“Herald... Help… Don’t go...”

Christine fell to the ground in a heap, pulling her legs to her chest and trying her damnedest to decrease her size. Not that it would matter. A comet was hurtling towards her. She didn’t stand a chance.

She screamed as the temperature of the air rapidly rose, the whistling and smoldering crackling of the comet growing louder. This was the end, and she knew it. Her mind flashed with memories of her old house, her old friends, her old crushes, her brother, her dad, her mom.

It was all gone. It was all over.

Heat radiated above as the mass careened passed her, wind whipping her hair as it soared just overhead, seemingly veering at an angle as it approached. The ever-growing eternity that had been the comet’s arrival came and went in an instant, a low-flying plane passing in the afternoon. Stellar matter collided with the open space behind her, striking the hill with a concussive force. Dirt and rock were thrown into the air and displaced as the impact shockwave resonated outward, knocking Christine onto her side, her chin still firmly held to her chest.

Almost immediately the rumbling stopped, aftershocks from the isolated earthquake completely absent. Christine slowly opened her eyes and blinked away her tears. She brought her hands from behind her neck to her ears and covered them. Ringing filled her head and disoriented her, even curled up on the ground. Slowly she spread her limbs and tried to stand, only to stumble and opt to remain on all fours.

She looked around and surveyed the area: the picnic setting was still intact, as was her bike, though it had been knocked over. She tried to stand again and found more success than her first attempt, though her legs felt like jelly.

Silence had fallen once more on the night, save for the high-pitched whine that rang in her ears. She looked up past her bike to the impact zone, not sure what to expect or how to respond. The comet had left a trail in the ground that rapidly became deeper and wider, culminating in the final crater. The exposed earth was charred and black, evident even in the darkness. A thick smell of ash flooded her nostrils as she approached, causing her to gag momentarily.

What the heck, she thought to herself. Did that… Did that just happen? How, how am I alive? What was -?

She whipped her head around frantically. There had been someone else with her; the voice that had spoken to her. Where was it? Where was the person calling to her? They had been asking for help. Were they in danger? Were they hurt? She turned back to the smoking crater before her.

Were they… standing there a minute ago?

Oh God!

“Holy crap…” she stammered. “Hello? Is anyone there? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“Herald…”

Christine froze as her eyes wandered back to the crater’s center, the same chill that had rushed over her before impact gripping her heart. She inched forward, placing a hesitant step over the recession’s edge. “No… Way…”

Confusion and curiosity melded and took hold of her as she descended, her heart still racing. The chill had subsided only to be replaced with anticipation, as if an invisible pull were drawing her in. She stopped to wave away a cloud of smoke, then threw her hands up and stopped mid-step.

“Hold on,” she said to herself. She shook her head and looked down at the black mass still smoldering before her. “No, nu-uh; seen enough movies to know where this is going. I shouldn’t be anywhere near this thing, I shouldn’t be here at all! I should just get on my bike and get the heck out of here, go home, get in bed and pretend this never happened.” She paused and spun around, hands still raised. “Who am I even talking to?”

“Help…”

There it was again. She looked back down at the stellar-traversing object, her lips half-forming a protest. She was alone in the crater, alone on the hill. No one was anywhere near her. Craning her neck she gazed up at the stars, blinking overhead. Maybe… Maybe I’m not alone.

“What am I doing?!” she shouted. “I have to go, now,” she continued, slowly inching closer to the comet. “Turn around, Christine. Turn around now and go home. Leave this space rock and the disembodied call to action here on this stupid hill in this stupid town and go home. This isn’t for you. You should be in bed, asleep, pouting and –”

Her monologue stopped mid-sentence as her approach reached its end, the comet sitting just before her feet. It was small, far smaller than she would have guessed given the impact sight. In fact, it appeared as if it should have burned up on reentry. Well, she corrected herself, at its current size it would burn up, but its original size was no doubt far larger to yield such a small piece.

“Shut up, brain,” she hissed, shaking her head. She bent down, her body seemingly acting in direct defiance of her mind’s better judgement. “This is how the stories always start, right? And provided you’re in the right genre, it’s usually a good story, right? Wait…” She paused and eyed the object closer. Its vaguely spherical shape and black coloring were unassuming enough and not inherently sinister, though most plot devices or MacGuffins were traditionally more than met the eye and as such would take on bland appearances. Christine leaned forward and squinted, trying to focus on any details in its face. In a passing glint that vanished as quickly as a shooting star, she swore she saw a flash of red dance across its surface. She pulled back and took several deep breaths.

“I don’t want this to be my story,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what’s in there, or if this is some magic piece of a cosmic puzzle or power glove or whatever, but this? This isn’t for me. This isn’t how this happens.”

“Herald…”

“What?!” she barked. She stared squarely at the object and glared, her eye twitching. “What herald? Who? You talkin’ ta me? Well you must be talkin’ ta me; it’s just you and me here on this hill and – oh dear lord, I’m talking to a space rock.” She looked down at her hands and ran them through her hair, feeling for any head wounds. “What is wrong with me?” She looked back at the searing comet. “What’s wrong with you? Are you…?”

Throwing caution to every shred of rational thought she possessed, Christine hesitantly stretched out her hand, inching it closer and closer to the object. “What are you doing?” she said to herself. “Stop. Stop. Stop stop stop stop stop. Don’t do this, Christine. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t…”

Her palm rested on the stellar orb with little fanfare, its surface just barely warm to her touch. The heat that had been radiating had dissipated, as had much of the smoke and ash. She held her hand there for what felt like several minutes, though it was closer to mere seconds. Despite its rocky appearance it was surprisingly smooth, almost like a futuristic polymer. She laughed nervously as she ran her hand slowly around the exposed hemisphere, her fingertips tracing etched scratches.

