The warm scent of butter and spices drifted through the air.
"Michael! Dinner is ready, come eat now…"
His mother's voice echoed through the upstairs hallway, cutting through the faint hum of electronics.
Michael blinked his eyes open from where he'd been half-lying on his bed, one leg hanging off the side. For a second, he looked almost humanly lazy—the kind of exhaustion only an ordinary college kid could have after a long day of doing absolutely nothing.
Then he sighed, rolled off the bed, and grabbed his phone.
"Coming, Mom!"
He pocketed his iPhone and walked downstairs, bare feet tapping softly against the polished wooden steps. The glow from the dining room spilled into the hallway, warm and golden. The house smelled of paneer and butter, a mix so rich that even Michael—who could survive in the vacuum of space without breathing—felt his stomach growl.
When he entered the kitchen, his mother was sitting by the dining table, a gentle smile playing on her lips. She looked up, her eyes brightening the way only a mother's could.
"There you are," she said. "I made your favorite dish tonight—Butter Paneer. Here, taste this."
She slid the plate across the table toward him, the steam curling lazily into the air.
Michael didn't wait for ceremony. He grabbed the spoon and dug in instantly. "You're the best, Mom," he said between bites, voice muffled with food. "Seriously, this is divine."
His mother's laughter was soft, airy. "Eat slowly, Michael. You'll choke."
"Can't," he said with a grin, still chewing. "It's too good."
For a moment, the cosmic anomalies and devoured worlds felt impossibly far away. The kitchen light glowed softly across his face, catching in his dark eyes that—if someone looked closely enough—held galaxies turning quietly behind them.
He finished the first plate in record time, placed it down, and looked up hopefully. "Mom, can I get more?"
She chuckled, standing up with the practiced grace of someone who'd done this a hundred times. "Of course you can."
As she scooped another serving, her thoughts softened—He still looks the same as when he was a boy… but sometimes, when I look into those eyes… She shook the thought away with a small smile and placed the full plate back before him.
"Hehe~ my son really is the best, isn't he?" she murmured quietly, just low enough that Michael didn't quite catch it.
He demolished the second plate just as fast. When he finally leaned back, a burp escaped before he could stop it.
Both of them froze for half a second—then burst out laughing.
His mother pointed toward the counter. "Drink some water before you go back upstairs, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am." Michael saluted half-heartedly, grabbed the glass, and downed it in one go. The moment he set it back down, the warmth drained from his expression like a curtain falling.
Upstairs again, the door shut behind him with a soft click.
The playful grin vanished.
His eyes sharpened, posture straightening as if he'd stepped into another identity entirely.
"Clurs," he said quietly. "Switch to Model 98-US. Right now."
A faint chime answered, followed by a calm, feminine A.I. voice:
"Command confirmed. Executing in process."
The transformation began instantly.
The air hummed.
Furniture dissolved into thin motes of light—his bed flickered away, the desk folded in on itself like an origami sheet disappearing into shadow. Windows sealed automatically as the curtains flattened into sleek obsidian plating. The walls rippled, peeling away to reveal cold metallic surfaces alive with faint circuitry patterns.
In less than five seconds, the cozy human bedroom became a technological sanctum.
A massive cube-shaped machine stood in the corner, its surfaces glowing faintly with blue energy veins. Holographic consoles blinked to life, six monitors spanning the wall—each one pulsing with streams of alien code and Earth-based system markers. The low hum of fusion processors filled the silence.
Michael exhaled softly. "Perfect."
He stepped toward the cube. "Clurs, power on the Greston. Switch to main control and send the managing works to my D-76 desktop."
The AI replied smoothly, "Command received… complete, sir."
The center monitor flickered alive, filling the dark room with cold light.
[ Data received ]
[ Processing validity for security… ]
[ Data validity: Valid ✓ ]
[ Loading the data… ]
Lines of encrypted code blurred past the screen in alien glyphs and English alike. Then the monitor went black for half a second before returning—an intricate interface spreading across it, like a star map had fused with a command board.
Michael sat down on his advanced gaming chair—a chair that looked more suited for a starship than a bedroom—and placed his hands over the transparent surface of the desk. The moment his fingers touched it, a digital keyboard materialized beneath them, forming from light.
"DDS76IO.YUGH," he muttered, typing faster than human eyes could follow.
