Jake and Jane walked home in mutual silence, an invisible boundary keeping them from clashing. Not out of peace—but exhaustion. Neither had the energy to spark a new argument.
Once home, Jane headed upstairs, grabbed a quick shower, and put on a pair of faded jeans and a black-and-white striped long-sleeved shirt—one of those oversized types that swallowed her hands. Her expression was flat, unreadable, as she descended the stairs with the weight of a dozen unasked questions pressing behind her eyes.
As she reached for the remote on the living room couch, another hand gripped the opposite end at the same time.
She blinked.
Jake blinked.
Neither had noticed the other walk in.
"I ain't got time for this. I got here first," they both said simultaneously.
"No, I was here first. The remote's mine, idiot."
"Just let go already!"
"Stop using my words against me!"
Each word came out in perfect sync. After a beat, they both sighed deeply, still holding the remote.
Jane raised her free hand and pointed to herself.
Jake shook his head and pointed to his own chest.
The argument continued silently now—just gestures and glares, a mime war on the living room.
Then the front door swung open.
Carl and Carly walked in, laughing about something neither of the other two could hear.
They paused at the doorway, staring at the standoff in front of them.
"Hey," Carl greeted casually.
"What's up?" Carly added, smirking.
Jake and Jane snapped their heads toward them, blurting out in perfect unison, "How are you both getting along?!"
Carl and Carly shared a look, eyebrows raised.
"What's going on?" Carl asked, looking past them.
The answer was sitting right in front of him.
The TV was on.
And muted.
Neither of them realized they turned it on and muted it. The News Global channel glowing brightly.
The headline read in giant, all-caps text:
BREAKING: GLOBAL STORM—NO PLACE LEFT OUT
"That the storm from yesterday?" Carly asked, leaning in.
"Yeah… I guess so," Carl replied, uncertain.
Jane quickly snatched the remote and unmuted it.
"This," the anchor's voice echoed through the living room, "has officially proven itself to be the first truly global storm. Every region—from the U.S. to the furthest ends of all seven continents, the seas, and every island caught in-between—was struck by the same phenomenon simultaneously."
The anchor's smile looked strained.
"This unprecedented event—what some are calling The Storm of All Storms—was terrifying in scale, but oddly enough, left no casualties… and caused zero reported destruction."
The studio lights flickered. The anchor glitched for a second—his body momentarily doubling, like two versions were overlaid—then corrected itself as if nothing happened.
"Due to its force, satellite signals failed globally, energy distributions strangely halted, resulting in a total blackout. No weather footage. No satellite captures. Nothing but memory…"
Jane instantly muted the TV again and tossed the remote onto the couch.
She exhaled sharply and sat down. "I swear, I'm gonna lose it here sooner or later."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "How sure are you that you haven't already lost it just by being here? I mean you're already 'cra'... so what's left is 'zy',"
"Zip it." Jane snapped back.
Carl raised a hand. "Forget Ms. Michelle's whole whiteboard session—this still feels like a dream. None of it adds up."
"She said she used to be a scientist," Jake murmured. "Maybe your Dad will know something."
"I'll call him," Carl offered, pulling out his phone.
Carly fake-coughed. "Mom."
Carl rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's your business."
He put the phone to his ear. No answer.
Jake glanced over, wordless, but curious.
Carl shook his head. "Still nothing."
"I'm gonna grab some water," Carly muttered and wandered into the kitchen.
Carl kept trying. "Come on, pick up…"
"Guys?" Carly's voice echoed from the kitchen. "Uh… I think you should come see this."
They all stood and followed her into the kitchen.
"What is it?" Jane asked.
Carly pointed underneath one of the top cupboards. "I was just brushing my hand beneath it when I felt something there. I bent to check it out—"
Without thinking, Jane, Carl, and Carly all bent their heads at the same time—and their foreheads collided with a thunk.
"Ow!" they all muttered, pulling back and rubbing their heads.
Jake chuckled from the doorway. "Dimwits."
Jane glared over her shoulder. "Why don't you come check it out then, Mr Perfect?"
Jake shrugged but walked over anyway, bending next to them and peering beneath the cupboard.
His smirk disappeared.
"Well," he muttered, "that's… definitely not supposed to be there."
Scratched into the base wood, barely visible unless you were looking for it, was a strange series of etched letters and numbers:
Seeing this means you're on time.
Start before it's too late.
Tye hdiitd edhteoniot atnhppaende.
