The desert dawn painted the crash site in hues of amber and gold, the rising sun catching the crystallized sand that surrounded the impact crater. In daylight, what Carol had found unsettling the previous evening now seemed almost beautiful if you could overlook the impossible implications of what had caused it.
"They're not going to believe us," Thomas said, squinting into the morning light as Carol parked her SUV at the same spot they'd used the night before. "You realize that, right?"
Carol didn't respond immediately. She'd barely slept, her mind racing through possibilities, each more implausible than the last. Alien abduction. Government conspiracy. Some bizarre test flight gone wrong that Hal had signed up for without telling anyone. The explanations that once would have seemed logical—that Hal had simply taken off on another of his impulsive adventures—didn't fit the evidence. Not with his father's helmet left behind.
"They'll believe the evidence," she said finally, stepping out of the vehicle. "That's why we're back out here. Photos, samples, GPS coordinates. Irrefutable proof that something happened to Hal. Something beyond the ordinary."
As they crested the same ridge they'd climbed yesterday, Carol froze mid-step. The crater was still there—the melted sand, the strange geometric patterns—but now it was surrounded by a hive of activity that hadn't been present the previous evening: black SUVs with tinted windows, portable laboratory units, personnel in hazmat suits collecting samples, and a perimeter of armed guards. Most stunning of all was the object at the center of the crater—a craft unlike anything Carol had ever seen, its hull a peculiar purplish-green, damaged but unmistakably not of human origin. Last night, in the darkness, they must have mistaken the vessel's contours for natural formations in the crater.
"What the hell?" Thomas whispered, instinctively ducking lower even though they'd already been spotted. Two guards were already moving in their direction, weapons drawn. "Government," Carol said under her breath. "Somebody must have known about this before we ever filed our report."
"How?" Thomas hissed. "We only talked to Detective Gonzalez last night. There's no way they mobilized all this overnight."
Four more guards appeared from behind them, effectively cutting off any retreat to their vehicle. Carol realized with a chill that they must have been under surveillance since they arrived.
"Hands where we can see them!" the lead guard ordered, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "You are trespassing on a secured federal site!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Thomas raised his hands immediately, his eyes wide. "We're freezing, okay? See? Hands up, not moving!"
Carol raised her hands more deliberately, feeling a surge of indignation despite the circumstances. "My name is Carol Ferris, CEO of Ferris Aircraft. This is Thomas Kalmaku, our chief engineer. We filed a missing person report last night about—"
"We know exactly who you are, Ms. Ferris," the guard interrupted, his expression impassive behind mirrored sunglasses. "Identification, slowly. One hand only."
Carol carefully reached for her purse with two fingers, movements exaggerated to avoid any misunderstanding. "My ID is in my wallet. I'm reaching for it now."
"Slowly," the guard repeated, his weapon not wavering.
"This is insane," Thomas muttered, his hands still raised. "We work for a defense contractor. We have clearances."
"Different department," one of the other guards replied curtly. "ID. Now."
Thomas awkwardly maneuvered his wallet from his back pocket, nearly dropping it in the process. "Don't shoot the engineer, please. We just fix planes, not... whatever this is."
The lead guard examined their IDs while the others maintained their positions. After a tense moment, he spoke into his radio. "Sierra Actual, this is Perimeter One. We have the Ferris Aircraft personnel at the north ridge. Confirming identity. Awaiting instructions."
A brief crackle of static, then: "Bring them in. Full protocol."
The guard nodded to his team. "You and Mr. Kalmaku will need to come with us for debriefing."
"Are we being arrested?" Carol demanded, still keeping her hands visible. "On what grounds? This is Ferris Aircraft property. We have every right to be here."
"Not arrested, ma'am. Detained for questioning under National Security directive 7-Alpha-12."
"That doesn't sound like a real thing," Thomas said, earning a sharp look from Carol.
Before the exchange could continue, a figure in a white hazmat suit approached, holding what looked like a handheld scanner. The suit's helmet visor was tinted, making it impossible to see the face within.
"Request permission to scan for residual exposure," the hazmat figure said, voice muffled and distorted through the suit's speaker system.
The lead guard nodded. "Proceed."
The scientist—if that's what they were—walked a slow circle around Carol and Thomas, the device in their hand emitting a soft, pulsing hum. When it passed over Thomas's pocket, where he'd stored some of the samples they'd collected the previous night, the hum increased in pitch dramatically.
"Subject is carrying contaminated material," the hazmat figure announced.