[ Command code received ]
[ Processing hacking protocol into all satellites… ]
[ Satellite G23 hacked complete ]
[ G31 hacked complete ]
[ G29 hacking complete ]
…
…
[ All 23,000 satellites have been hacked completely ✓ ]
He leaned back with a quiet hum, the chair adapting to his posture like a living thing. "You've got to love technology," he said with a crooked grin.
Reaching out, he flicked his fingers beside the desk, and a mouse shimmered into existence. With three quick right-clicks, another prompt appeared.
[ Generating all data from G27… ]
[ All files received ]
[ No traces left ✓ ]
He scrolled lazily through the flood of information—data streams that could drown governments, sensor grids that mapped the entire Earth in quantum detail. His face remained impassive, eyes moving too quickly for comprehension. In less than twenty seconds, he had gone through everything.
Then he stopped.
One file pulsed with a faint red glow.
"Hmm?" He tapped it open.
Images, reports, and real-time readings filled the screen.
A black hole.
Not just any black hole—this one was dangerously close. Barely a light-year from the Solar System. And right behind Mercury… a wormhole, stable and active.
Michael's lips curved slightly. "Oh… so that's what caused the sudden energy fluctuation earlier."
He tilted his head, scrolling through the data as if it were a casual YouTube video.
"That black hole might cause some trouble in the future… but oh well." He smiled faintly, eyes glinting. "I'll just close the wormhole for now. Those pesky beings from that small universe think they're invincible, huh?"
He snapped his fingers once—and vanished.
The endless void of space swallowed everything.
Michael reappeared floating just in front of the wormhole—a vast distortion twisting the fabric of reality like a wound. Space bent inward, dragging light toward it, forming a slow, spiraling glow that shimmered with dangerous beauty.
He hovered there, hoodie rippling slightly in the nonexistent wind, his hands in his pockets.
"Alright, big guy," he said softly. "Time to go back to sleep."
He extended his hand.
The reaction was immediate. The air—or what passed for it—rippled violently. Thunder cracked without sound. Lightning made of pure dimensional energy arced around his palm as the wormhole pulsed like a living thing.
Michael's black eyes glimmered faintly.
Space screamed.
With one calm gesture, he pressed his hand forward. The distortion collapsed inward, spiraling into itself. Blue arcs of energy snapped like whips as reality folded shut around it. The wormhole's surface shivered, then froze—encased in a translucent, cage-like layer that shimmered in a thousand patterns of light.
A beat of silence followed.
Michael lowered his arm and smiled. "That should do it."
He turned—and vanished again.
Back in his room, the holograms flickered slightly as the system adapted to his re-entry. He was about to deactivate the setup when a shiver ran through him.
Not fear.
Recognition.
An energy fluctuation.
One so immense that even the universe seemed to hold its breath.
The very space around him trembled. The holograms flickered, lights dimming for a fraction of a second.
Michael froze.
Then his eyes widened—an almost childlike spark lighting in them.
"Oh… that's new."
The power was unlike anything he'd sensed in centuries—dense, alive, and cold enough to make the edges of existence tremble. It wasn't random cosmic interference. It was a being. A presence that resonated across planes.
For the first time in a long time, Michael's heart gave a single, strong pulse.
And then… he smiled.
A slow, dangerous, excited smile.
"Well, well," he murmured, standing up from his chair. "After so long… someone who can withstand my physical powers, huh?"
The room vibrated subtly, reacting to the sudden shift in his aura. Lines of code on the monitors scrambled into static, trying and failing to process the raw data of his presence.
Michael rolled his neck, cracking it once. "Haha… finally."
The AI's voice hesitated, almost uneasy. "Sir… should I initiate defensive mode?"
Michael looked up, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Defensive? No, Clurs. Prepare popcorn."
A pause. "...Sir?"
He smirked. "I'm going to enjoy this."
The air around him bent. The lights dimmed. His form flickered once, twice—and then he was gone.
The sound of displaced space echoed like a distant bell.
Outside, far beyond the reach of stars and light, the universe trembled again.
A power unlike any before brushed across the cosmic lattice—vast, cold, and aware. Entire galaxies seemed to dim for a heartbeat as though they too feared to attract its gaze.
And somewhere deep in that darkness, Michael appeared—standing calmly, hands in pockets, black eyes reflecting the chaos of creation itself.
He wasn't nervous.
He wasn't afraid.
He was excited.
___________________
To be continued…