Chapter 1

  January 11, 2088, Sentinelese Island, approximately 11:00 PM

  On an uncontacted, yet inhabited island, a ball of fire tore through the night sky and slammed into the earth. The impact formed a crater surrounded by scorched earth, flames licking at the grass nearby. The explosion was loud enough to send birds fleeing into the sky and awaken the native wildlife. Among the island's inhabitants, a man who looked no older than thirty—his skin darker than midnight—stepped forward, eyes wide.

  Shock and awe gripped him, as would anyone in the face of such a sight, tribal or not. He sniffed the air cautiously, stepping forward until his foot hovered near the edge of the glass-like sand. He spoke in a firm, commanding tone—his language understood only by other natives of Sentinelese descent. Though he spoke to no one in particular, another man—young, with obsidian-black hair and equally dark skin—rushed to his side in response.

  Dragging a wooden bucket, originally intended for a different purpose, the younger man began scooping away the crystallized sand, clearing a path into the crater. He stepped aside as the older man—clearly the chief—moved forward. The chief tapped the edge of the crater with his foot, testing its stability like someone testing water. He winced and quickly pulled back, the surface too hot to touch.

  He spoke again, this time more urgently, summoning the younger man back to describe what he saw within the crater. The chief was blind—his eyes pale and lifeless. The younger man's voice trembled with a mixture of panic and nervousness as he described the stone-like object that had embedded itself in the earth.

  The chief frowned at the report and slammed the butt of his spear into the sand. He drew a line just in front of the crater and barked another command—louder this time, as if warning the others to stay away. At the center of the crater sat a grey, stone-like object, humming faintly. A glowing red insignia pulsed from its surface—alien and unreadable.

  Just as the chief turned away to lead his people back into the jungle, a new sound emerged—the rushing of water. His head turned sharply at the noise, and he shouted an alert. Men gathered quickly, some raising spears while others drew their bows, aiming toward a blurry shape on the horizon.

  Then there was one. Then two. And now three large, grey boats approached the shore, soldiers visible on their decks. They wore tactical gear and held rifles tightly in their hands.

  A man with a long scar over his right eye and a deathly pale left eye stood at the center of the lead boat. He grinned as he barked at his men.

  "Easy there, boys! We wouldn't want to frighten our little guests. Let's just hope they don't intend to keep that meteor for themselves."

  But the smugness on his face said otherwise. He pulled back the hammer of his AR-15 with a loud click. Behind him, a slim, shorter man with piercing blue eyes stepped forward.

  "General Victor," he said in a low, measured voice. "Need I remind you that the last time you went on a killing spree, it took nearly a decade to cover it up? You got off with a slap on the wrist and a temporary demotion. This time, it'll be worse."

  Victor scoffed and rolled his eye, not even turning around.

  "Silence, Lance. I don't have time for your whiny bitching. Besides, the rules change if they attack first. And trust me... they will."

  His grin returned.

  As the boats neared the coast, the chief raised his spear high and shouted. The words were unintelligible to the soldiers, but the meaning was clear. His warriors loaded their arrows, pulled back their strings, and fired.

  A storm of arrows cut through the air—many missed, but others thunked into the wooden hulls of the boats.

  Victor laughed.

  "Well, so much for diplomacy. Alright men! Looks like talking's off the table. But leave the chief to me. I intend to enjoy hunting this savage!"

  Rifles were raised, and a roar of gunfire erupted. Bullets tore through the night. Natives screamed as rounds struck shoulders, thighs—and in the unluckiest cases—heads. Blood splashed across the sand. The chief himself was struck in the thigh, forcing him to drop to one knee.

  Despite the pain, he shouted again, his voice rallying his people to retreat. The meaning was unmistakable, even if the words weren't. But it was too late. The boats had reached the sand. Ladders dropped. Men disembarked.

  Victor jumped from the lead boat, landing hard on the beach. He raised his rifle and aimed it at the retreating chief's head.

  Just before he pulled the trigger, Lance grabbed the barrel and shoved it downward. The shot fired harmlessly into the sand.

  "They're retreating," Lance growled. "Stop making a goddamn mess. You're no better than the 'savages' you look down on."

  Victor snarled, yanking the rifle from Lance's grip.

  "What, you a fucking tree-hugger now? Some hippie freak getting off on playing nature boy with the locals?"

  Lance met his glare with an icy one of his own.

  "As if. I just prefer less paperwork. The only reason I came on this mission was to keep you from starting a goddamn war. So get your shit together... unless you want me to call Director Malary."

  Victor's cocky grin faltered.

  "Y-You wouldn't dare..." he stammered, glancing down.

  "Try me," Lance said, deadpan.

  Victor grumbled under his breath and walked toward the crater.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Fine. Let the mud people go. Paperwork is a shit show."

  He crouched beside the strange stone, now dimming but still glowing faintly. The red insignia pulsed with a rhythm almost like a heartbeat. He lifted it with both hands, grunting at the weight.

  "Damn thing's heavy."

  Lance crouched beside him, rubbing a shard of the glass-like sand between his fingers.

  "Whatever it is," he muttered, "it definitely came from space. Which makes it the Director's specialty."

  He rose to his feet, pressing a finger to his earpiece. Static crackled, followed by the cold, stern voice of a woman.

  "What took you so long, Mr. Langstrong? I don't enjoy being kept waiting."

  Lance swallowed hard, his throat dry.

  "Apologies, Director. We've located a stone that crash-landed on the island. There were a few casualties, but the object is secure."

  Silence then

  "Bring it to the lab. I'll have my people examine it. And keep it in your hands, not Victor's. God knows what mess he'd make of it. That'll be all."

  The line went dead.

  Lance placed the artifact in his backpack and turned to Victor.

