“Is oxygen magnetic?” the professor screeched.
Ray Blackwell yawned, barely fighting the urge to slam his head on the desk. He looked out the window. It was a bright, beautiful day—perfect for fishing. Birds were chirping in a tree nearby. All of it seemed way more interesting than this stupid chemistry lecture.
Ray could never wrap his head around how anyone liked chemistry. It was just confusing. And even if you did manage to understand the pattern, there were exceptions. And those exceptions had their own exceptions. Yet his friend Brandon acted like it was the most thrilling thing on Earth—even more exciting than the latest Grand Hall 4 game.
“Mr. Blackwell, are you with us?” The teacher's voice yanked him back. Ray looked up to find the whole class staring.
“Yes, sir,” he said awkwardly as a few kids snickered behind him.
“Good,” the teacher replied, turning back to the class. “As I was saying, oxygen is actually paramagnetic. Every little atom acts like a tiny, tiny magnet.”
Ray sighed and flipped a page in his textbook.
The bell rang after an hour of painful chemistry and history lessons, finally marking the end of the day. Ray met up with Brandon in the lobby—Brandon had Biology instead of History.
Brandon was a skinny blond guy with glasses. Top of the class. Practically every teacher’s favorite. Ray, on the other hand, was far from it. Tall, fit, black hair. The only subjects he didn’t suck at were English and Astronomy.
Space had always fascinated him. The endless stretch between those stars. Was there peace out there? Or more wars waiting to happen? If he ever got the chance, he’d go to space—no second thoughts.
“Wanna come over for a Grand Hall match?” Ray asked as they walked to the bus stop.
“Nah. I’ve got a bio report due. On prairie grasses,” Brandon said, adjusting his glasses.
“Seriously? Grasses?” Ray gave him a deadpan look. “Dude, you’re really gonna ditch the new Grand Hall episode to write about grass?”
“Next time, Ray. I’ll come over for sure.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Ray rolled his eyes as they reached the stop and said their goodbyes. His house was just three blocks away anyway, and the stop was on the way.
He got home in about ten minutes, tossed his bag on the couch, and yelled, “MOM! I’m home!”
His mom, a blonde woman in her early forties, peeked out from the kitchen. “Welcome, son. How was your day?”
Ray shrugged. “Fine.”
“Don’t walk on the carpet with your shoes on!” she snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you—and your dad?”
“Sorry!” Ray said, kicking off his shoes and walking over to the shoe rack.
He was putting them away when he heard it. A weird beeping sound, followed by a swish—like something slicing through the air.
What the hell? Were planes flying from below today?
THUD.
Something crashed outside. In the garden. Sounded like it hit one of the pots. Ray rushed outside—and yeah, he’d been right. His parents were big into gardening, and the lawn was kind of a mini jungle. Neatly trimmed grass, a few trees, and rows of flowering plants in clay pots. But one of those pots was now shattered.
He sighed. His mom was gonna flip when she saw it.
But what even broke it?
He glanced around for any cats, but none were in sight. Maybe a rock? A stupid prank? He scanned the ground, and that’s when he spotted it—a glint of something metallic a few feet away from the broken pot.
It was a box. A small, metal box.
Ray blinked. Where the hell did that come from?
Did someone throw it? Possible. Or... did it fall?
He looked up. There was a faint streak in the sky—like a leftover cloud trail from a passing plane.
Could it have dropped from up there?
He mentally slapped himself. Yeah, right. Like random metal boxes just fall from planes.
“Should I leave it here?” he muttered, eyes still fixed on the box.
But what was it?
Curiosity kicked in, and before he could stop himself, he picked it up. It was sleek and cold to the touch, about the size of a lunchbox. The surface was covered in strange etched line patterns—like some kind of futuristic design. No lid, no latch, nothing... except a small red button.
Ray stared at it.
The button practically dared him to press it.
But standing here next to a broken pot with a weird alien-looking box in hand? Bad idea. If his mom saw this, she’d immediately blame him for the mess. And that never ended well.
So he made the smart call—he’d take it inside.
He crept back in, quietly shut the door, and tiptoed to the couch. His backpack was still there. He slipped the box into it, zipped it up, and swung the bag over his shoulder.
Just as he turned to head for his room, his mom walked out of the kitchen holding a plate of sandwiches and set it on the dining table.
“Ray, your lunch is ready. Freshen up and eat before it gets cold. I’ve got an important meeting, so I have to head out.”
“Sure, Mom,” he replied as she removed the kitchen apron she’d been wearing over her sheath dress.
“See you at dinner,” she said with a smile. Ray gave a quick nod.
He dashed up to his room and tossed his bag onto the bed. Within seconds, he’d changed into his casuals and bolted back downstairs. He washed his hands, then chugged down the sandwiches like he was on a timer. His curiosity was boiling over now. What did the red button do? What was that box?
A hundred different scenarios raced through his mind—most of them completely ridiculous.
The moment he was done, he skipped back to his room, pulled out the box, and placed it on his study table. He sat down and stared at it, eyeing the red button.
Should he press it?
A weird thought hit him—what if it was a bomb? What if pressing the button made it explode?
Or... what if it was something totally random, like a tiny stereo that played goofy music?
“Welp... let’s do it, I guess,” he muttered, pressing the button and immediately shielding his face with his hand—just in case it blew.
Nothing happened.
He peeked through his fingers. The box hadn’t moved. No smoke. No boom. No laser beams.
“So, it’s just a tin can,” he sighed.
But right then, something changed.
The etched lines on the surface started to glow. And before he could even react, the box began to move.
The pieces were shifting—clicking, sliding, rotating—as a strange buzzing filled the room.
“What the heck’s going on?” he said, wide-eyed, watching the thing rearrange itself like a puzzle solving its own mystery.
Ray had imagined plenty of wild possibilities.
But what he saw next?
Not one of them came close.
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