"How would you survive an apocalypse?!"
The question was directed to Quentin Reed along with a flat magazine that was slammed against his chest.
He blinked, adjusted his glasses, and looked down at the cover.
It was glossy and dramatic, depicting a decimated cityscape overrun with crumbling skyscrapers, fiery debris, and skeletal remains of what once was a thriving world.
Quentin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Oh, come on, Quent," his friend Daniel muttered, giving a comical look of exasperation. "Can't you at least pretend to be interested?"
Quentin took a step backward, letting the book drop back into Daniel's hands. "An apocalypse is laughably unlikely, Dan."
He adjusted his glasses once again, glancing sidelong at his friend. "There are countless reasons an 'end of the world' scenario just wouldn't happen. At least not the way popular media fantasizes about it."
"Really?" Daniel said sarcastically. "Why don't you tell me all about it?"
The two friends were walking down their usual path back from school, ignoring the knots of students loitering around the bus stops and snack joints.
Now having Daniel's permission to continue—even though he was going to anyway—Quentin went on as if he were a professor educating his protégé.
"Consider the resilience of humanity, for starters. Pandemics?" he scoffed. "Sure, they can be devastating, but look at history. We've survived them before. Even the worst outbreaks like the Black Death or the 1918 Spanish flu couldn't obliterate the human race. It's statistically improbable. And, as for nuclear war; mutually assured destruction makes it improbable, at least on a global scale."
Daniel stifled a laugh, but Quentin was in full swing now.
"Then we have zombies. Interesting concept, but scientifically unfeasible," Quentin continued, lost in his mental calculations.
"Dead tissue doesn't walk, Dan. It can't think or move without an energy source, and it decays too quickly. Plus, to 'infect' everyone, a pathogen would have to be both airborne and stable enough to survive various climates. Nature doesn't really allow for that combination."
"Mutually exclusive traits, you see?"
"I certainly do," Daniel joked.
They rounded the corner onto their street, but Quentin was just warming up. "And AI? If it ever gets that advanced, it would either see us as irrelevant and ignore us, or integrate peacefully, just like we've done with new technologies for decades.
"The idea that a super intelligent AI would turn on the human race is simply driven by our xenophobia." He downturned his lips. "Science fiction fluff."
"Alright, alright!" Daniel threw up his hands, rolling his eyes. "Can you chill? Jeez man, it's just a hypothetical, a fun one, even!"
"What logic is it testing?" Quentin asked.
"Huh?" Daniel lifted his brow at him.
"I'm completely fine with engaging with unrealistic hypotheticals as long as they're testing the logic of something realistic and meaningful."
His brows were low and his face was completely inexpressive. "I'd rather spend my time solving real-world issues such as sustainable food sources, renewable energy, and combating climate change. Thinking of ways to survive our present earth, not an earth that would never be."
Eyes to the sky, Daniel let out a long, heavy sigh, looking thoroughly deflated. "Man, you're no fun sometimes."
"I like to be practical. I think it's important to live that way as practical thinking is what helps us survive, all things considered."
He then looked at Daniel and smiled. "I also do it to get on your nerves."
Daniel gave him a quick glance and broke into a smile. "You dickhead." He shoved him playfully with his elbow and they both laughed it off.
He was used to it at this point. This was just Quentin being Quentin — a rationalist to the core, a relentless mind always speaking with logic and reason even when no one asked him to.
There was not a school term that Quentin didn't finish first in the class. And what was even more frustrating was that as big as his brain was, Quentin's head was bloated enough to fit it.
He was not one of those extremely intelligent people who were nervous or held back on just how knowledgeable they were, but rather he took pride in it.
He was pompous, straightforward and outspoken, refusing to reduce himself to the level of others simply because they refused to open a book and study.
Arriving at his own home, Daniel shook his head, casting Quentin a small, taunting look. "One day, something's gonna knock that ego of yours down a peg. And when it does, I'll be there to say 'I told you so.'"
