Chapter 2: The Ghost in the Shell

Kai's boots sank into the Martian soil as he ran, the coordinates burning in his mind like a brand. Three days. Three days to reach the Divine Core before Blackthorn. Three days to rewrite his destiny.

But fate had other plans.

A sandstorm swallowed the horizon—a roiling wall of crimson dust, howling like a wounded beast. He barely had time to seal his scavenged suit before the gales hit, reducing the world to a suffocating haze. For hours, he crawled blind, clutching the tablet to his chest. When the storm cleared, the screen was dead, its circuits fried.

No. No, no, no—

He slammed his fist into the sand. The coordinates were gone. The Core—the key to everything—lost.

"Is this a joke?" he shouted at the sky. "You bring me back just to torture me?!"

The wind whispered back, cold and mocking.

He awoke on Earth.

One moment, he was choking on Martian dust. The next—home.

Warmth. The scent of jasmine tea. The creak of floorboards under his father's pacing.

Kai's eyes flew open.

White walls. Posters of Einstein and SpaceX rockets. A bookshelf cluttered with dog-eared sci-fi paperbacks. His hands—smooth, unmarked—trembled as he gripped the bedsheets.

2028.

A year had passed.

How?

Memories flickered—a fever dream of collapsing in the storm, a voice chanting "Not yet," and a light so blue it seared his retinas. The Core. It had dragged him here, through time and space, like a puppet on strings.

The door creaked open.

"Kai?"

His mother stood in the doorway, her apron dusted with flour. Lin Xu—once a concert pianist, now a ghost in a suburban kitchen. In his past life, she'd died in the Boston Riots, trampled by a mob desperate for Awakening serum.

"You've been asleep for days," she said, her voice frayed at the edges. "The doctors said it was stress, but your father…"

She hesitated. Kai followed her gaze to the desk. His MIT acceptance letter lay open beside a half-empty mug, its edges stained with coffee rings.

"He thinks you're sabotaging yourself," she whispered. "That you're… afraid."

Afraid. The word curdled in his gut. If only she knew what he'd seen—cities reduced to glass, children with glowing eyes and hollow smiles, wars fought in the cracks between seconds.

"I'm fine," he lied.

Her hand brushed his cheek, calloused from years of gardening. "You don't have to be strong all the time, baobei. Not with me."

The petname—precious—nearly broke him. He'd forgotten how soft her hands were.

Breakfast was a minefield.

Dr. Liang Xu sat at the head of the table, his gaze sharp behind wire-frame glasses. Kai's father had always been a paradox: a man who'd named his son after the Chinese word for "triumph" but sneered at anything resembling sentiment.

"You missed orientation," he said, tapping his fork against his plate. "Dean Cole called. Again."

Kai stabbed his eggs. "I'll fix it."

"Fix it?" Liang's laugh was brittle. "You've spent months locked in your room, mumbling about 'end times' and 'preparations.' Do you think MIT tolerates delusions?"

Delusions. Kai's knuckles whitened. He could still smell the ozone from Liang's lab the day it exploded—a "gas leak" that had cost twelve lives. In another timeline.

"Leave him alone, Liang," Lin said softly. "He's been ill."

"Ill?" Liang's chair screeched as he stood. "This is cowardice. I didn't raise my son to cower from opportunity."

The slam of the door shook the walls.

Lin sighed, stirring her tea. "He's worried. We both are."

Kai stared at his reflection in the spoon. A stranger stared back—a boy playing at being human.

"What if I told you," he said slowly, "that I'm not who you think I am?"

She froze.

"That I've… seen things. Terrible things. And I have to stop them, no matter the cost."

For a heartbeat, he thought she'd laugh. Call a psychiatrist. Instead, she reached into her pocket and slid a key across the table.

"Your father's lab," she said. "He's been working late. Very late."

Kai's breath hitched. "Why are you—?"

"Mothers know," she interrupted, her smile sad. "Even when they don't want to."

The lab stank of ozone and regret.