“Well then,” she said with an uneasy smile. “I guess you’re not so spectacular after all.”

The glint of red flashed again, running down the comet’s center like a lightning bolt. As if endowed with a life of its own it jumped up and bit Christine’s hand as it passed beneath her palm, sending her jumping backwards and clutching her limb. “Bastard!” she shouted. “What the heck? You ask for help then zap me? What kind of – still talking to a rock.”

A rapid hiss brought her attention back, a seam appearing along the path of the crimson shock. The onyx sphere split along the seam, cracks forming on its face as they separated. The process was halted by the surrounding earth, the buried half of the object unable to move. Steam cascaded from the bisecting slit, shards of the comet flaking off where it had cracked. Christine’s eye appeared to spasm as it twitched, her mouth agape.

“Nope,” she said defiantly. “Done. Out.”

“Herald…”

“I said out.”

Was it her imagination, or had the voice become louder? No, no it had. No longer a whisper, the voice resonated as if someone were standing right next to her. She knew whoever, whatever was calling to her was inside that orb, and she knew better than to probe its mysteries and find out why it was calling out to her. Then again…

“I guess if something terrible happens and I die, I don’t have to go to school tomorrow,” she murmured with a shrug.

She reached down and dug her fingers in between the two halves, pulling with all her might. The cracked sections gave way like brittle ceramic, the quadrants shattering as she forced them apart. Inside, nestled in a fixture cradle was a thin, rectangular block no bigger than a checkbook, black and gold markings wrapping around its red faces. Christine stared at it blankly, not sure if any oohs or sense of wonderment were appropriate given the last few minutes.

“At least it’s not a gem. Space gems never end well.”

In a move that she would eventually describe as abject and unadulterated stupidity, Christine extended her open hand toward the block and grasped it, its touch warm to her just like its carrier.

Light and sound flooded her senses, deafening images and eye-searing sounds rushing past and around her. The night sky melted away and the stars snuffed out, the hill she was on sinking away from her. Glorious silver clouds came over the horizon and filled the air above her, black seas rising up around her. She struggled to swim but couldn’t move, her body frozen in place before the block in her hand. The ocean engulfed her then settled beneath her, her rapid breathing causing her to sputter as if drowning, air bubbles floating away from her. She tried to reach for her throat but was completely immobile.

Grand spires rose from the water, sprouting like weeds with the intensity of bullets being fired. Lightning jumped from tower to tower as if forming a grid, a net of light and energy. Overhead the sky began to darken, color etching its way across the gleaming clouds. Blood red pigment flooded overhead like a torrent, eating away at the silver until nothing remained but crimson fear. Thunder bellowed behind the cover as the sea began to bubble.

Great beasts came over the horizon, their shapes numerous and monstrous, wings outstretched and fangs bared, claws slashing at armored hides. The sea began to shake as if it were land, the titans struggling amongst themselves and screaming to the heavens. Light erupted from the spires and pierced the sky in magnificent beams, rupturing the red ceiling and causing it to scream. The sound cut right through Christine’s heart and stung, the pain resonating with every cell in her body.

Explosions sounded around her as silhouettes shot above, careening overhead until they struck the immense beasts, their howls echoing throughout the hellscape. Armies rose before them and stood at the water’s edge, gleaming golems among their ranks. The bubbling sea began to boil, the towers erected from its depths shuddering. Skeletal hands reached out around her and pulled themselves up to the surface, their forms standing on the raging waters. Bleached heads with sunken eyes stared at her, hollow mouths screaming behind shattered medieval helmets. Behind them other figures rose, their clothing varied and from several different time periods.

The towers quickly began to shatter, massive pieces falling into the ocean and taking several ghostly bodies with them. The biblical titans screamed as their conflict continued, two winged serpents gaining the upper hand and working in tandem. Thunder and lightning hung overhead as the red sky turned dark, its cloak still pierced by the tower’s light beams. The bodies continued to advance and screamed, their lumbering unimpeded by the scorching black waters on which they stood. Chaos reigned as the world began to crumble, a whirlpool sweeping up the demonic figures around her.

A single black gauntlet rose from the pool and sought to envelope her, its size dwarfing the monsters that still raged before her. As the armored hand began to close around her, a quiet song reached out from the back of her mind and slowed the hand’s enclosure. Mid-grasp the appendage froze, white flashes zipping across its pitch-dark skin, dancing almost in pattern and striking at its joints.

Roars and screams melded with the thunder as the light beams splintered, the beasts still in death-throws. A single bolt of lightning ripped through the sky and barreled down towards her, striking the hand and engulfing her, overloading all of her senses and washing everything away in a flash of light.

Christine began to hyperventilate, her breathing erratic and almost painful. Tears were streaming down her face and clouding her vision. Her entire body ached, every inch of her shaking but unable to move.

The air was quiet and still, the stars overhead twinkling as they had every night since time began. A calm wind blew down into the crater and lifted a few of her locks, brushing them in front of her face. Off in the distance she could hear a lone car passing, its engine low and steady.

Her eyes fell before her to the block still clutched in her hand and nestled in the black half-orb, its very presence now far more ominous than minutes before. Slowly the patterns on the block’s face faded away, their intricacies lost in the darkness. The cradle clicked in several places and ejected its contents, Christine’s death grip keeping it for the most part in place. Her knuckles were white and she could feel the object’s edges pressing into her hand.