Thomas winced. "Okay, yes, I have some samples from last night. Just sand and that weird crystalline stuff. It's for analysis—"
"Unauthorized collection of potentially hazardous extraterrestrial material," the hazmat figure interjected. "Level two containment protocols required."
"Extraterrestrial?" Carol repeated, seizing on the word. "So you're confirming this is an alien craft? That whatever happened to Hal Jordan—"
"Their vehicle was at the site approximately twelve hours ago," the hazmat figure continued, ignoring Carol's question while scanning the SUV from a distance. "Trace signature consistent with the event window. Full decontamination recommended."
"Decontamination?" Thomas looked alarmed. "Hey, I've seen this movie, and I'm not a fan of the part where they strip us down and hose us with weird chemicals."
"Standard protocol," the guard assured him, though his expression suggested 'standard' was relative in this situation. "Your personal effects will be returned after processing."
"Listen," Carol said, adopting her most authoritative CEO voice despite having her hands in the air. "We're looking for a missing test pilot—Hal Jordan. He disappeared from this exact site last night. His motorcycle is still here, his helmet, his phone. Whatever you're investigating, it's connected to his disappearance."
The guard and hazmat figure exchanged glances.
"The Director will want to speak with them," the hazmat figure said finally.
The guard nodded, then turned back to Carol and Thomas. "You and Mr. Kalmaku will now be escorted to our mobile command center. You will speak only when spoken to. You will comply with all decontamination procedures without argument. And most importantly, everything you see here is classified under the highest levels of national security."
"And if we refuse?" Carol challenged.
"Then we detain you under the Extraterrestrial Entities and Materials Containment Act of 1982," the guard replied smoothly, suggesting this wasn't his first such encounter. "Which authorizes indefinite holding of civilians exposed to potential xenobiological contaminants."
Thomas shot Carol a worried glance as they were escorted down toward the crater, a guard on each side. "This isn't standard procedure for trespassing on government land," he muttered. "Something's very wrong here."
"No kidding," Carol whispered back. "But if they know something about Hal..."
"Worth getting decontaminated for?" Thomas grimaced. "I guess so. But for the record, I'm still very much in 'we're freezing' mode until proven otherwise."
The site looked dramatically different in daylight and with proper equipment. What had seemed isolated and eerie the night before was now clinically dissected, with grid markers placed across the entire area and specialized equipment taking readings she couldn't begin to interpret. Most concerning, the area where they'd found Hal's motorcycle was now surrounded by a transparent containment structure, scientists in full hazmat gear working inside.
"Through here," the lead guard directed, gesturing toward a large white tent with hazard symbols plastered across its sealed entrance. The clinical efficiency of the operation was both impressive and unsettling—whatever agency had set this up had done so with practiced precision.
Thomas leaned closer to Carol as they approached. "You think they're telling the truth about not arresting us? Because this is feeling very arrested right now."
"They don't need to arrest us if they can claim some kind of biological hazard," Carol replied under her breath. "Different playbook, same result."
The guard pressed his palm against a scanner beside the tent's entrance. The sealed door hissed open, releasing a rush of cool, artificially filtered air that carried the sharp scent of disinfectant. Inside, the space was divided into sections by clear plastic curtains, each area equipped with different sets of intimidating equipment.
"Decontamination protocols are non-negotiable," announced a woman in a white lab coat who appeared from behind one of the partitions. Her badge identified her as Dr. Chen, her expression all business. "Potential extraterrestrial biological contamination requires complete processing before you can speak with Director Faraday."
Thomas's face fell. "I knew it. I literally just said this would happen."
"You can't be serious," Carol protested. "We're looking for a missing person. We don't have time for—"
"The protocols exist for your safety as well as ours, Ms. Ferris," Dr. Chen cut her off, already typing something into a tablet. "Exposure to unknown extraterrestrial elements can have unpredictable effects on human physiology. Two technicians will assist you through the process."
As if summoned by her words, a pair of staff in full hazmat suits appeared from behind different curtains, each carrying folded stacks of what looked like medical scrubs.
"Female subject will process in Section A, male subject in Section B," Dr. Chen continued with clinical detachment. "You will remove all clothing and personal items, which will be sealed for analysis and decontamination. You will then proceed through a four-stage cleansing protocol before being issued temporary attire."
Thomas's eyes widened. "Hold on—when you say 'remove all clothing,' you mean—"
"All clothing, Mr. Kalmaku," Dr. Chen confirmed without looking up from her tablet. "The potential for microparticulate contamination necessitates complete surface decontamination of both your person and your belongings."