.....
19.5.1.18.3.8 20.8.5 18.15.15.13 6.15.18 13.15.18.5
...
Jake read it aloud, voice low. "Seeing this means you're on time. Start before it's too late… and some other cryptic junk... numbers too."
"What?" Jane pushed him lightly to the side. "Move."
She scanned the message, eyes narrowing.
"Well, say something, smarty pants," Jake teased, raising a brow.
Jane slowly rose back up. "He's not completely wrong. The numbers are probably code. The sentence above it though... seems scrambled."
Jake's teasing grin vanished. He glanced back at the message, a little serious. "Carl. Get something to write it down. This wasn't random—someone left this for us."
Carl nodded, already moving. He returned with a spiral notebook and a pen, tilting as he carefully copied the entire message down.
"It's a cipher. Clearly a message," Jane muttered, arms folded.
"Well, who the hell said it was a chemistry assignment?" Jake muttered and Jane glared.
Carly, still sipping her water, frowned. "Okay but… how do we know this isn't just, like, a prank? Or part of the cupboard's design? Some weird cabinet company Easter egg?"
All eyes turned to her. Her voice trailed off as the stare-down hit her full force.
"Uh… well… yeah. Gonna take my water and just, uh—" she spun and walked out of the kitchen.
"Done," Carl announced, holding up the page.
"Good. Everyone copy it down," Jake said, eyes locked on the note. "And tonight—we figure it out."
"Agreed," Jane nodded, her usual sharp tone now shaded with unease.
Meanwhile...
Oak Ridge, Tennessee – Oak Ridge National Subsurface Lab (Echo, Site-9)
Agent Samsa walked down the reinforced corridor, his boots clanking softly on metal grates. He was moments from stepping out when he noticed a coffee mug on the floor, just near by the corner.
He squatted down and picked it up. "Shouldn't be checking this," he muttered, "but I'm—"
His fingers recoiled slightly—the mug was warm. He turned it, sniffed.
Fresh.
He pressed a button on the collar of his jacket. "Command, we might have someone in the subsurface section or above. Block all exits above. Lockdown Protocol."
A few other agents nearby perked up as Samsa stood, drawing his sidearm.
"Boys—Check every corner, even the ones you already cleared. We got someone here... I hope."
A female agent leaned out from behind a corridor wall. "There are girls here too, y'know" Some other females also mumbled in approval.
"Yeah, yeah, my bad," Samsa replied with a crooked grin. "Stay frosty."
Above ground, the thick blast doors covering Echo Site-9 were now surrounded by armed FBI units. A helicopter circled overhead. There was no way out—at least, not by normal means.
But some distance beyond the lockdown perimeter, hidden behind a cluster of trees, stood a figure.
He wore a faded blue hoodie jacket, the hood casting shadows over his face. In his hands, he held a pale white mask—two black X's where the eyes should be, and a sinister, carved grin stretched across the lower half.
"Humanity…" the figure whispered, tilting the mask in his hands. "…It's own death sentence."
He slipped the mask on.
"This fractured world... from it's remains, I will make the per—."
Click.
The sound of a gun cocking came from behind him.
"Put your hands up. Turn around slowly," an FBI officer commanded, weapon trained.
The masked figure obeyed. He raised his hands calmly.
"It's rude, you know," a voice came from behind, "to interrupt someone during their self confrontation."
He turned around—and nearly dropped his weapon.
The same masked figure stood behind him.
His head whipped back to where the original had been. Still there. Arms raised.
Then he heard a whisper.
"Relax, you're not loosing it...At least not yet."
He looked up—a third version of the masked man perched on a thick tree branch above, legs casually swinging.
He staggered back, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Three versions. No movement. No warning.
Then it went black.
The officer blinked and found himself in a void—no light, no sound. Nothing but cold.
Hands reached out from the ground, ghostly and skeletal, grabbing his arms, his legs, his face. He screamed, trying to break free as the invisible force dragged him downward. Into the ground. Into something else.
He felt like he was being swallowed by the earth itself.
Then—
"Hey! Hey, calm down!"
He blinked, suddenly back on his knees in the forest. Sweating. Gasping for air.
His colleague stood above him, shaking his shoulders. "You alright?! What happened?"
The officer shook his head. "I... I saw... I don't know..."
Back in the trees, farther inside—far from the rest, the masked figure reappeared—watching silently.
"Pathetic," he whispered.
Then he glitched, before disappearing entirely.