She could barely muster any thoughts, let alone vocalize them. Her mind wasn’t racing; it was empty, a system shut down of its own accord to prevent any irreparable damage. Her body rose slowly and stumbled backwards, slipping on the crater’s incline. She turned around and climbed out, her eyes blank, her gaze forward. Pocketing the rectangular object she lifted her bike and stepped on, clipping the buckle of her helmet beneath her chin by instinct. With little fanfare she pushed the pedals and began her measured descent down the worn path and picked up speed as she reached pavement.

A lone siren wailed in the distance, quickly joined by more of its kind. A chopper rotor melded into the symphony of warnings that sped towards the quiet suburb.

#

Christine’s eyes opened slowly as the light from a slit in the blinds cut a path across her bedspread. The single beam gradually moved towards her, settling on her face as whatever reflective surface outside her window hung in place. She rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling, her eyes falling out of focus.

Had she even slept last night? Was it still last night? No, obviously not. How long ago was last night? The dream… Oh, what a dream it had been. A comet, a shooting star barreling down towards her from the heavens, barely missing her, almost deliberately avoiding her and striking the earth with such fury, such intensity.

She ran her fingers along her palm and remembered more, the comet shocking her with a flash of light and revealing a crimson brick, a desktop version of a Stanley Kubrick monolith. What had it meant? Was the block a metaphor, a prize obtained after breaking through tough exteriors, mirroring her fight with her mother?

Her mother.

Christine brought her hands up and pressed the balls of her hands into her eyes, rubbing them as she groaned. “I told her I hated her,” she muttered. “A lot… I told her I hated her over and over.”

She sighed and relaxed, falling into the warmth of her sheets. I should apologize, she thought. I mean, I do hate her for dragging me here, dragging all of us here. But I don’t, like, hate hate her. That’s just… that’s what teenagers say to their parents, right? She peeked out from behind her hands and blew a breath through pursed lips.

“Great first week, Christine. Really knocking it out of the –”

Her eyes widened as her gaze fell on her open hand. A scar ran from her middle finger down to her wrist, spreading out and showing traces of unfinished paths along the lines of her palm. She brought her finger up and followed the scar’s path, the blemish feeling more like a burn than a sealed wound.

“No,” she whispered.

With a broad motion, she drew back her covers to find herself still in her clothes from the previous day, dirt and ash heavy on the bottoms and knees of her pants. She swung her legs over the side of her bed and stood up, still clutching her hand. Something landed with a thud by her foot as her feet hit the ground, absent of the shoes that had been most likely kicked off downstairs.

There it was. It hadn’t been a dream. It had all been real.

Lying patiently on the floor, seemingly without malice or malevolence, was the crimson block, birthed from the seared orb that had survived atmospheric reentry only to shatter as it was pulled apart by an overly curious and none-too-genre-savvy teenager. Its face was still absent of the symbols that had adorned it hours prior, though their remnants still hung in Christine’s mind.

It wasn’t a dream. It was real. It was all real. Christine’s heart began to race again, her breaths growing shorter. The dream was real.

The images rushed back to her of the silver sky turning red and the demonic beasts clashing over the rising armies, the sunken faces of knights and nameless figures staring back at her, thunder and lightning lashing out as a hand rose from Hell itself to pull her down into a sea of bubbling blackness. She winced as the mark on her hand began to burn and clutched it to her chest, falling back onto her bed.

“Stop,” she said breathlessly, fighting back tears. “No more, please.”

“Herald…”

“What?!” she shouted, curling up into the fetal position. “Go away!”

She could hear hurried footsteps in the upstairs hall growing louder until they stopped just outside her door. There was a brief pause as if someone knew they should enter but wasn’t sure if it was the right decision. The tumbler turned and the door slowly opened, her father’s head poking through the crack.

“Sweety?” he said calmly, his restrained concern worn on his sleeve. “Are you okay? Can I come in?”

“I’m fine,” she blurted out in a rush, trying to contain herself and the choking coughs that came with a stifled cry.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah dad, I… I am.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve then wrapped her arms around her head.

“Christine,” he pressed on. The door steadily opened further.

“I’m good, dad. I’m… I’m in my underwear. Don’t come in.”

“Oh,” he said with a bit of embarrassment. “Right then; the door stays closed. I thought I heard you scream. Is everything alright?”

She didn’t want to push him away too. She didn’t harbor any resentment towards him, and she knew deep down that she’d feel better if he hugged her and let her cry into his shoulder. But her mind couldn’t connect the dots, wouldn’t connect the dots. Impulses latched out and held back rational thoughts, instincts kicking in to kick others away.

“Just a nightmare,” she said hoarsely.

“You don’t sound too well, Chris. Are you sure -”

“I think I caught something,” she coughed, folding her arms over her chest and gripping her shoulders. “I don’t think I should get out of bed or go to school today.”

“Sweety, if this is about yesterday…” She let loose a barrage of coughs to cover up her wheezing and crying, her hands shaking. “I’ll get your mother,” her father said as he closed the door fully.

“No!” she cried. Why was she crying? Was it the dream, the vision? No, the images themselves weren’t scaring her. The shock of it all? Of the comet and the brick and the burn and the vision? Her whole body was tense with frustration, shaking as she fruitlessly tried to keep her outbursts internalized. Behind the door she could hear her father sit down and let out a sigh, as he was wont to do in such situations involving his children. Or his wife on occasion.

