Miller opened his mouth, prepared to speak, but an automated message began saying: “At the tone, please leave a detailed message…” He grunted and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for it to finish its aggravating spiel. Finally, it ended.
The phone beeped.
“Alright Lewis, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I’ve stumbled onto something, and it’s big. I don’t know if I have much time before they find me, but if anything happens to me I want you, no matter what you do, to stay away from–”
It happened very quickly, so quickly Miller was surprised he was able to take it all in. A pair of headlights launched out at him from the left side of the road just up ahead. He jerked the wheel to the right as hard as he could. The highway was raised up here, and a guardrail separated the pavement from a steep hill that went down about twenty feet. The front of Miller’s car plowed into the railing at an angle, the impact causing his thumb to press down on the End Call icon before the device slipped free from his hand entirely. The next thing he knew, there was a hideous screech of metal as the railing gave way, scraping along the sides of the car as it kept going. The wheels lost contact with the ground, and for a moment the entire vehicle sailed through open air. Miller felt himself float upwards, suspended by his seatbelt.
Then the car hit the ground.
Because of the angle, the inertia compelled it forward, spinning and twisting end over end as it violently tumbled across the terrain. The airbags deployed and Miller squeezed his eyes tightly shut as glass cracked all around him and a horrible pain shot through his right leg. Finally, the wreck lurched to a halt on its side, then fell back onto its roof, wobbling slightly before remaining still.
Miller slowly opened his eyes. His face was covered in blood and he felt light-headed. Had he just blacked out? If he had, it mustn’t have been for long. Coughing, he unbuckled his seatbelt and fell down onto the car’s ceiling. His entire body was racked with pain, and it definitely felt as if his right leg was broken. All the windows were beyond repair, but not shattered. He was in no shape to break the glass himself, so he feebly reached into his jacket to pull out the pistol.
It looked like a Glock, he realized. He hadn’t had time to thoroughly examine it when he’d grabbed it earlier. Checking the clip, he found he still had two bullets left. Flicking the safety off, he aimed it at the windshield and covered his ears with his free hand and other shoulder. Then he pulled the trigger.
The weapon roared and the glass pane fractured further but didn’t shatter. Only one shot left. Miller aimed again and fired. This time the windshield splintered into a thousand shards, which rained down onto the ground and clinked on top of each other. Keeping the weapon firmly in hand, he pulled himself forward, trying to avoid cutting himself in the process. It was no use. Miller clenched his teeth and wriggled his way out of the overturned sedan, wincing through the pain.
Once clear, he turned over onto his back and gasped for breath. The cold, desert night air stung his lungs, but he didn’t care. He felt like he could lie there forever, staring up at the stars. There were so many of them, he realized, this far from the city where light pollution couldn’t mask them. Infinite nebulas and supernovas waving at him from across the universe.
The sound of an engine brought him back to Earth. Grimacing, he looked to his right and saw a black Chevy Malibu pulling up to the opening in the guardrail his car had made. The headlights shone out from the top of the hill. He shielded his eyes, squinting to get a better look. The driver’s side door of the vehicle opened and a figure stepped out.
Miller’s blood ran cold.
What he saw shut the door and walk to the top of the hill was not human.
Whatever it was, it was clad in some kind of advanced-looking white spacesuit, like an astronaut’s, but from within its helmet came an otherworldly blue glow.
No, he thought. It’s not possible.
Slowly, methodically, the thing began making its way down the slope toward him. The blue light where its face should have been emanated outward, casting an eerie radiance on the dusty ground as it walked.
Terrified, Miller raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger. It was useless; he was all out. He began pulling himself back along the ground, muscling past the pain in his leg. The creature was closer now, almost at the rear of the wreck. He heard slow, inhuman breaths coming from within the suit.
He couldn’t move any faster. Exhaustion overtook him. The pain was too much, the air too icy, the shock of the crash finally catching up with him. Miller collapsed onto his back. The figure blotted out the stars above him, staring down and shining its blue light into his eyes.
“Please,” was all he could muster. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be spared or for it just to finally all be over.
The monstrosity answered with a sharp kick to his chest. He felt his ribs crack and he lurched up for air. It hurt to breathe. The astronaut-thing lashed out with its booted foot, again and again, each blow harsher than the last. On the fourth savage impact, his ribcage gave in as a shard of bone skewered his left lung.
Miller lay back in the dirt, wheezing. He coughed and blood spewed from his lips. His entire body shuddered, bracing itself for the end.
The thing looked down and tilted its head, either out of curiosity at what were to be his final actions or admiration at its gruesome handiwork. Then it turned and left, trudging back toward the hill and the black sedan beyond.
Miller didn’t watch it go. His eyes remained transfixed on the sky above him as he heaved and coughed blood once more. It was so awe-inspiring and beautiful that he immediately regretted not stargazing more during his life. Darkness crept closer and closer around the edges of his vision.
Slowly, the stars disappeared, and the sky dwindled to black forever.
PART ONE
NEW GAME PLUS
01
Desmond Lewis stepped out of the car and took a deep breath of fresh night air. Beyond a railing to his right, the valley stretched off below and the brilliant lights of downtown Los Angeles twinkled in the distance. He gazed off toward the skyscrapers and up at the clear night sky. There were a few stars, but for the most part, it was an endless dark canvas that extended in all directions, making the world feel small. It brought a smile to his face.
Jenna slammed the passenger door shut and sighed, clearly psyching herself up. “How do I look?” she asked, inspecting her black dress.
“Absolutely terrible.” He grinned. She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Come on,” he added. “They’re your parents. If anyone should be worried, it’s me. I’ve never had a conversation with them for more than five minutes.”
“That’s why they don’t annoy you yet.”
Lewis turned to the front of the house before them. It was sleek and rectangular, complete with the right angles and copious glass panes of ultramodernist design. The house was two stories high and had a three-car garage. He’d often dreamed of owning a place like this here in Beverly Hills, but as a tech journalist, it seemed a bit much for his current paycheck.
Maybe one day, he thought with a smile. Then he turned back to her. “Alright, how do I look?” Lewis took a brief moment to examine himself. A 26-year-old African-American, he was tall and lean. He wore the tailor-made navy suit Jenna had given him for Christmas a few weeks ago paired with a red tie.
“Handsome,” she said, then: “Wait.” In a few brisk strides, she reached him and began adjusting his collar. He glanced at her turquoise eyes and light-brown hair while she worked.