  "Orders are clear. We're to bring the stone back. No more casualties. No more drama. The Director's getting impatient."

  Victor rolled his eyes.

  "Yeah, yeah. Alien rock to the lab. No scratches. Fancy talk. Got it."

  He turned to the men.

  "Alright, boys! Get your asses back on the boats. We're heading to the Agency!"

  The soldiers scrambled to obey. Within minutes, they were back aboard, setting sail toward the horizon—stone in hand, bodies behind.

  January 15, 2088, Southeast Asia, approximately 8:00 AM

  The men had made their long trip along the waters from Bengal to the Himalayas, the mountains half frosted and yet half coated in a yellow-like glow from the grass. Victor and Lance took the lead, stepping out of their $350,000 SUVs—each a deep black. The other two SUVs made a screeching halt, and men began to follow the two, walking for what felt like an hour.

  Just then, the two men stopped in front of a mountainside. Lance shifted a rock that triggered a mechanism to lift half of the mountain, sounding off the noise of old metal and rust. Victor whistled before speaking in his usual half-sarcastic, half-aggressive tone.

  "Well, fuck me, I've only been here one other time, so coming back is always a treat. Then again, I don't get along well with you nerdy, bitchy lab rats."

  Lance scoffed, ignoring Victor before taking the lead and guiding the men inside. The walls quickly shifted from rock to blank white panels, as well as a white metal to accompany them. A large grey metal door stood in front of Lance, halting his steps. He leaned forward, opening his right eye and closing his left to be scanned with a red wave. The door then clicked with a hiss, before Lance pushed it open then turned back to face the men behind Victor.

  "There's no need for us to bring an army of brutes into a place of sophistication and science. Tell your guard dogs to wait outside on their leash like they're intended to."

  Victor rolled his eyes before speaking. "You heard the pretty boy. Wait outside until further notice, men." The group exchanged glances before nodding in agreeance and walking back up the steps. Meanwhile, Victor and Lance stepped inside.

  Victor closed the door behind him before letting out an impressed whistle. When he looked around, there were men and women alike in white lab coats—some with golden-yellow gloves tinkering with chemicals, others with heavy-duty goggles working as a team on a machine. Suddenly, a woman with her arms held professionally behind her back stepped forth. Unlike the others wearing lab coats, she was dressed in a black suit with a white undershirt and red tie.

  Her skin was a light peach, and around her eyes were crow's feet—certainly aged from the stress of her position. Her hair was pitch black, yet streaked with gray throughout. And when she made that step forward, both Lance and Victor immediately straightened their postures, arms stiff by their sides like men in the army obeying a sergeant.

  The woman then spoke in her stern voice, glaring at the two men in front of her. She was slightly taller than Lance but not as tall as Victor, she was standing at a height of 5'8".

  "I take it the trip was rather laid back considering the time it took for you both to get here? I thought I said I was impatient, gentlemen."

  Victor and Lance couldn't dare meet her gaze and stared hard at the floor, right in front of her black shoes. Lance then spoke in a nervous yet hesitant voice.

  "A-about that, ma'am, we had to—"

  "Silence," Malary said in a sharp tone that cut him off, as if daring him to further annoy her with his very existence, let alone his words.

  She sighed, turning her back to the men before she spoke. "Place the rock in the containment unit and be on your ways. I grow less patient by the moment." Her words were laced with venom.

  Victor gritted his teeth and made a sound as if to protest, but before he could even get a word out, in the blink of an eye, Malary had wrapped a hand around his throat, lifting the large man into the air with a tight grip.

  She then spoke, glaring up into the man's good eye. "Did I sense hesitation, General? Don't forget you have been demoted in the past, and that was only because finding a replacement is a pain in the ass... but remember, just because it's a pain in the ass doesn't mean it won't happen."

  Victor's good eye bulged, both his hands scratching at her single hand wrapped around his throat as his legs kicked in the air, a tear falling down it before Malary rolled her eyes and let him go, re-crossing her arms behind her back.

  "Be on your way then. And expect a deduction in your salary for your arrogance, Victor."

  She said this without even turning around, as if he was a waste of any further words. Victor gasped, catching his breath and scrambling to his feet, rubbing at his neck before he spoke in a ragged voice.

  "Y-yes, Director, I'm terribly sorry. It won't happen again." He struggled to his feet, almost falling over in his haste to leave the laboratory.

  Malary then spoke once again without turning around, her words wrapping around Lance.

  "Get to work, Mr. Langstrong. And let Victor be a reminder to any further annoyances caused for me."

  Lance nodded with a nervous smile, using his charm even as sweat beaded down his forehead.

  "Why yes, of course. Me and my scientists will get to work immediately."

  Malary scoffed before stepping through a door that wasn't the exit. It slid open when she stood in front of it and closed once she passed through.

  Victor sighed as if a gun had been taken away from his temple, clearing his throat and re-gaining his composure, Lance then spoke to the scientists, who had halted their experiments.

  "What are you sorry low-lives standing around for? You don't get paychecks by standing around and gawking."

  Lance glared at the door Malary had walked through, he mumbled so quietly it was more of a whisper.

  "Fucking mutant," he said, even as he took off his brown jacket as well as his backpack and slid on a white lab coat of his own, slapping yellow gloves on his hands and a pair of clear goggles on his face. He then opened the bag and pulled out the stone, its glow still bright.

  The scientists' eyes widened as he set the stone inside a clear tank. He pressed a button, and the giant metal lid slid over it with a hiss before clicking shut.

  Lance then smiled, pressing a gloved hand against the glass, his breath fogging it slightly.

  "You—whatever you are—you are beautiful. And I intend to study you and wring every last drop of science out of you."

  The stone's glowing red insignia pulsed as if it could hear his words.