“Mom told me about your fight last night,” he began quietly, his voice soothing and light yet just loud enough to be heard through the door. “If you don’t want to talk to me about it, that’s perfectly fine. Personally, I’d recommend you talk to your mother and sort it all out, but I don’t think you’re going to be over this whole move any time soon.

“If this is all about us moving here, I know it’s going to take some getting used to, but if you actively try and hate everything about this place, then you’re never going to love it or see anything good about it. And I’m sorry if I seem rather sparse regarding what happened at your school yesterday. I was scared; believe me, I still am. I never would put you in harm’s way or let you get hurt, but sweety, you know these things can happen. I suppose it’s just easier for me because I was alive when the military’s mobile suits were still prototypes, and I used to live on one of the bases with your grandparents. This is… this is everyday stuff for me, for a lot of people, actually.

“I’m not going to give you a history lesson with a door between us, but these types of instances do happen. And I know for the longest time they’ve happened to other people and we’ve only seen it on the news or in movies, but we live in Bourenna now. We live in a city with a high population of Powered people and in close proximity to a military research facility, so it’d be naïve to say that what happened at your school could never happen to us.”

He paused and rested his head on the door, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt. She could hear the empathy in his voice and knew he was being sincere. No doubt her mother had asked him to let her be the previous night, for both of their sakes. Since she was the firstborn and his daughter, her father had always been a bit overly concerned about her to the point of being a helicopter parent from time to time – a habit that had only just started to be broken.

“If you don’t want to talk, I understand. Believe me, I do. You hear how I talk to grandma and grandpa on the phone,” he chuckled. “Can you imagine having them as parents growing up? I think I went a full year once without telling them how my day at school was.”

She laughed as she wiped her nose again, the image of her father rubbing his temples and reaching for a glass of wine while his parents argued on the phone about whether or not their neighbor had actually said ‘good morning’ or not.

“I just,” he continued, “I heard my only daughter scream and got worried, as I do. But I know you asked us for more space when you became a teenager – well, declared is more like it – and I’m learning how to not push too hard with getting information from you. So,” he stood up and brushed off his pant legs. “If you say you’re sick, whether you are or not, whether you’re really okay or not, I’m going to take a step back and let you make the call this time. Okay?”

He waited for her response only to be met with silence. On her bed Christine was rapidly nodding, new tears welling.

“I love you, Christine,” he said with a smile. “I’ll let you know when we’re leaving for work and taking your brother to school. I’ll make sure something yummy’s in the fridge.” He turned and started down the hall. “Maybe you could call one of the kids from back in the cul-de-sac, huh? Leah or Deb, maybe? There’s always that Jackson who lived two houses down.”

Even in her conflicted state, Christine couldn’t help but blush.

“Our phone numbers are on the fridge; call if you need anything, sweetheart.”

#

Christine sat at the kitchen table in a fresh change of clothes, her hair still wet from the shower, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich half-finished beside her. Even though her father had left a small batch of waffle batter for her – her favorite with diced bananas and peanut butter mixed right in – she had instead opted for the childhood staple, made the correct way with three pieces of bread to make a sort of PB&J club. The bread still tasted weird, though less so than the previous day.

Acclimation sets in quickly here, she had mused during her first few bites. Or my taste buds have Stockholm syndrome. After a few bites though her defiance had reasserted itself and cast the sandwich away, even though she was still a bit hungry. Maybe it wasn’t defiance. Maybe she was simply distracted by her guest across from her.

Standing upright on the table was the mysterious blood-red block, its faces still vacant and dull even as sunlight filled the kitchen. Proper viewing light did little to enhance or dramatize its appearance: simple and plain, it gave little indication that it was anything other than a paperweight. Barely an inch thick with the heft of a hardcover novel, the brick birthed from the sky seemed plain and almost… boring.

Christine let out a long sigh as she reached across for it and it took it in her hands, careful to avoid brushing the burn on her right hand against it. She examined each corner and edge, looking for a seam or recess or proud ridge. There were no part breaks, no signs of the gleaming runes that had shone the night before, no nothing. If it wasn’t a carved brick, then it was nothing more than a poured lump of plastic. She tapped on its front and shook it beside her ear, hoping to hear a jingle or rumble.

Nothing.

Gently, she lowered the brick onto the table, taking care not to scratch the eating surface. She crossed her arms and slumped forward, blowing a raspberry.

“Well?” she said with a huff. “Not so talkative now, are you?”

The monolith remained silent.

“Why should you be, huh? I guess I saved you, right? Assuming I was supposed to save you… Assuming you were even the guy asking me to save you… Were you? Were you the one calling to me?”

Still nothing.

“Was I supposed to save you from that orb? That comet? Is that what you wanted?” She huffed through her nose and squinted, a hard-assed cop interrogating a less-than-cooperative criminal who was feeding her BS. “And this?” she asked holding up her hand. “This you? Was that really necessary? Burning me?” She turned her palm around and stared at the wound. “Am I gonna be stuck with this forever?”

She leaned back in her chair and rolled her head behind her. After a moment of silence, she let out a burst of laughter, her mind grasping for an instant the absurdity of it all.

“I’m talking to a rock,” she muttered under the breath. “I’m talking to the worst Cracker Jack prize in the world like it’s going to say something back. Geez… Is this what I get for hating this move? Huh? Well, is it, Universe?” she shouted. “Is this what I get for not being on board with uprooting myself? Is this a sign that I should put up or shut up?” She raised her hands into the air in exasperation, her hands clenched in mock anguish.

