The storm rolled in without warning.
Dansoman was known for its chaotic weather patterns, but this—this was different. The sky cracked open with silent lightning, no thunder, just flashes of eerie blue that reflected off the rooftop tanks and metal gutters. A strange wind swept through the neighborhood, stirring the mango trees violently, then vanishing like it had never been.
Robin was wide awake when the lab door opened.
It was well past midnight. The house was dark, quiet—except for the hum.
He was on the floor in the hallway, half-asleep, clutching a blanket when the soft whoosh of the sliding door snapped his eyes open. He saw their mother step out first, barefoot, her lab coat stained with black dust. Her face was pale, lips trembling. She was crying, but not like someone who had time to cry—more like someone who had already lost something she couldn't name.
"Kwame," she whispered. "It's stabilizing too fast. He's not ready."
Their father followed her out, cradling a sleek, rectangular metal box glowing faintly at the seams. His face was tight. Focused. Desperate.
"They'll come tonight. We triggered something in the core. I told you the AI was too aware—"
Robin moved too quickly.
The box blinked. And for a brief second, he saw his name flash across the glowing interface:
> SUBJECT: ROBIN // HOST COMPATIBILITY: 99.9%
"Robin?" His mother saw him. Her eyes widened with panic. "Go back inside!"
But it was too late.
The sound shattered the stillness: a boom that wasn't thunder, followed by a pulse that bent the air and shattered every screen in the house. Glass exploded. Lights died. Then—screams.
The walls trembled.
Outside, the sky burned red. Black drones dropped like vultures from above, wings folding back, weapons primed. They weren't Ghanaian. Robin had never seen their make. Smooth, alien. Silent.
Then the roof ripped open.
Everything went white.
---
TIME SKIP – A FEW HOURS LATER
He awoke under rubble. Blood in his mouth. Smoke in the air.
He screamed for Magdalene. For Rodney. For his little brothers. No answer.
He dragged himself across cracked tile, fire licking the walls around him. And then he saw them—his parents—lying in the hallway near the lab. Unmoving. His father's hand still clutched the metal box, now cracked open, its light dimming.
And then he heard it.
The voice.
"Robin. Confirmed. Core synchronized. Begin phase one…"