...the word hung in the air like a storm cloud.
"The Organization…"
Jayden's voice was low, barely more than a whisper. But it was enough. His friend looked up, startled by the weight in those two words. Jayden's fingers gripped the edge of his bed, knuckles pale. His eyes were fixed on nothing, lost in a sea of thoughts he hadn't dared to sail before.
His friend sat up. "You think they're connected to the envelope?"
Jayden didn't answer right away. He reached under his pillow, pulling out the now-crumpled envelope. He stared at the emblem faintly etched on the inside of the flap—a symbol neither of them had recognized before. Now it felt more sinister. Purposeful.
"They dropped me off here… like a delivery," Jayden muttered. "Paid to forget me. Raised in a house that was never home."
His friend frowned. "Do you think that man-the one who gave you the letter—is from the Organization too?"
Jayden shook his head slowly. "I don't know. But whoever he is, he's not just some stranger. He knew my parents. He knew I'd find the cipher. He knew I'd want answers."
There was a pause. The rain from earlier had stopped, leaving only the soft patter of leftover droplets falling from the roof.
"So… what now?" his friend asked.
Jayden looked up, a new fire in his eyes. The confusion and silence from earlier were gone, replaced by a quiet determination.
"Now… we find them—The Organization. We find out why they brought me here.
They sat in silence, the enormity of their new goal settling in. But this was just the beginning—and Jayden knew it.
PRESENT DAY...
Days have passed since the global meeting. The world was watching, waiting, but its leaders were paralyzed by uncertainty. Behind closed doors, they scrambled for answers and held endless sessions with advisors, military strategists, scientists, and intelligence units. Yet, nothing concrete emerged—only cautious murmurs and recycled theories.
Then, the media caught wind of the silence.
Whispers turned to rumors— whispers about secret international deals, underground mobilizations, and power plays disguised as preparation. The public grew restless. Talk shows speculated. Headlines flared with "World Governments Divided on Alien Strategy" and "Who Is Really in Charge?"
But one name kept resurfacing—NASA.
In the public eye, NASA was always the symbol of space, the spearhead of humanity's cosmic curiosity. Now, it bore the weight of an entire planet's hope. The pressure was unbearable.
Inside NASA's highest-security labs, scientists worked around the clock. Supercomputers hummed day and night. Analysts studied the beam that cured cancer, quantum physicists debated the origin of the alien vessel, and xenobiologists scrambled to decode the biology of a species no one had seen.
Still, nothing made sense.
No origin point. No logical path through the cosmos. No existing physics could explain the miracle beam.
And deeper still—past the secure floors and badge-locked corridors—sat the veterans of an old decision. A decision that now haunted them.
They were the ones who had once commissioned and later dismantled the secret space initiative mentioned long ago in hushed tones. The project that might have bridged the gap between then and now. If they had just held on a little longer... if they'd fought a little harder...
Regret tasted bitter.
Now, only one thread remained.
Project EOS.
It wasn't just a fallback. It had become their final hope, a gamble with humanity's future as the stake.
And this time, they would invest everything.
Because if Project EOS were to fail, Earth might not get a second chance.
The Shroud Beneath
It began as whispers.
Hidden corners of the internet flickered with strange chatter—threads that appeared for mere minutes before vanishing. Cryptic usernames, digital ghost trails, and forums coded in layers of encryption only the most skilled could find. It wasn't just paranoia. It was a gathering storm.
After the arrival.
After them.
While the world's attention was fixated on peace talks, miracle cures, and the dazzling hope of a new age, something darker began to stir beneath the surface. A countercurrent. A quiet, seething resistance.
Not everyone was ready to kneel.
Not everyone believed the aliens came in peace; some believed that cooperation would be humanity's undoing.
They called themselves many things—shifting names, sigils, and codenames like smoke—but one symbol began to appear more than others: a black serpent coiled around a falling star.
It started with small philosophies. A warning whispered in hidden chatrooms. But soon, it evolved.
Fragments of military-grade information began to leak into private hands. Former intelligence agents, rogue scientists, and ex-soldiers—people who had seen too much and trusted too little—began to connect. Their meetings were invisible to the public, and their leaders were unknown. Their motives? Masked in layers of fear, conviction, and a ruthless sense of purpose.
They had one rule: No unity with the unknown.
To them, the alien arrival wasn't a gift.
It was an invasion. Subtle. Clean. Bloodless—yet deadly in its allure.
And so, from beneath the surface of a fractured world, they began to grow. Patiently watching the leaders of Earth and waiting for the moment to strike.
No one knew how many there were.
No one knew who led them.
But they were there.
And in the dark, they were preparing.