“Man… When did I get so dramatic?” Her arms fell to her side as she looked down at the block before her. “This is all your fault.” She kicked the table and knocked the object flat on its face. She couldn’t help but smirk.

“What am I going to do now?” she asked as she got up from her chair. “What should I do?” She stared at the unmoving object, half-hoping it would answer her. Why hadn’t it answered her? Assuming the voice she had heard on the hill had indeed come from the brick, why was it now silent? Had it originated from the black casing and was now imbedded in a heap of dirt? Or did it simply die with the runes?

“I should never have taken you… I should have just jumped on my bike and hauled on out of there. I should have never been out there at all, honestly.” The television in the family room had been running silently after she muted it, enjoying the flashes out of the corner of her eye rather than actual content. She had elected not to change the channel and leave the local news on, the last station her parents had on while they had prepared for their day. Christine glanced up at the news crawl and reached for the remote as a picture of her school appeared on screen.

“Classes have resumed at Crescent Pines Middle School,” the anchor delivered in a professional voice practiced over the years, “After an incident with a low-flying military unit yesterday.”

“Low-flying, my butt.”

“The Mechanized Air Regiment reported that one of its units had intercepted an unknown aerial object thought to be a Powered individual and sustained damage to its thrusters. Although it was able to slow its descent to prevent a detrimental impact, the school – occupied by seventh and eighth grade students – did receive some exterior damage.”

“It nearly fell on my head!” she shouted at the TV, arms thrust in the air.

“Emergency crews were on the scene almost immediately to deal with the few injuries sustained during the incident. Several students were treated on-site for superficial wounds; there were no casualties.”

“And we’re all grateful for that,” her co-anchor tacked on.

“Indeed we are,” the anchor chuckled with a certain nonchalance that made Christine’s stomach churn, as if the report was no different than a puff piece about a cat up a tree.

“In other news,” the co-anchor said, “You may have seen a shooting star last night if you happen to live in the area of Crescent Pines.”

“That’s right, Bob. And it looks like this comet may have had a visitor along with it.” Shaky video appeared in a pop-up screen near the anchor’s head showing the crash site on the hill and the torn-open meteor lodged in the ground. “Last night at around 11:30, a comet survived reentry and made planet-fall in a Bourenna suburb near Crescent Pines Middle School. Local stargazers caught sight of the shooting star’s arrival and impact at a public picnic area. Inside the crater appears to be some type of mechanical casing that looks as if it was torn open and something ejected.”

“Might we have our own little E.T. running around Bourenna, Dee?” co-anchor Bob asked with a bit of sarcastic excitement.

“We may very well, Bob,” anchor Dee laughed. “Reports have been coming in all morning of little green men disturbing people’s lawns and knocking over trash cans.” Both anchors smiled and let out another joint chuckle. “Despite the claims, Bourenna meteorologists point to the mechanical appearance of the ‘comet’ and are fairly convinced that the entire affair is a hoax, perhaps some new viral marketing for an upcoming television show or sci-fi film.”

“Well, I’ll certainly see it,” the co-anchor said with a smile, his chemically-whitened teeth actually sparkling in the studio lighting.

Christine muted the television and closed her hanging jaw. She whipped around and stared at the crimson brick, half-wondering, half-hoping that it had all been a hoax and she had just hallucinated the entire ordeal. Unfortunately for her, the block remained face-down on the table.

“Great…” she muttered. Her eyes went back to the screen and the wordless musings of the early-morning broadcasters, their practiced movements and flourishes all the more evident without sound of their rehearsed voices.

The previous reports still hung in her mind, more so their inaccuracies. There had been no mention of the combat that took place at the school between the mech and the Powered, and the comet had been dismissed as a prank with great efficiency. Was this actually the norm? Were military interactions near populated areas so commonplace, special-effects built for cellphone cameras so frequent that they didn’t merit complete reporting? Or was there something more? Or…

Or was she just being paranoid because she had almost been killed by a falling robot and space junk in the same day only to witness a vision of Armageddon? She ran the thought through her head then slumped on one of the chairs in the family room, an exasperated look on her face.

“That all happened on my first day… On my first. Day.” She reached for a pillow and screamed into it, more with fatigue than anger. “I don’t even know what to say…” she mumbled into the fabric. She perked up and slowly turned back to the kitchen, the brick still on the table.

“I need some air.”

#

Christine had to admit that as much as she hated her new home city and its combat-prone suburbs, she did prefer the public transportation to her old neighborhood. One of the benefits of an ultra-urban metro hotspot and its multitude of think tanks, research firms and design consultancies was a robust downtown with an even more robust commuting thoroughfare.

With efficiency as its key operating tenant, second only to convenience, the Bourenna Metro Transit system was design specifically for quick, easy riding to and from anywhere with the city’s seal, specifically from the suburbs to the heart of downtown. Seeing as most of the suburbs had been built to house the city’s workers decades ago, it made sense to provide a smooth method of transportation to help said blue and white-collared workers earn a paycheck which could then be pumped right back into the city’s economy. Fortunately for Christine, all of that forethought meant that the ten-minute walk from her house to the bus stop was just as long as the trip into the city.

Stepping off the bus, Christine took a moment to begrudgingly marvel as the cityscape. It seemed even more impressive at eye level, the multitude of skyscrapers towering up and overhead, piercing the heavens. Pedestrians moved with a fluid synchronicity over streets and sidewalks, weaving in between construction scaffolding while cars merged in and out of the flow of traffic with an almost natural grace. The absence of typical metropolitan gridlock left the air free of too many aggressive horns or colorful expressions.

