union-Week has been told a thousand times from so many perspectives that starting with another one to relate the same events seems a bit heavy to me. Unfortunately, I can't think of any other way, so I'm going to start in the morning of Monday, June 27. 

Like every day at that time I had barely a wink of eye thanks to a full session of hot night, internal scorn and excess caffeine sponsored by C*** Cola, so I prepared for work especially early. 

I left my apartment at five in the morning to clear myself, my goal was as usual after a bad night the English Garden, one of my favorite places to walk and clear my head. Fate wanted me to be there right there at six twenty minutes in the morning ... just in time to see how the sky at the dawn of Geneva split in two when the Acharonian SkyLetter probe crossed our firmament until it descended over Lake Geneva.

The streets were filled in seconds, thousands of people surrounding the lake without any kind of social control began to record with their phones (me included, only that instead of recording I was on video call with my father) the most... relevant event to all our modern history as a species. 

The first few minutes passed in almost silence, nobody daring to do anything while the probe floated in a violet halo over the waters. The silence lasted until, exhibiting a technology that ridiculed all our achievements, the probe began to move, separating its components and deforming them until it became a cyberpunk-worthy holographic screen on which 2 lines and 8 columns of text were displayed, written in a language completely incomprehensible to us.

Neither the police nor the army managed to disperse people who immediately began shouting all kinds of conspiracy theories, from threats from other worlds to messages from the future to warn us of new and more dangerous epidemics. I do not remember when between the riots began and the police intervening, I was called by two army officers who escorted me a few blocks away where one of my bosses (Luca Engler, who is currently a counselor at the Acheron embassy in Geneva) was chatting with what appeared to be a top military post. 

As I was hastily informed as we were forced into a military vehicle, a much smaller and undetectable second probe had appeared hours earlier in the Palais des Nations, containing a device similar to a computer (although to this day I am still believing that it looks more like a curved tablet) to which our technicians had managed to connect (I still have no idea how) until they found a message in perfect English that they proceeded to let us read it. 

And not just any message! To this day my hair still stands when I remember it. 

“Earthlings, this is a message from your sisters of genetic origin from the planet Acheron. 

We are aware of how much you have suffered in your last solar cycles and we wish our first contact was in a better situation but there is not much time left. 

Please continue digging into this memory unit until you find two more documents: 

A very simplified version of our alphabet that we have prepared for you to use as a Rosetta stone and a counter that will indicate when our next messaging probe will reach your planet. 

Our intention is that both come as close as possible to one of the headquarters of what you call the United Nations, although the enormous distance that separates us does not allow us to specify surgery without putting you in danger.  

We will look forward to your response, no matter how cliche it may sound to you according to your cinema, we come in peace. ”  

Without knowing it, what I had read were the first words that my wife would write to me.