"This is insane," Carol said, her CEO authority evaporating in the face of government protocol. "We're not removing anything until we speak with whoever's in charge."
Dr. Chen finally looked up, her expression unchanged. "Director Faraday will not meet with potentially contaminated individuals. That is non-negotiable. You may, of course, choose to leave—in which case, per the Extraterrestrial Entities and Materials Containment Act, we would be required to detain you under quarantine conditions for a minimum of fourteen days while more extensive testing is conducted."
The lead guard, who had remained at the entrance, added helpfully, "The standard decontamination only takes about twenty minutes."
Carol and Thomas exchanged looks—a silent conversation weighing their limited options.
"If there's any chance they know what happened to Hal..." Carol said quietly.
Thomas sighed. "Fine. But I want it on record that I'm complying under protest."
"Noted," Dr. Chen replied, clearly unconcerned with their feelings on the matter. She gestured to the separate sections. "Your technicians will guide you through each step. Please follow their instructions precisely."
The technicians led them to their respective areas, the plastic curtains offering the illusion of privacy while still allowing Dr. Chen to observe the proceedings from her station. Carol was directed behind a partition where a female technician handed her a clear plastic bag.
"All clothing and personal effects in the bag, please," the technician instructed through her hazmat suit's speaker. "Jewelry, watch, everything."
In the adjacent section, Thomas was receiving the same instructions from his technician, his voice carrying through the thin partition. "Even my socks? Really? They're brand new, if that helps."
"Standard protocol, sir," came the monotone reply.
Carol reluctantly began to undress, her annoyance growing with each item she removed. The CEO of Ferris Aircraft, standing naked in a government tent while people in hazmat suits prepared to hose her down—if the board could see her now. She dropped her watch into the bag, the final item.
"Even my grandmother's ring?" she asked, touching the simple silver band on her right hand.
"All items, ma'am," the technician confirmed. "They will be returned after processing."
Across the partition, Thomas was evidently having a similar argument. "These are my lucky boxers. How am I supposed to face government interrogation without my lucky boxers?"
"Sir, please cooperate with the protocol."
"They have little F-16s on them. Very patriotic. You'd think the government would appreciate that."
Carol might have laughed if she weren't so uncomfortable herself. The technician sealed her bag of belongings and labeled it with a barcode, then directed her to step onto a metal platform with drains built into the floor. The implication was clear and not at all comforting.
"Arms extended, please," the technician instructed. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Eyes closed is recommended."
"Recommended for what exactly—" Carol began, but her question was answered as jets of lukewarm, slightly viscous liquid suddenly sprayed from nozzles positioned around the platform. The sensation was like being caught in a car wash, the liquid covering every inch of her skin in what smelled like a mixture of antiseptic and something faintly metallic.
From the next partition came Thomas's startled yelp. "Cold! COLD! Why is it COLD?"
"Temperature is standardized, sir," his technician replied.
"Standardized for PENGUINS maybe!"
The liquid spray continued for what felt like an eternity but was probably only thirty seconds before shutting off, leaving Carol dripping and even more indignant than before. Before she could voice her complaints, a secondary set of nozzles activated, blasting her with what felt like pressurized air mixed with a fine powder that clung to the residual liquid.
"Neutralizing compound," her technician explained, apparently noticing Carol's alarmed expression. "Binds to potential contaminants for removal."
The air jets cut off, replaced by a new spray—this one clear and smelling strongly of what reminded Carol of hospital disinfectant. It stung slightly where it contacted her skin, the mild discomfort rapidly escalating to a tingling burn.
"This is—" she winced, "—uncomfortable."
"Final rinse beginning," the technician announced, ignoring her discomfort.
The fourth and final stage was mercifully just water—albeit water that seemed to be pressurized enough to remove a layer of skin. When it finally ended, Carol stood shivering despite the controlled temperature of the tent, her dignity somewhere back in her sealed bag of personal belongings.
"You may now proceed to the drying station," the technician directed, pointing to another platform equipped with what looked like oversized hair dryers.
From Thomas's section came the plaintive question: "Is the indignity portion of this experience nearly complete? Because I'm running out of witty commentary to mask my deep psychological distress."
"Psychological assessment is not part of the standard decontamination protocol," his technician responded, missing or ignoring the sarcasm.
The drying station lived up to its appearance, blasting Carol with warm air that quickly evaporated the remaining moisture but did little for her mood. Once dry, she was handed a set of generic blue scrubs, thankfully clean and considerably more comfortable than standing naked in a government facility.