With no set destination and the knowledge that she only had to be home just before her parents, Christine set off and melded into the living current that was the city’s sidewalk, accepting its pull to wherever it would take her.

After breaking away every now and again to window shop at the boutiques and poke her head into a bodega, she diverted course and settled on a bench in one of the municipal parks. Bike bells chirped as physically-conscious couples sped past, birdsongs accompanying barking dogs and laughing children. The scene was as picturesque as one could imagine, which made Christine’s demeanor quickly sour.

She spotted a domineering, ornate building on the far side of the park with carved columns and a grand, rising staircase. Her curiosity piqued, she lifted herself from the iron bench and cut across the large swath of grass between her and the street, ignoring the more accessible pathways.

As she paused at the crosswalk and waited for the light to change, she squinted to read the clean marble sign just off from the staircase: Bourenna Museum of Art and Natural History. Absentmindedly hopping on only the white bars of the crosswalk, she made her way to the white stairs flanked on either side by tiny raised greenspaces. She craned her head and looked at the intricate sculpted art that loomed over the museum’s entrance. It depicted what appeared to be a pillar of light shining down on a mountain and a number of people rising from its base, each representing a different occupation or vocation. While its source material was no doubt dated, the carving seemed to have been done in the last decade or so judging by the cell phone and tie adorning one of the risen fellows.

After depositing a handful of change into the donation receptacle just past the main doors, Christine immediately set about losing herself within the cathedral ceilings and sweeping arches of the museum, taking in the sights and sounds of a world’s collected history. Paintings on loan from foreign galleries and reconstructed skeletal remains filled the rooms, entire cultures that had never before communicated existing mere feet from one another. Time itself seemed meaningless as its passage fluidly swept along guided pathways, exposing her to periods of life eons apart within minutes.

The stimuli simultaneously soothed and moved her, orchestras playing in her mind to accompany the works around her. At one point she stopped and wondered if she was just imagining the music or if it was quietly hanging in the air, an ambiance meant to enhance the appreciation of and immersion into one of the themed galleries. The notion was fleeting and left her almost immediately as she slipped into a docent-guided group and continued on.

She wore no watch and had yet to convince her parents to allow her a phone, meaning any concept of hours and minutes was literally left at the door – seeing as there were almost no clocks to be found, save the antique cuckoos that had been intentionally offset so as to be right only twice a day. In the artificial light she lost all sense of the day and her place in it, longing only to take in every spec of beauty in each room before moving on to the next.

After what had most assuredly been hours, Christine plopped down onto one of the cushioned benches situated in a side hall, a relieved smile plastered on her face. She had never been the biggest history buff or even museum junky, but today she had chosen to be a most enthusiastic patron. All lingering insecurities or fears that the previous night had left were long forgotten, the horrific vision nothing more than a fading dream.

She rolled her neck and glanced from side to side, admiring the people that had chosen to bless their day with the wonders of the arts. Bless their day? she wondered, critiquing her mind’s soliloquy. The heck, Christine? Geez, an hour or two in a museum and suddenly you’re a poet? This town really is awful.

A flicker out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to a door she hadn’t noticed as she sat down. While it appeared to be an empty frame, a barricade had been erected in the form of brass poles and a velvet rope. An upcoming attraction, perhaps? She rose from her seat and slowly made her way to the door, stopping just short of the entry. Steadily, she curled her fingers around the frame and peered inside, hoping to see something more than a hastily-thrown-together wall with ‘Under Construction’ plastered over it.

She would not be disappointed.

Inside the vacant yet still meticulously-maintained room sat several display cases, some of which were draped in luxurious dark fabrics. At the center of the room was a single raised case, its viewing windows obscured by a dark blue drapery. Next to it stood a figure in a long, dark jacket and a wide-brimmed hat drawn over his eyes. He carefully reached for the center case’s curtain and threw it aside in a flourish.

Raised on a dais and protected by walls of bulletproof glass was a gleaming artifact of unknown origin, its skin a deep onyx. Its circular base rose several inches before plateauing to a flat surface that rose further in stepped intervals, climaxing in a protruding arc that ran the length of the object’s body. Artificial light glinted off its multifaceted faces, striking a chord in the back of Christine’s mind. It reminded her of something… Something terrifying but enchanting…

The comet.

The space rock that had nearly killed her less than twenty-four hours ago had the same dark shine as the protected museum piece standing before the disguised man. Her heart skipped a beat as the calm wonderment of the day was swept aside and the memories of the comet, its voice and the vision came flooding back to her. As her body began to chill, she felt a growing heat in her pocket. She grabbed at it without turning away, her hand wrapping around the crimson brick.

Standing before the display case, the figure leaned from side to side inspecting the glass. He scanned the room for any cameras or security, satisfied at the absence of both. Placing his hands on the front of the case, he smirked in the shadow of his baseball cap.

Inside her pocket the brick radiated more heat causing Christine’s hand to sweat. Something was about to happen; she could feel it. And smart money said it wouldn’t be anything good.

The figure’s hands began to glow, electricity crackling between his fingers. Where his hands met glass began to shine red and sag as the case was rapidly superheated, globs of molten slag slipping from protective casing and falling to the floor.

In less than a minute most of the front face of the display was gone, the edges of the newly formed hole changing color as they cooled. Steady hands reached through the fresh opening and gingerly picked up the artifact, taking great care so as to not scrape it against what remained of the case.

