Kale Yuren was having a dream about grilled cheese sandwiches and nuclear fusion when his lab decided to wake him up like a cranky toddler slapping pots and pans.
BZZZT.
The hum of unstable energy—something between a microwave dying and an alien mosquito—drilled straight into his brain. He sat up with a groan, blanket tangled around his legs, hair pointing in at least seven directions.
It was 3:17 a.m.
He checked his tablet. No alerts. No updates. No doomsday notifications. He scowled. "Stupid AI. I swear, if you're running background diagnostics again, I will uninstall your emotional subroutines."
The AI assistant, sarcastically named KarenOS, didn't reply. It had been passive-aggressive ever since he denied it internet access.
The hum grew louder.
Kale sighed, slid into his bunny slippers (a gag gift he refused to retire), and shuffled toward the stairs that led to his personal lab above the garage.
As he got closer, he noticed something odd.
There was light under the door. Blue light. Glowy, ominous, "probably from space" kind of blue.
He paused. Took a breath. Regretted that leftover taco he ate.
Then opened the door.
Inside, his cluttered lab looked like Frankenstein had a side hustle as a tech YouTuber. Soldering irons, quantum processors, robotic arms in awkward positions... and hovering above his main workbench—
A sphere.
Perfectly smooth. Dark as obsidian, but pulsing with golden, almost celestial lines. Symbols glowed across it—equations, alien runes, emojis? He couldn't tell.
It floated there like it owned the place.
"…Nope," Kale muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I've finally snapped. This is it. Too many all-nighters. Too much Red Bull. Not enough… sanity."
He reached for his phone to film it for his vlog. Because, if he was hallucinating, he at least wanted internet points.
The orb rotated slowly. A soft chime sounded.
"Welcome, Chosen One."
Kale froze.
"…Excuse me?"
The voice didn't come from his speakers. It came from inside his head. Calm. Ancient. Mildly smug.
He blinked at the orb.
"Chosen One? Me? Buddy, I eat cup noodles with chopsticks because I lost all my spoons. I'm not qualified for prophecy."
The orb glowed brighter.
"Touch to begin memory transfer."
"Oh hell no," he said. "That's how alien horror movies start."
Still, curiosity overruled survival instinct. Kale leaned forward and poked it with one finger.
POP.
Everything went white.
Then black.
Then inside-out.
And then…
—[System Boot: Quantum Mindlink v999.∞]—
Kale found himself floating in what looked like a screensaver from the '90s—endless stars, swirling fractals, a giant floating toaster in the distance (okay, that might've been his brain buffering).
Then—bam—downloads started.
Knowledge. Pure, distilled, reality-breaking information.
AI architectures that could simulate empathy. Fusion reactor schematics. Blueprints for something called a quantum-mana field extractor. Equations that solved climate change, energy shortage, and why socks vanish in the laundry.
It was like someone took the entirety of Wikipedia, sprinkled it with LSD, and poured it directly into his cerebrum.
"Hello, younger me."
The voice was… his own. But older. Deeper. And slightly dramatic, like someone who watched too many space operas.
"You're going to have questions. Like why you suddenly know seventeen ways to hack reality, or why your kitchen AI is now terrified of you. The short answer: aliens. The longer answer: aliens with a time machine, an artifact I buried, and our collective inability to mind our own business."
Kale spun in the void, blinking.
"I'm you. From the future. Humanity is screwed. I sent this orb back because you're our only shot. Don't mess this up. And for the love of Newton—don't eat gas station sushi during world crises. Trust me."
And just like that—
SLAM.
He woke up on the floor, drenched in sweat, blinking at the ceiling fan.
His clock read 3:21 a.m.
He'd been out for four minutes.
The orb still floated, now completely silent. The symbols were gone. The hum had vanished.
Kale groaned and rolled over.
"Okay," he wheezed. "Mental breakdown. Or multiversal download. One of the two."
He looked into the mirror behind his lab sink.
His pupils had changed—blue circuitry flickered faintly inside his irises.
"Well, that's definitely new. And horrifying. Cool, though."
Later That Morning
After three cups of coffee and one existential crisis, Kale did what any sane person would do in his position.
He called Jenna.
She picked up on the second ring, bleary-eyed and chewing on a pen. "Kale? You better be dying or offering me pizza."
"I found an alien orb in my lab, touched it, blacked out, and now I know how to build a quantum reactor using duct tape and bad decisions."
She blinked. "...Okay. That's better than pizza."
"I also might be talking to myself. From the future."
"Still better than pizza."
"Jenna, I think I downloaded humanity's last hope from a time-traveling space rock."
She stared at him through the screen. "...I'll be there in ten."
Ten Minutes Later
Jenna Aoki—his longtime research partner and only surviving voice of reason—stood in his lab with arms crossed and eyebrows doing gymnastics.
The orb was still there.
Quiet. Innocent. Hovering like a smug lamp.
She circled it like a cat eyeing a suspicious Roomba.
"So… this gave you future knowledge?"
"Yes."
"And now you know how to build, quote, a 'mana-reactive AI operating system?'"
"Yes."
"And it talks to you?"
"It did. Now it's doing the silent treatment."
"Like your ex."
"Uncalled for."
She squinted. "Well. The good news is, this is either the best scientific discovery in human history… or a very elaborate psychotic episode."
"I'm hoping for discovery."
Jenna cracked her knuckles. "Then let's start testing. Build the smallest thing you remember from the data. Something low risk. No death rays."
Kale nodded. "Right. I'll recreate the quantum memory-threading algorithm from the OS design. Should only take a few hours."
"Good. I'll monitor the orb for any sign of energy spikes, cryptic humming, or signs it's learning TikTok dances."
Kale paused. "...What if this is the start of a multiversal escalation?"
Jenna smirked. "Then let's make sure our timeline wins."
Elsewhere, Far Above Earth
Inside an observation station cloaked in quantum fog, a console flashed red.
The Guardian turned toward the display.
"Origin signal detected," the AI whispered. "Chrono-key activated. Earth-Prime has begun... recursion."
The Guardian sighed. "So soon."
"Shall we notify the Collective?"
"Not yet," the Guardian said, eyes narrowing. "Let's see what this 'Kale Yuren' does first."