When finally dressed, Carol was directed to yet another section of the tent where Thomas was already waiting, similarly clad in blue scrubs and looking like he'd just endured the worst spa treatment of his life.
"Not one word," he muttered as she approached. "Not a single word about this. Ever. To anyone."
"Agreed," Carol said, running a hand through her still-damp hair.
Dr. Chen approached them, tablet in hand. "Preliminary scan shows acceptable decontamination levels. Your personal effects will be returned after processing, which typically takes between four and six hours."
"Six hours?" Thomas protested. "My car keys are in there!"
"You won't be needing your vehicle," Dr. Chen replied. "Director Faraday has requested your presence immediately. Follow me, please."
They were escorted from the decontamination tent into the harsh desert sunlight, both blinking at the sudden brightness. Several armed guards fell into formation around them as Dr. Chen led them across the site toward a windowless black trailer set up at the crater's edge.
"Just so we're clear," Carol said quietly to Thomas as they walked, "if they try to 'decontaminate' us again, I'm invoking every defense contract Ferris has and calling in every political favor my father ever earned."
"I'll help you write the strongly worded letters from our government detention facility," Thomas replied. "Assuming they let us have pencils."
The trailer's interior was a stark contrast to the desert landscape outside. The walls were lined with monitors displaying data feeds, satellite imagery, and what appeared to be real-time security footage of the entire area. At the center stood a man in his forties with salt-and-pepper hair and a face that might have been handsome if not for the network of faded scars that covered the left side, disappearing beneath the collar of his immaculately pressed suit.
"Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to two chairs positioned across from him at a small metal table. His voice was professionally neutral, but his eyes were sharp, assessing them with uncomfortable intensity. "I apologize for the manner of your escort, but this site has been classified under National Security protocols since the object crashed two days ago."
"Two days ago?" Carol questioned, remaining standing despite his invitation. "That's when Hal disappeared."
The man smiled thinly. "Captain Jordan disappeared after investigating this crash site, Ms. Ferris. We've been monitoring the situation remotely since then, but our response teams were delayed due to... concurrent situations requiring immediate attention."
Carol and Thomas exchanged glances. "So you know Hal was here," Thomas said.
"We know Captain Jordan arrived at this location approximately thirty minutes after the object crashed," the man replied. "Our satellite surveillance captured his motorcycle approaching the site, but we lost visual for approximately seventeen minutes due to an unusual energy surge. When our systems recovered, Captain Jordan was gone, but the craft remained."
Reluctantly, they sat. Thomas leaned forward. "Who exactly are you people? FBI? Military Intelligence?"
"My name is Kingsley Faraday," the man said, ignoring the question about his organization. "I'm the lead investigator for this particular incident. Your presence here last night, while understandable given your concerns about Captain Jordan, has complicated matters significantly."
"Complicated how?" Carol demanded. "We're trying to find our friend."
"By removing evidence from a federally secured site," Faraday replied calmly, placing a small evidence bag on the table between them. Inside were the samples they had collected the previous night. "These were found in your vehicle, along with photographs and soil samples. Your tire tracks at the site were also quite distinctive."
Thomas stiffened. "You searched our vehicle without a warrant?"
"We don't need a warrant when national security is at stake, Mr. Kalmaku," Faraday said, his tone making it clear further legal arguments would be pointless. "What we need is your complete cooperation and a full accounting of everything you observed last night."
Carol felt a creeping sense of frustration. "While you've been 'monitoring remotely,' we've been actively trying to find Hal. He missed a critical Pentagon demonstration yesterday morning, which is completely out of character. He left his father's helmet behind at this site—something he would never do willingly."
"I understand your concern, Ms. Ferris," Faraday said, his tone softening slightly. "But you need to understand that what happened here goes far beyond a missing person case. This object represents technology well beyond anything known to exist on Earth."
He tapped a command into a tablet on the table, and the lights in the trailer dimmed slightly. A holographic projection appeared above the table—a three-dimensional rendering of the crash site, with highlighted energy readings that pulsated in complex patterns.
"Two days ago, our monitoring stations detected an object entering Earth's atmosphere at speeds beyond our capability to track effectively," he explained. "Unlike meteorites or space debris, this object decelerated before impact and appeared to adjust its trajectory deliberately. Our satellite imagery confirmed the crash, and we detected a single human life sign approaching the site approximately twenty minutes after impact."