Christine’s heart was racing even though she couldn’t figure out why. She didn’t know the man or anything about the piece, nor did she have any stake in its theft. Was it because she knew stealing was wrong? No, nothing so pragmatic. Perhaps it had something to do with the space stone that was starting to burn a hole in her pocket, or at least try to.

The brick let out of a jolt of energy in her hand that made her wince. She yelped and shook her wrist, inadvertently jumping into the doorframe and making herself known. The figure whipped around and spotted her, his eyes wide. Christine froze in place and stared at him, neither entirely sure as to what to do. The man turned away trying to hide the artifact, frowning at her.

“You should go,” he said in a raspy voice. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No, I-I know,” Christine stammered. “I was just, I…” Then something hit her, a switch flipped, a circuit connected. “That doesn’t belong to you,” she said in a newly defiant tone.

Her mind reeled as she shook off the sudden burst of confidence. What the heck? What was that? ‘That doesn’t belong to you.’ Am I trying to get myself killed?

The thief squinted, measuring her up. “Actually, it does. I’m taking back what is rightfully mine.”

Walk away. Turn around and walk away right now.

“You’ll forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

Crap! What are you doing? Turn around and get the hell out of here! Dude can melt glass; you think you’re going to fare any better?

The man scoffed. “What you believe isn’t any problem of mine. Now scram before you get hurt.”

While the shock of the brick’s earlier jolt had subsided, the scar on her hand began to ache as the object that created it continued to heat up. She could feel it’s warmth but not its burn, any notion of fear of spontaneous combustion absent from her mind. As it rumbled in her pocket, she felt as though it was spurring her on, encouraging her to press on. Was it the source of her defiance, of her standing up to a Powered burglar?

“Last I checked, museums weren’t safety deposit boxes,” she said in a firm tone, one unbecoming of someone in her situation. “And, you don’t look the part of a docent.”

“Sharp one, are you?” the thief asked, turning his body towards her. She could see the object clearly now, its details visible despite the distance between them. Even from across the room she could confirm it: the artifact’s skin was identical to that of the comet on the hill.

“Doesn’t take a genius to spot a break-in, especially one as haphazard as this.” Confidence was welling inside her now, replacing the fears that had gripped her moments ago.

“Quite the mouth for a punk kid. If you’re so keen on what’s going on, then you saw what I did to that case.” He took a step closer to her, expecting her to flinch. Much to his surprise, she didn’t. “Do you know what I’m capable of?” he asked. “The other day I tore an arm off a ten-story mech. So if I were you, I’d think real carefully about the next words out of my mouth.”

Christine reached for the brick and held it tight, slowly removing it from her pocket. Out of the corner of her eye she could see black and gold lines tracing themselves across its faces, interweaving with one another. She lowered her head slightly and glowered. With her newfound strength, she felt as though she could take on anyone, even this jackass.

“You really messed up my first day of school fighting that machine,” she said calmly. “Glad to know I can put a face to my frustration.”

The thief tilted his head in confusion and broke his stance, relaxing his shoulders. Who was this girl? Few had ever stood up to him, and those who did had never lived to regret it. Yet here, standing just over five feet tall and in his way was some kid, some girl who had the nerve to talk back to him, and after seeing his powers.

“You got some nerve, kid,” he sighed. “Shame in a minute you won’t be anything more than a smear on the wall. Maybe they’ll put a frame up and keep you on display.” Tucking the artifact under his arm, he shook his free hand loose and supercharged it, energy once again jumping from his digits.

There was no hesitation in her mind, no tiny voice telling her to run away. Christine tightened her grip around the block and stood firm, in what she would later describe as yet another bout of abject and unadulterated stupidity. She could feel something growing inside her, a force raging and ready to burst.

The man held out his hand and flexed his fingers into a claw, aiming squarely at her. “Kids today,” he said with a smirk. Energy erupted from his hand and arced towards her, spiraling midair in glowing, sparking bands.

Christine stretched her arm forward and stayed her ground, holding the brick directly between her and the burglar. The two-toned symbols had finished recreating themselves and began to move, frantically dancing from corner to corner. The heat travelled up her arm and settled in her heart, affirming her resolve.

In a flash of light a silhouette burst from the brick and collided with the corkscrewing energy bands, engulfing them as if an immovable object had reached out and plucked an unstoppable force out of thin air. The forces exploded and knocked the two off their feet, the blast wave shaking hanging draperies and sending lighter and less valuable wall pieces tumbling to the floor. Glass coverings and cases splintered in frames and on pedestals, sending debris in all directions.

The poorly disguised and flummoxed thief quickly sat up and waved away a cloud of smoke, the artifact still firmly tucked under his arm. As the dust settled his eyes began to widen and his pupils dilate, an impossible sight before him.

Hanging over the slowly moving body of Christine Villeneuve was a blood-red beast, its serpentine body spiraling into nothingness as its powerful wings gently flapped, keeping it aloft. Rows of teeth glinted even in the haze, crystalline scales adorning its body a multitude of horns. Its yellow eyes stared out at the man and shone along with the gleaming orb at the center of the monster’s head. Massive jaws slowly opened and billowed steam, a low rumble emanating from the creature’s throat.

The man’s gaze darted from the beast to the object in his hands, then to Christine who had gotten back to her feet. After several double takes, the color quickly drained from his face, his free hand once again glowing with energy.

“A Summoner…” he whispered. “Impossible. You came here… you came here for this.” A nervous smile inched its way from ear to ear. “Just what are you?”

“Firm, sharp,” Christine said with tone beyond her years. “A crystal.”

“Then shatter!”