Quentin rolled his eyes. "I'll hold my breath for that." He shook his friend goodbye and continued toward his home, his mind already darting to the calculus problem he'd been mulling over earlier.
Quentin's house was neat, a pristine two-story affair tucked into the quiet, leafy suburb of his town.
His family wasn't rich, but his parents had a penchant for order and cleanliness, making their home feel like a blend of a well-run library and a miniature art gallery.
Being his parents' greatest pride, they made sure that every wall bore evidence of Quentin's accomplishments — his academic trophies, science fair medals, and a framed article from the local paper praising him as a "genius in the making.
After taking a bag of chips from the fridge, he climbed the stairs two at a time, excited to put on his favorite debate show and yell at the screen at who was misinterpreting the other's point, strawmanning or committing the many other debate fallacies he had mastered.
Quentin was eighteen years old, and at that age, he had more awards and certifications than most adults would ever collect. He had never once tried to wonder why he was much smarter and different than most people.
'Someone has to be,' he would always say. 'For the commonality to be a commonality there has to be the presence of an exception.'
Quentin was simply built to excel, and this drove him relentlessly, his thirst for knowledge became insatiable.
When he opened his bedroom door, however, he stopped short.
There was a man in a strange black suit and dark glasses standing beside his bed, a gleaming suitcase resting by his feet.
Quentin thought that the man reminded him of the agents from the Men in Black movie franchise.
"Good evening, Mr. Reed," the man said calmly, as if this were normal circumstances. His voice was deep, smooth, and pleasant in a way that was not at all pleasing.
Quentin stood still. "You're in my room," he muttered.
The man tilted his head, a small smile stretching below his nose. "Wow. Calm and collected. You are not showing any evident signs of fear. Not many would react this way to an intruder."
Quentin didn't step forward or back; he kept his gaze steady. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my room?"
The smile remained on the man's face. "You're as impressive as they say. The trophies and accolades bedecking your home walls sing your praises. Regional math champion, state science fair winner, debate master, valedictorian-in-waiting."
His gaze swept over Quentin's shelves, which were filled with textbooks and models. "I must say, they weren't exaggerating."
"Who exactly are 'they'?" Quentin demanded. Presently, he was fighting to keep his composure, but his mind was whirring, cataloging exits, calculating the probability of escaping without confrontation.
The man chuckled. "My name wouldn't mean much to you, neither will the name of my employers. Let's just say I represent an... interest. An interest in securing the best for what our world needs."
"What our world... needs?" Quentin repeated. This was getting stranger and stranger by the moment.
At this point, running was extremely understandable and probably even advised. But he was too intrigued to move.
"You, Mr. Reed, are the perfect candidate," the man continued with a sharp and assessing gaze. "Bright, intelligent, young and driven, unhindered by irrational fears or fantasy. A mind like yours is a rare gem."
Quentin shook his head, biting back a scoff. He knew what this was. This was just one of those large tech corporations wanting to recruit him as an intern or consult. How many times was he going to refuse their offers?
"Listen, I don't know what you're trying to sell. I don't even know how you got in here, but I'm not interested. So unless you want me to call the cops—"
The man raised his hand, and, for the first time, Quentin noticed a small, spherical device cradled in his palm. It was metallic, like something from a sci-fi movie, glowing faintly with a cerulean light.
'What the—'
"Forgive me," the man uttered. "But I don't think you quite understand your significance."
Before Quentin could react, the man pressed something on the sphere. It instantly burst open and a blinding light exploded from it, flooding Quentin's vision.
He staggered, abandoning the bag of chips and his books as his hands clawed the air. "Argghhh!!!"
A sharp pain pierced his eyes, his mind swirled, his limbs went leaden, and every function in his body instantly ceased. Quentin fell to the ground.
'Wha... what is happening?'
During the final moments before he lost consciousness, he saw the man walk closer to him, and he thought he heard him say something.
"You weren't destined for this world anyway. The sequence of events required for your transmigration has occurred, and now... Polaris awaits you."