In Nigeria, 1973, at a mining site in Ogun, a coastal town resting above the ocean, they were drilling for crude oil from deep beneath the water. A lone miner monitored the gauges, pressed buttons, and worked the engine while the machine rumbled on.
Suddenly, the process halted.
He'd hit an obstacle.
He grabbed the radio and called his superior.
"Oga! I've met something under the water—an obstacle is blocking the mining process. What should I do?"
"Extract it. Let's see what it is."
The object was pulled out of the ocean and placed carefully on the boat. The man pitched it onto the deck using levers and ropes. When they finally got a look at it, they stood frozen.
It was a long, rectangular box, thick and smooth, made entirely of iron. It had the size of a coffin—but perfectly rectangular, no hinges, no bolts, no marks.
"It's heavy," the man muttered.
Oga walked closer and examined it.
"This is very heavy… it would cost a lot of money."
He scoffed.
"But it's a pity it's not made of gold. If it was gold, I would've sold it immediately. This iron... it's not that valuable. And I don't even know how to machine it."
So they left it.
The box sat there for three months. Unused. Untouched.
When it was time to take a break and return home, the man who found it approached Oga.
"Since we're not using it here... can I take it home?"
"Take it. If you can carry that monster, it's yours."
He was 25 then.
He brought it home, laid it like a trophy in his garden, and moved on with life.
---
Time passed.
Days became months.
Months became years.
Years melted into memory.
Time flew like the blink of an eye.
---
By the time he turned 65, Kehinde had built a steel and ironworking company of his own. His curiosity still burned. The box had not rusted. Not a scratch. Not even a fade.
He secretly brought it to his company.
Quietly. Alone.
He tried everything on it.
He heated it.
He hammered it.
He attracted it with magnets.
He dropped weights on it.
He fired flames at it.
He tried to melt it.
Nothing worked.
The metal refused to yield.
He never told his workers.
Only he knew it was there.
Hidden at the back of his factory.
---
Two years passed.
Then came a group of new interns—students from various universities.
Among them was a chemical engineering student with sharp eyes and deeper curiosity.
He noticed the strange, elegant box standing silently in a corner.
He approached a nearby worker and asked,
"Sir… what's that box made of?"
The worker ignored him.
The next day, the student walked straight to Oga Kehinde.
"Sir, that box at the back… what is it? What's it made of?"
Oga looked at him quietly. Then said:
"If you can penetrate it… go ahead. Then come back and ask me."
---
That night, the student stayed back after hours.
Alone with the box.
He tried:
A grinder
A hammer
Magnetic pull
Heat
Weight
Force
Still… nothing. Not a scratch.
Then he remembered:
He was a chemical engineering student.
He began experimenting.
He tried mild acids.
Then stronger ones.
Then he mixed different compounds over several nights.
Finally, after almost a month, he created a powerful acidic compound known to dissolve even the toughest metals—aqua regia, a blend of nitric acid and hydrochloric acid.
He applied it carefully.
After one more long night of testing…
He saw it.
A dent.
Tiny.
Minuscule.
But definitely there.
He leaned closer.
"I actually did it."
He laughed quietly, not knowing—
He had just done something.
Something… wrong.
Something strange.
Something that shouldn't have happened.
He had no idea what he had triggered.
---
Excited, he ran to Oga.
"Oga! I made a dent in that box!"
Oga blinked.
"You did? You sure?"
"Yes sir! I saw it clearly!"
"Then can you continue?"
The student hesitated.
"No… I don't know. After that dent… it just stopped reacting. I've tried, but nothing works anymore. I don't think this thing is natural. I think I need to consult someone... maybe even a doctor."
---
After the day's work, he packed his bag and went home.
He kicked off his shoes, tossed his bag on the chair, and called out:
"Mommy! I don come o! Daddy, I'm back!"
He entered his room.
Night had fallen.
He took out his books, sat down at the table, and began reviewing his notes.
Then… something felt off.
His bulb was flickering.
"This bulb never blinks," he said, confused.
He stood up, checked the wires, removed the bulb, and placed it back.
Still flickering.
"Maybe it's general," he said and pulled open the curtain.
He looked at the street.
Every other house's light was normal.
Only his was blinking.
KRA-KA-BOOM!!!
Thunder struck.
And for a brief second—a blue light flickered behind him.
He turned. Nothing was there.
Silence.
He blinked. Closed the curtain. Sat down.
Stared at the flickering bulb.
"Tch. Nigerian products n
owadays," he muttered.
And continued reviewing...
Unaware that something had begun.