The hologram shifted to show a motorcycle approaching the crater—unmistakably Hal's vintage Harley.
"Captain Jordan arrived, investigated the craft, and then..." Faraday paused, manipulating the display to show a blinding pulse of green energy that overwhelmed the sensors. "Something happened. When our systems recovered, Captain Jordan was gone. The craft remained, but its energy signature had changed substantially."
"And you're only investigating in person now?" Thomas asked incredulously. "Two days later?"
Faraday's expression tightened. "The past week has tested our response capabilities to their limits, Mr. Kalmaku. A green rage monster leveled half of Harlem. A small town in New Mexico was nearly destroyed by what witnesses described as a 'walking metal destroyer.' Tony Stark engaged in a very public battle with a Russian wielding energy whips in Monaco. Seven internationally wanted assassins descended on Gotham City simultaneously." He exhaled slowly. "We prioritized immediate threats to civilian populations while monitoring this site remotely. It appeared stable until last night, when you two triggered our proximity sensors."
Carol tried to process this information. "What about Hal's phone call? The night he disappeared, he called me. He sounded excited, talking about finding a crash in the desert, something about a green light and a ring that chose him. Then there was a flash, and the call disconnected."
Faraday leaned forward, suddenly intensely focused. "A green light? A ring? Those were his exact words?"
"Yes," Carol confirmed, unnerved by his reaction. "Why? What does that mean to you?"
Instead of answering directly, Faraday opened a drawer in the table and removed a thick file folder. From it, he extracted a photograph that he placed carefully in front of them.
Carol stared at the image in disbelief. It showed what appeared to be a humanoid figure surrounded by a brilliant green energy field, captured from a distance with what must have been extremely powerful telephoto equipment. Though the figure's features were indistinct due to the energy aura, something about the posture, the bearing, was hauntingly familiar.
"This was taken in Metropolis two years ago during the incident with the being called Superman and the cybernetic entity classified as Metallo," Faraday explained. "It was dismissed as lens flare or equipment malfunction until we detected the same energy signature from this crashed vessel two days ago."
He placed another photo beside it, this one showing a similar green figure, but in a different location. "New Mexico, last week, during the 'metal destroyer' incident." Another photo joined the first two. "Harlem, three days ago, concurrent with the Banner situation."
"What are these?" Thomas asked, studying the photos intently. "Some kind of energy beings?"
"We believe they represent an extraterrestrial monitoring presence," Faraday said. "Observing, perhaps intervening in, events beyond normal human capabilities. Their energy signature matches exactly what we detected at this crater both from the initial crash and at the moment Captain Jordan disappeared."
He leaned forward, his expression grave. "Whatever took your friend appears to be part of something much larger a pattern of observation and occasional intervention that has accelerated dramatically in recent months."
Carol stared at the photos, her mind racing with implications. "You think Hal was... what? Abducted by these green energy beings?"
"Or recruited," Faraday suggested. "The vessel appears to be some kind of transport craft, damaged but functional enough for its occupant to interact with Captain Jordan. Its technology is beyond anything we've seen before, with the possible exception of other alien artifacts recovered in New Mexico."
Thomas shook his head in disbelief. "This is insane. You're suggesting some kind of alien conscription? Who are these beings? What do they want?"
"That's what we're trying to determine," Faraday replied. "And why your complete account of last night's events is critical. Every detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem."
Carol made a decision. These people, whoever they were, knew more about what had happened to Hal than she did. Cooperation, at least for now, was their best strategy.
"We'll tell you everything we saw," she agreed. "But in exchange, I want full access to your findings. Hal Jordan is my chief test pilot and my friend. If there's any chance of bringing him home, I need to be involved."
Faraday studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Within reason, you'll be included in the information flow. But you need to understand something, Ms. Ferris. My organization operates outside conventional government oversight precisely because what we deal with exists outside conventional understanding."
"And what organization is that, exactly?" Thomas pressed.
Faraday's expression remained neutral. "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We monitor and respond to extraordinary threats and phenomena."
"Never heard of it," Carol said flatly.
"That's by design," Faraday replied. "Most people go their entire lives without needing to know we exist. But with recent events in Metropolis, New Mexico, Harlem, Monaco, and now here, that luxury of ignorance is rapidly disappearing."
Before Carol could respond, the door to the trailer opened and a junior agent stepped in, her expression urgent. "Sir, we've got movement. The Jordan family just arrived at the perimeter checkpoint."
