Jacob Carter's thumb hovered over the subject line, reluctant to tap. The words "Congratulations, Defender" glowed on his lock screen like a neon warning. His breathing hitched as he swiped, revealing a terse body:
You have been chosen as Earth's Defender. Report to the coordinates below. Transport departure at 0200 hours. No exceptions.
Beneath the text lay a series of cryptic longitude and latitude figures and a single link labelled CONFIRM. His pulse thundered. He stared at the numbers, trying to summon reason. Who—what—had sent this? A prank? A hacker? He recalled the strange glitches, the floating fruit, the black sky—and a cold dread settled in his gut.
He tapped CONFIRM. Instantly, the link vanished, replaced by an attachment: a one‑way flight ticket. The passenger name read Jacob Carter; departure was in three hours from the municipal airfield.
A surge of panic warred with a glimmer of hope. He was twenty‑one, college degree in hand, yet jobless and scraping by on granola and instant noodles. Normally he'd dismiss such nonsense as a hacker's joke—but lately nothing made sense. First the sky, then floating fruit, then his sister's nightmares. Maybe this was more than a prank—a chance to find answers, maybe even escape his dead‑end routine and prove himself.
He rifled through his bag for his phone charger but found only yesterday's crumpled hoodie and a half‑empty granola cup. His stomach clenched in hunger and nerves. There was no job to skip, no gym to miss—just this. He texted Maria: Running late. Will explain later. His fingers trembled. No reply. He texted Emma: Stay close to Mom if you see anything weird. Already she'd begun her day, unaware the rules of their world had changed again.
Driven by a mix of fear, desperation, and the faintest hope of purpose, Jacob knew he couldn't ignore the summons.
At 1:30 a.m., the deserted street glowed under sodium lights. Jacob's breath formed tiny clouds as he jogged toward the yellow taxi idling by the curb. The driver, eyes red‑rimmed, warmed his hands on the steering wheel.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
He rattled off the coordinates. The man glanced at the GPS, eyebrows rising. "You sure, kid? That's way out west—old Hangar 12."
Jacob nodded. He sank into the seat, heart pounding. They rolled through silent streets, miles of dark fields, until the hangar loomed—a hulking silhouette under moonlight.
A line of black SUVs and nondescript vans formed a semicircle before the open hangar doors. Tall figures in dark uniforms moved with practiced efficiency. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, their rifled barrels glinting.
Jacob's taxi door swung open. The driver shook his head as Jacob handed him the fare. "Be careful," he muttered.
Inside the hangar, a hush blanketed the cavernous space. Spotlights picked out steel crates and rows of blank-faced individuals wearing plain gray jumpsuits. Jacob's breath caught: he recognized several from the news—a viral clip of the black sky in Rio, a viral post of fruit floating in Tokyo.
A voice boomed from hidden speakers: "Welcome, Defenders. Step forward." The word echoed, hollow and cold.
A uniformed officer approached Jacob. "Name?"
"Jacob Carter."
He handed over his ID and ticket. The officer scanned both, then produced a black hood. "Standard procedure. Put it on."
Panic flared, but Jacob obeyed. The hood fell over his head, shutting out sight until he felt itself cinch at the back of his neck. He heard hushed whispers, muffled footsteps, and the soft click of locks.
A van door thudded. The officer's voice: "Board." Hands — gloved — guided him forward. Jacob's feet hit a hard floor, then a bump, then movement as the van's engine roared.
He pressed his back against the cold metal wall, heart drumming. Where were they taking him? And what awaited at the destination?
Time blurred: the van rumbled along gravel, then asphalt, then—silence.
The door swung open. Bright light? No—white cold. His hood was yanked away, and Jacob blinked into the glare of an underground bunker. Concrete walls lined with blinking panels. Tanks of strange liquids. Military personnel and scientists moved efficiently.
A single word cut through the clamor: "Defender." It was both address and indictment.
An officer in a crisp suit stepped forward and spoke: "Jacob Carter, you've been selected. There is no refusal. In forty-eight hours, you begin training for Earth's defense."
Defense against what? Aliens? Monsters? Insane governments? He swallowed hard. Everything in him screamed to run—but his training, such as it was, began now.
"Follow me," the officer ordered, striding toward a corridor marked EVALUATION. Jacob squared his shoulders, forcing calm. Whatever this was, this was no ordinary prank. The world he knew was gone—and Jacob Carter had a new destiny, whether he wanted it or not.