Kai swept the flashlight beam over steel shelves cluttered with prototypes—a neural interface helmet, graphene batteries, a drone with Blackthorn's logo stamped on its hull.

Blackthorn. His pulse spiked. Since when did his father work with corporate vultures?

A desk drawer jammed. He yanked it open, and photos spilled out—blurry shots of a blue crystal fragment, its edges glowing faintly.

No.

His hands shook. The Divine Core. Here. Now.

A voice cut through the dark: "I told you to stay out of my lab."

Liang stood in the doorway, his face a mask of cold fury.

"What is this?" Kai hissed, holding up the photos. "Since when do you traffic in alien artifacts?"

"Alien?" Liang snatched the images. "This is classified research. Human research. And you've just signed an expulsion order."

"You're lying." Kai stepped closer. "This crystal—it's not from Earth. It's a pathogen. A weapon. And Blackthorn is using you to—"

Liang's slap echoed like a gunshot.

"Enough," he snarled. "Your fantasies end tonight."

Kai touched his stinging cheek. In another life, he'd have struck back. Broken bones. Burned bridges.

But he'd learned the cost of fire.

"They'll kill you," he said quietly. "Blackthorn doesn't hire scientists. They collect them. And when you've outlived your use…"

He mimed a trigger pull.

Liang paled. "Get out."

The park was quiet, frost glittering on the swings. Kai's breath fogged the air as he slumped onto a bench. Failure coiled in his chest—he'd lost the Core, alienated his father, and now Blackthorn was here, weaving its roots into his past.

A voice shattered the silence: "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Alice Carter leaned against the slide, her cheeks flushed from the cold. At sixteen, she was all sharp edges and sharper wit—a far cry from the woman who'd later tear holes in spacetime to save him.

"Maybe I have," he said.

She flopped onto the bench, her scarf smothering a laugh. "Dramatic as ever. MIT's really gotten to your head, huh?"

He studied her—the freckles she'd later scorch off in plasma fires, the chipped nail polish, the way her eyes crinkled when she lied. His Alice. Before the wars. Before the weight of the world carved hollows in her soul.

"What if I told you," he said, "that in three years, everything changes? That people will… evolve. Gain powers. And the world burns because of it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'd say you've been binging too much X-Men."

"Alice. I'm serious."

The levity faded. She fidgeted with her gloves—a nervous habit she'd never outgrow.

"Okay," she said slowly. "Let's say I believe you. What's the play?"

"We prepare. We find others like us. And we stop the people who want to weaponize this."

"Weaponize what, exactly?"

He hesitated. The truth was a grenade. But Alice had always been the pin.

"A crystal," he said. "Buried on Mars. It's the key to everything."

She blinked. Then burst out laughing.

"Oh my God," she wheezed. "You've lost it. Like, properly lost it."

He stood, frustration boiling over. "I'm trying to save you! All of you! Why won't anyone listen?!"

The words hung in the air, raw and desperate. Alice's smile died.

"Kai…"

A screech of tires cut her off.

A black van skidded to the curb. Men in tactical gear poured out—no insignias, but Kai recognized the gait. Blackthorn.

They found me.

"Run," he hissed.

"What—?"

He yanked her behind the slide as bullets peppered the bench.

"Stay down!" he barked, scanning for exits. The playground was a killbox—no cover, no witnesses.

Alice trembled against him. "Who the hell are these guys?!"

"The kind who don't miss."

A grenade clinked at their feet.

Flashbang.

Kai tackled her into the sand as light and sound erupted. The world narrowed to ringing ears and white static. Through the haze, he saw boots approaching.

No. Not her. Never her.

He reached for the power inside him—the spark he'd felt on Mars. It flickered, weak but there.

Crack.

The swing set ripped free of its bolts, smashing into the mercenaries. Alice screamed. Kai grabbed her hand and ran, blood roaring in his ears.

They didn't stop until her house loomed ahead, its porch light a beacon.

"What. Was. That," Alice panted, doubling over.

Kai leaned against the fence, his vision swimming. The power had cost him—blood dripped from his nose, hot and metallic.

"The future," he said.