Faraday nodded. "Bring them in. Carefully." To Carol and Thomas, he added, "This conversation isn't over, but I suspect you'd prefer to be present when I speak with Captain Jordan's family."
"You're not going to put them through that decontamination circus, are you?" Thomas asked, tugging at the stiff collar of his issued scrubs.
"Standard protocols have been adjusted given the circumstances," Faraday replied cryptically. "They'll undergo basic scanning only."
Carol fought back a flare of indignation. "So we had to endure the full car wash treatment, but they get a free pass?"
"They weren't at the site last night, Ms. Ferris. You were." Faraday's tone left no room for argument as he gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"
They were escorted from the trailer back into the desert sunlight, the midday heat now bearing down in full force. The operation had expanded even in the short time they'd been inside—more vehicles had arrived, additional equipment was being unloaded, and the perimeter had been extended with reinforced barriers. Whatever was happening here, the government was clearly escalating its response.
A black SUV with government plates was pulling up to the security checkpoint, dust billowing behind it as it rolled to a stop. Jim Jordan stepped out first, his attorney's bearing evident even from a distance. His normally immaculate appearance showed signs of strain—tie slightly loosened, shirt wrinkled from what had likely been a rushed overnight flight. Behind him emerged Jessica Jordan, Hal's mother, a woman whose quiet dignity had weathered the loss of her husband and now faced the possible loss of her eldest son. Both looked exhausted, worry etched into their features.
As Carol moved to greet them, Faraday placed a restraining hand on her arm. "Ms. Ferris, I should warn you. Whatever took Captain Jordan appears to be returning. Our monitoring stations have detected energy signatures identical to the one that took him two days ago, entering Earth's atmosphere within the last hour."
Carol felt her blood run cold. "They're coming back? Why?"
"Unknown," Faraday admitted. "But given the pattern of events worldwide, we're preparing for all contingencies. Once I've briefed the family, we have important decisions to make about your continued involvement."
Thomas had overheard. "Wait—when you say 'returning,' do you mean whoever was piloting that craft is coming back for seconds, or...?"
"No," Faraday said grimly. "The energy signatures are distinct from the craft itself. These are new entities, approaching Earth at incredible velocity. Five distinct signatures, converging on the western seaboard. Specifically, Coast City."
Coast City. Ferris Aircraft. Hal's home. The implications weren't lost on Carol.
"You need to evacuate the city," she said immediately.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Faraday cautioned. "A full-scale evacuation based on energy readings alone would create panic and potentially do more harm than good. We're monitoring the situation and have assets in position."
Jim had spotted them by now and was advancing with purposeful strides, brushing past a security officer who attempted to slow him down. Jessica followed in his wake, her eyes fixed on Carol with a desperate hope that made Carol's chest tighten.
"Carol," Jim called, his voice carrying across the compound. "What the hell is going on here? They're telling us Hal disappeared at a crash site, but won't give us any details." His eyes narrowed as he took in Carol and Thomas's attire. "And why are you wearing hospital scrubs?"
"Jim," Carol moved to meet him, embracing him briefly before turning to Jessica. "Mrs. Jordan, I'm so sorry about all of this."
Jessica gripped Carol's hands with surprising strength. "You were the last person to speak with him. What did he say? What happened to my son?"
Before Carol could respond, Faraday intervened. "Mrs. Jordan, Mr. Jordan, I'm Director Faraday. I understand your concern, but this is a secure government facility dealing with a potentially hazardous situation. I'll brief you fully, but first I need you to accompany me to our command center."
Jim's face hardened, his legal training asserting itself. "We're not going anywhere until we see evidence that Hal was here. For all we know, this could be some elaborate cover-up for military recruitment or classified testing gone wrong."
"It's not a cover-up, Jim," Thomas said quietly. "We found his motorcycle. His helmet. His phone. He was here, and then... something happened."
Jessica's composure cracked slightly. "Martin's helmet? He would never leave that behind. Never."
Faraday nodded to a nearby agent, who spoke quietly into his radio. Moments later, a technician approached carrying a sealed clear container. Inside rested Martin Jordan's flight helmet, preserved exactly as they had found it the night before.
Jessica moved toward it instinctively, stopping short when the technician subtly shifted to maintain the barrier of the container between her and the artifact.
"You can't even touch it," she said, a note of bitterness in her voice. "My husband's helmet. My son's most treasured possession."
"It's being analyzed for traces that might help us understand what happened," Faraday explained, his tone softening slightly. "I understand your frustration, Mrs. Jordan, but everything we're doing here is aimed at finding your son."