Lightning burst forth again only to be intercepted by the beast, which drew the energy into its forehead before letting out another breath of steam. Christine glanced up at the monster and knew she should be terrified, confused, mortified, or some combination thereof. To the contrary, she felt… safe. It was one of the titanic beasts from her dream, one of the two serpents that were working in tandem to quell the others.

“Were you the one calling me?” she asked herself, unsure of if the creature could understand or even hear her. “Was all of that on the hill to lead me here?” The beast didn’t respond, it merely kept its focus on the tattered man before it.

“Summoner,” the thief repeated. “Give me the creature.”

“No chance,” she said instinctively.

“This power, this game is far beyond you. Give me the creature and –”

Alarms rang out through overhead PA systems while sprinklers began to sputter before unleashing a downpour in the museum wing. Down the hallway Christine could hear screams and frantic footsteps as regular patrons rushed to the exits or to gather family members.

“Hope you weren’t expecting a quiet escape,” Christine said with a smirk. “You should probably put that down.” She pointed to the black object, the brick still firmly in her hand.

“I won’t return empty handed,” he growled. “I shall take your totem along with my prize!”

Hand outstretched, he ran barreling towards Christine and her beast. Before he could react, the monster rocketed forward like a spring, its mouth wide and exposing its faceted teeth. The creature struck him with a sickening amount of force and shrugged off his advance, the artifact thrust out of his grasp as if it was part of a classic cartoon’s sight gag. Titan and target were driven through multiple displays before the serpent slammed him into the rear wall of the museum wing, sending a crack clear to the ceiling.

Christine rushed forward as her protector coiled itself and stretched its wings and reached for the dropped artifact, taking care not to slip or drop it as water continued to rain down. She turned to the beast and smiled, fully acknowledging the conflicting notion of being shocked that she wasn’t scared. Before her was a gigantic beast she had seen only in a fever dream, summoned from a miniature monolith that had nearly killed her and had helped her stop a robbery perpetrated by a lightning-wielding Powered. In the rush of combat, alarms still whining in the background, she felt almost calm.

The feeling would be fleeting.

She gaped, panic setting in as the creature began to vanish, fading away as quickly as it had arrived. She looked down at the block, its runes disappearing too. “No, no!” she shouted, shaking the brick. “Where are you going?”

Behind her, rubble was knocked aside as the assailant slowly rose to his feet. He winced and clutched one of his shoulders before locking eyes with her. Releasing his damaged limb, he charged his hand once again.

“We’re not done here!” she shouted at the serpent. “He’s still up! Come back!” In spite of her pleas, the beast shattered into fragments of light that fell delicately to the ground, winking from existence on impact. She slowly turned to the bloodied and bruised burglar, her newfound confidence replaced with terror. “Don’t come any closer!” she warned him, clutching both artifacts to her chest. He took a series of menacing steps towards her, his stumbling only adding to the intimidation.

“I’m warning you!” She held out the vacant block, hoping to ward him off. “I’ll bring that thing back! Don’t do this!”

The Powered let out a guttural roar and lunged at her, his hand glowing white hot. She screamed and doubled back, bringing the brick back towards her.

Something clicked.

The black skin on the museum artifact cracked and splintered, the calcified detritus of millennia breaking away and forming an opening that took in the red block and locked it in place. Onyx facing split along the perimeter and underside of the piece, cold metal lashing out and wrapping itself around her forearm. Christine gasped as the combined relic tightened itself and thrust her arm forward at the oncoming figure.

Plating erupted from its side and shot out like a lance, interconnected panels unfolding from themselves and reassembling as a careening projectile. The javelin struck the man with devastating force, piercing his good arm and sending him reeling back the way he came. The momentum pushed Christine backwards across the floor, her body skidding to a stop as the newly constructed weapon reached its maximum length and threw her attacker against a wall.

Shock placed at bay finally set in as she looked down at the weapon strapped her arm, then to the limp form of her assailant. Water still poured down overhead, alarms in other wings still echoing throughout the building. Her head began to spin, the chaos overwhelming her. The elongated lance snapped back and collapsed on itself, the last panel neatly sliding back into the slot that had birthed it.

Across the room an explosion shook her from the swirling haze in her head, her mind temporarily focused. The Powered had stood up again, some degree of fight still left in him.

“Bitch!” he shouted as he made another attempt to cross the room and strike her. Both arms were raised and bleeding, though she couldn’t tell if his screaming was due to their immense pain or his wounded pride. Slipping on the wet floor he rushed her, condensing his powers into a destructive orb in between his hands. Christine braced for impact and raised her left arm, pointing the weapon at the attempted-thief.

Maybe I’ll get a third miracle.

Another flash of light. Another scream. Another explosion.

A spinning disk whizzed overhead and struck the man’s wrist and made him let out a yelp, contorting his body as he slipped and fell backwards, his head slamming onto the tile. The ball of energy he had been charging slipped from his hands and was thrown behind him, connecting with the rear wall of the wing and detonating sending debris flying.

The water in her eyes clouded her vision, and she blinked to make sure she was seeing events correctly. A new figure had rushed in front of her, clad in jeans and a hoodie, and struck a defiant pose, hands outstretched. The newcomer clenched their fists and pumped their arms, a single glowing ring materializing around each set of knuckles. Fabric began to flow as sparks danced on the back of the hoodie, a matching ring forming on the figure’s back and arching overhead, a halo resonating light.

The figure turned their head to Christine, revealing a female face just as young as hers. The girl smirked and raised an eyebrow, her features clear even in the baggy hood.

“Need a hand?”