Inside a shop on a Los Angeles commercial street.
A heavy-set teenager with blonde curls clutched a camcorder, bragging to his friends about his new gear.
BOOM!
The front windows shattered instantly. Outside, cars were tossed like toys by a violent shockwave.
"Oh my god!" The boy's friend dove under a table, shielding his head.
But the "Camera Kid" wasn't afraid. He was energized. He hit record and sprinted out the door, sensing the scoop of a lifetime. "Fire! Someone call 911!"
The street was a theater of chaos. Screeching brakes and panicked pedestrians filled the air as people dodged falling debris. Some tried to call for help, but cell service was dead—the "meteor" had seemingly vaporized the local signal.
"Move! Get out of the way!" The kid shouted, dodging shoppers as he ran toward the impact site. "This is bigger than Armageddon! I swear, things are exploding everywhere!"
He reached the epicenter: a shop with a gaping hole in its facade and a snapped neon sign. A deep, smoking crater sat in the middle of the floor.
"Whoa, look at the size of that!"
"Did you see it? It didn't just fall, it flew in!"
The kid aimed his lens into the dark pit. "Big news, guys! Check out this surprise—a meteor crater! It's too dark to see much, but man... I hope this shop owner has meteor insurance, or he's losing his shirt today."
The four impacts were scattered across the city: one in the commercial district, one in the LA Stadium, one in a private mansion's pool, and the last—and most significant—behind the LA Art Museum.
"Hurry up, Mikaela!"
On the hill behind the museum, Sam pulled Mikaela up the steep slope. Below them, a long, scorched trench cut through the dirt, as if something had belly-flopped into the earth. At the end of the furrow sat an object that looked less like a rock and more like a high-tech escape pod.
It was several meters long, cast in an ancient, burnished bronze metal. Strange, geometric runes covered its surface, humming with a faint, rhythmic energy.
"What is that?" Sam whispered, staring at the metallic pod.
"I don't know," Mikaela replied, her voice trembling. She had a feeling it was connected to the machines.
As they watched, the 2007 Camaro rolled up silently behind them. Honk!
"He wants us to get in." They shared a look and slid back into the leather seats.
As the car pulled away, a sharp clank echoed from the bronze pod. The sound of shifting gears grew louder, like something was breaking out of its shell. By the time the Camaro cleared the hill, a ten-meter-tall silver-white robot had unfolded itself, scanning the horizon.
A few minutes later, on a nearby highway, a heavy-duty Peterbilt truck with a distinctive red-and-blue flame paint job rumbled past. The silver robot watched it, a blue light scanning the vehicle from bumper to hitch. In a blur of shifting metal, the silver giant vanished, replaced by a twin of the heavy truck—only this one looked factory-new.
Similar scenes played out across the city. A grey-black robot climbed out of a mansion pool; a three-meter-tall medic smashed through the glass of a car dealership. Only the commercial district site was proving difficult.
"What's in there?"
The Camera Kid was leaning over a fence, trying to spot a shape in the trees near the crater. "I think there's something in that tree!"
"You sure, dude?" his friend asked, panting.
Whoop-whoop!
A fleet of yellow pickups with flashing rescue lights roared onto the scene. The Los Angeles Emergency Management Agency (LAEMA) had arrived. Firefighters began clearing the area, ending the kid's documentary.
"Aww, man! Why are you guys so fast tonight?"
What the kid didn't know was that NASA had flagged these impacts thirty minutes ago. The city's emergency teams had been on max alert before the first pod even touched the ground.
Rose City Military Base: Nevada
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY'RE GONE?!"
A roar echoed through the base's guest quarters. President Mitchell slammed a folder onto a desk, his face a mask of fury. He had just received the report: all four impact sites were empty. No rocks, no debris—just holes in the ground.
Mitchell felt like the world was slipping through his fingers. First the overseas bases, then the hack on Air Force One, and now meteors that could get up and walk away.
"It's one thing after another," he muttered, rubbing his temples. His blood pressure was spiking again.
His secretary quickly pulled a bottle of pills from a drawer. "Take these, sir. Deep breaths."
After a moment, the President leaned back. "Any word on the mole from Air Force One? Did the Secret Service find the spy?"
The secretary hesitated. "Director Evanson hasn't reported in yet, sir. It's been twenty hours, but—"
"I don't want 'buts'!" Mitchell snapped. "Tell Evanson he has until tomorrow. I want a head on a platter!"
The disappearance of the meteors was only the beginning.
In the high vacuum of orbit, a massive satellite—Soundwave—shifted its sensors toward Los Angeles.
At the Black Canyon Dam, armed helicopters took off into the night.
Over the Atlantic, a Super Stallion helicopter with the tail number 4500X—Blackout—approached the coast. And over Washington D.C., a Silver Fox interceptor—Skygnaw—continued its silent vigil.
The board was set.
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