Jim placed a supportive hand on his mother's shoulder. "Then tell us what you know. All of it."
Faraday hesitated, glancing around at the increasingly busy compound. "Not here. Inside, please."
As they turned toward the command center, a sudden commotion erupted near one of the monitoring stations. A technician was calling urgently to her superior, pointing at readings on her screen that had the surrounding personnel looking increasingly alarmed.
"Sir!" Another agent approached Faraday at a half-run. "The signatures have accelerated dramatically. Projected arrival time has been revised from hours to minutes. They're moving at—" he looked down at his tablet, "—impossible speeds. Breaking every law of physics we understand."
Faraday's scarred face tightened. "Where?"
"Still on trajectory for Coast City. But sir, the energy output has increased tenfold in the last sixty seconds. Whatever these things are, they're no longer attempting to conceal their approach."
"Get me a direct line to the Pentagon and Coast City emergency services," Faraday ordered. "Initiate Protocol Cerulean. Full containment preparations." He turned to the stunned group. "I apologize, but our briefing will need to wait. This situation has just escalated significantly."
"What situation?" Jim demanded. "What's happening?"
Carol stepped forward. "Hal disappeared after investigating an alien crash site. And now something else is coming—heading straight for Coast City."
Jessica's hand flew to her mouth. "You think these things took Hal? Why would they come back?"
"We don't know," Thomas admitted. "But given the timing..."
"Sir," the agent interrupted, his expression now openly worried. "Coast City air traffic control just reported visual confirmation. Five objects, glowing red, moving in formation over the Pacific. They've grounded all flights."
The command center exploded into coordinated chaos as Faraday barked orders, personnel rushing to stations and communications channels opening across multiple screens. In the midst of it all, Carol felt strangely calm, the shock giving way to a cold clarity that had served her well in corporate crises.
"We need to get to Coast City," she said to Jim and Jessica. "Now."
Thomas looked at her incredulously. "We need to get as far from Coast City as possible. Did you miss the part about unknown alien entities?"
"If these things are looking for Hal, they'll tear apart Coast City to find him," Carol said quietly. "We need to be there to coordinate with Ferris Aircraft security, implement our emergency protocols. And if there's even the slightest chance they know where Hal is..."
"You're not going anywhere," Faraday cut in, having overheard her. "This entire area is now under lockdown."
"You can't hold us against our will," Jim countered, attorney mode fully engaged. "Unless you're formally detaining us under specific legal authority, which I strongly advise against attempting."
Faraday's expression hardened. "Mr. Jordan, I respect your legal expertise, but this is a matter of national—potentially global—security. The safest place for all of you right now is right here, under our protection."
"With all due respect, Director," Carol said, drawing herself up to her full height, "I'm the CEO of Ferris Aircraft. I have responsibilities to my employees, who are currently in the potential path of whatever's approaching. I have emergency response training and resources that could help save lives."
"And I have government resources that supersede your corporate protocols, Ms. Ferris," Faraday replied, though his tone suggested he understood her position.
Before the argument could escalate further, one of the main screens in the command center shifted to a live news feed. A visibly shaken field reporter stood on a Coast City street, the camera panning upward to capture what had drawn the attention of the gathered crowd behind her.
Five crimson streaks carved across the clear blue sky, their trajectories converging over downtown Coast City. Unlike shooting stars or conventional aircraft, these objects moved with deliberate purpose, slowing as they approached the city center. The largest of the five led the formation, its blood-red glow pulsing with an almost organic rhythm.
"—unprecedented situation here in Coast City," the reporter was saying, her voice strained with the effort to maintain professionalism. "Authorities are urging people to remain calm and stay indoors, but as you can see, these objects appeared so suddenly that many citizens were caught on the streets. There's been no official statement yet about—"
She broke off as the objects decelerated sharply, hovering now over the central plaza. The camera zoomed in, struggling to focus on the intense light surrounding each entity.
"Oh my God," Thomas whispered as the image clarified.
They weren't objects. They were beings—humanoid figures surrounded by crimson auras that flickered like flames. Even through the imperfect resolution of the news feed, their appearance was striking and disturbing. The largest, positioned at the front of the formation, had scarred red skin and a massive frame adorned with what appeared to be some kind of armor or uniform. Flanking him were four others, each distinctly alien in appearance.
"Facial recognition running," announced one of Faraday's technicians. "No matches in any database."
The beings descended slowly toward the plaza, civilians scattering in panic as they approached. Police had formed a perimeter, but their weapons remained holstered—a wise choice given the obvious power differential. The largest of the red beings—clearly the leader—touched down in the center of the plaza, the concrete cracking beneath his feet from some invisible force emanating from his presence.
"Audio coming through," called another technician, boosting the signal.
The leader raised his hand, and a hush fell over the crowd—not a natural silence, but one seemingly enforced by some power that emanated from the ring on his finger. When he spoke, his voice carried an unnatural resonance that seemed to vibrate through the audio feed itself.
"People of Earth," the being announced, his words somehow perfectly understandable despite his alien origin. "I am Atrocitus of the Red Lantern Corps. We seek the one who bears the green power. The one your kind call Jordan."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, confusion evident on their faces. Most stepped further back, but a few brave souls remained, phones raised to record what was happening.
One police officer cautiously stepped forward, his hands visible and empty of weapons. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you and your... companions to stand down. Whatever you're looking for, this isn't the way to find it."
The smaller female being with bat-like wings—Bleez, Carol would later learn—laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "They don't even know what a Lantern is. Primitive creatures."
The stocky, spherical being—Zilius Zox—floated forward, his grotesquely wide mouth open in what might have been amusement or hunger. "Can I eat one, Atrocitus? Just one? To send a message?"
"Patience," Atrocitus commanded, his attention still fixed on the gathering crowd. "I will ask once more, and then we will employ less gentle methods of inquiry." His voice rose, the crimson aura around him flaring brighter. "WHERE IS THE LANTERN?"
In the command center, Jessica's face had drained of color. "They're looking for Hal," she whispered. "Those... things are looking for my son."
Jim's expression had hardened into something beyond anger—a cold, focused determination that made him look suddenly much more like his missing brother. "You need to get every available military asset to Coast City," he told Faraday. "Now."
Faraday was already moving, coordinating responses through multiple channels. "Air support is eight minutes out. Special forces teams are mobilizing, but against unknown entities with this level of power..."
Carol couldn't tear her eyes from the screen as the scene continued to unfold. The brave police officer was still trying to de-escalate, his hands now raised in a placating gesture.
"Sir, no one here knows what you're talking about. If you could provide more information about who you're looking for—"
Atrocitus's patience evidently expired. With a gesture from his ring-bearing hand, a construct of solid red energy formed—a massive clawed hand that seized the officer and lifted him into the air. The crowd screamed, people now fleeing in earnest as the other Red Lanterns rose into the air, their own rings generating similar constructs of pure malevolence.
"If the Lantern will not come to us," Atrocitus declared, "then we will ensure he cannot ignore our call. The suffering of his world will draw him out."
With that, he released the officer, who fell several feet before being caught by the blue-skinned Lantern with tribal markings—Razer—and set down roughly but alive. It seemed less an act of mercy than a demonstration that they could kill at will, but were choosing not to. Yet.
Atrocitus turned to his assembled corps, his voice carrying clearly through the news feed. "Spread throughout the city. Find any trace of the green energy. If the humans resist, demonstrate the consequences of defiance. If the Lantern appears, do not engage alone. Signal the others." He raised his fist, the red ring glowing with malevolent purpose. "Let Coast City burn with the fire of our rage until Jordan reveals himself."
The four other Red Lanterns shot upward, streaking off in different directions while Atrocitus remained hovering at the center of the plaza, a crimson herald of destruction surveying what might soon become a battleground.
In the command center, Jessica sank into a chair, her face ashen. "What have they done with my son?" she whispered.
Carol looked to Faraday, whose expression had gone grimly professional. "You said the energy signatures were identical to what took Hal," she said. "Are these the same beings?"
Faraday shook his head. "Similar energy pattern, but these entities are far more powerful. Whatever Captain Jordan encountered at the crash site, it appears to have been only a precursor."
"They called themselves the Red Lantern Corps," Thomas noted. "Lanterns. Like what Hal was talking about on the phone—a green light, a ring."
Jim's expression darkened further. "You think my brother somehow got mixed up with... those things?"
"I don't know," Carol admitted. "But they want him badly enough to threaten an entire city. And based on what Hal told me before he disappeared, whatever he found might be connected to them."
On the screen, Atrocitus still hovered at the center of the plaza, his scarred face turned skyward as if searching the heavens. His voice boomed once more across the now-emptying plaza, a challenge and a promise wrapped into four words that sent chills down Carol's spine.
"WHERE IS THE LANTERN?"