PHANTOM : Cosmic Birth

The cyber trucks screeched in synchrony, decelerating by the airport, a squad of Federal Agents emerging from the enigmatic automobiles.

In the interim, Ron, Annabelle and Cassandra descended, elegantly from their luxurious Chrysler Turbine.

The hiss of jet engines reverberated through the tarmacs, airplanes taking flight and descending in synchrony.

The entourage marched through the spacious boarding room and counters, with a quiet confidence that gave away their bewildering legitimacy, making their way outdoor.

Bypassing numerous aircrafts, varying in shape and size, the team ambled through the tarmacs, led by the artful Brad Smith and halting before a sleek, titanous aircraft.

The intricately gorgeous private jet glistened onyx, the emblem of the enigmatic agency — the atom symbol, was emblazoned on its titanium reinforcements, mirroring the badges of the Secret Agents.

"Awesome!" Cassie mouthed in awe, her voice barely above whisper, hazel irises, sparkling with mirth.

A grin was etched on Ron's lips, the young quantum physicist, though blown away, concealed his frenzy.

Annabelle was neither overwhelmed nor underwhelmed, being accustomed to exquisite airplanes.

Her father, Jodrell Avalon, being a travel agent, had flown her across the globe in aircrafts even fancier.

"Big deal," she muttered beneath her breath, rolling her eyes.

"Designed by your childhood hero, himself, the greatest genius on the globe," Brad shared insights on the history of the aircraft.

"No freaking way! Procyon?" Ron could no longer shroud his bewilderment.

"Affirmative!

X-7-911, nicknamed the Singer, courtesy of her rhythmic hissing engines.

One of the fastest jets in the world, taking a combination to Mach ten at a hundred and twenty thousand feet and yet, still falls shy of Master Ford's greatest masterpieces.

Some guy, huh?" Agent Brad Smith elaborated, his specificity rivaling his efficiency.

The muffled click of a capturing camera spalled the excitement in Brad's words, a rush of guilt, discoloring Cassie's face with a pinkish hue.

"My bad.. Snapchat?" she apologized with a mischievous cringe.

"Get in!" Smith called.

....

The interiors of the weightless craft were breathtaking, surpassing the beauty of the exteriors by a mile.

Annabelle sat beside Cassie, her AirPods fixed, tightly in her ears.

Her head nodded in synchrony with the fascinating tempo of the rhythm she intently streamed online.

Curious, Cassie inquired,

"Spotify?"

"Apple Music," Annie retorted, pulling one headphone out her ear, in order to comprehend Cassie's muffled cadence.

"Afro?"

"Ama!"

"Artist?"

"Buju.. Phenomena."

"May I listen?"

"Sure."

Annabelle passed one half of her AirPods to Cassie who seemed delighted by her awesome choice of music.

Simultaneously, Brad emerged from the cockpits, headed for the other compartment, switching to autopilot.

Cutting edge connectivity, highly sensitive sensory systems, the cybernetically enhanced aircraft sliced through the ethereal skies all by itself, with graceful aerodynamic precision.

Ron was glued to the screens of his laptop, hellbent on solving the mystery behind the school bombing when Smith emerged from the cabin.

"Come with me, Kid. It's important," the Secret Agent muttered.

Shrugging indifferently, Ron followed him to a secluded compartment of the aircraft, modified to a neon super-lab.

The young nuclear physicist gasped in awe at the dumbfounding brilliance of the futuristic marvel within the airplane.

Fascinating top notch apparatus, upgraded machinery, gimmicky touch screen, holographic computers...

The floating bastion did seem highly conducive for experimentation.

"What ya say, Kiddo? Awesome, innit?" Brad smirked, a hint of pride, playing out in his eyes.

"It's mind blowing, Sir," Ron replied, his astonishment palpable.

"Perfect!

"Then I guess.. our work begins."

Ron gasped at Brad's words.

"What you mean work begins?" his brow furrowed with suspicion.

"We had a deal, didn't we? Secret service? Retribution for experimenting on a cataclysmic weapon?

A.. doomsday contraption?" Brad emphasized on their agreement, utilizing rhetorics, his words, laced with sarcasm.

"Cassie was right, you're trynna manipulate me into doing I.O.N.I.S.' dirty job," the young genius crossed his arms in polite defiance.

"Wanna be a mad scientist? Then you better do it on governmental terms!" the Secret Agent was stern on his stance

Ron, infuriated by a mere suggestion of Bradley's kamikaze idea, felt a surge of guilt course through his veins.

The lives lost, the casualties recorded, the fates of the citizens who had soon learned the truth behind their bizarre genetic codes.

He did not trust F.O.R.N.A.X. but he understood that the intentions of the agency's board of directors were non extremist.

"Fine! What we building?" he pondered, inquisitively.

"YOU.. are building another molecular star, the Xenon Prismara!" Brad requested.

"What are ya, nuts? You saw what happened in Lagos!

You saw how much chaos that sphere unleashed on the city.

Have you any idea how dangerous it is in the wrong hands?

And if my calculations are correct, YOU are the wrong hands!" Ron protested.

"Relax, Kid! This ain't our first molecular star and neither would it be the last," Brad Smith retorted.

"We got experts, generational geniuses who have come up with lots and lots of theories.

We've literally got someone who creates wormholes, transporting astronauts to space in a split second.

Rockets are being considered outdated, as we speak.

But never have we ever met someone who could replicate a cosmic sphere.

Never!

Since you wanna play God, create the.. sun, moon and stars.. be my guest."

"But what do you guys want with it anyway?" Ron pondered.

"Trynna produce an army of superheroes?

Can you envision the havoc they would wreak on our planet?

You could barely control a handful, let alone an army."

"Relax, Kiddo.

We're not puppeteers, we just need to examine its capabilities.. as well as yours," Brad Smith elaborated, tossing a Vulnorox crystal to Ron, who caught it adeptly.

"Where did you get one of these?" Ron pondered, staring at the terrestrial rock in fascination.

"Space rocks! Asteroids? 70% of what we see on Earth doesn't belong to our planet.

Question I should be asking you is how did you manage to find one, yourself?" Brad indirectly interrogated Ron.

"My Mom's necklace. She handed me a handful of jewelry on news of my admission.

Turned out, the crystal engraved on it was smithed from Vulnorox, space rocks highly rich in quantum energy," teenage scientist, summarized.

"Would you look at that, kid?

Accident? Coincidence or Fate?" Brad's last words caused Ron to be lost in deep contemplation.

And soon, before he realized it, Brad had sauntered back into the cockpit.

With an abysmal sigh, Ron began constructing his quantum solar sphere.

Sparks flashing, deafening drilling sounds, blinding luminescence, the bizarre experimentations seemed to be going according to plan.

Extracting the quantum energy contained in the Vulnorox crystals, he bound the stabilizing properties in a mini electromagnetic core, similar to the anti-gravitational heart of a planet.

Studying the formation of Molecular hydrogen, the density and size permit absorption nebulae with optimism via a microscope, Ron carefully culminated nuclear fusion.

And after a couple hours, the satisfying smirk on the lips of the nuclear physicist was bathed in the mesmerizing specters of his molecular star prototype.

Miniaturized, spectacularly perfected, hovering over the thin rays of a mini fusion reactor.

Coincidentally, Brad emerged from the cabin, as though he had observed Ron's every move, blinded by the sphere's radiating luminance.

Shielding his sensitive optics with his dark spectacles, the Federal Agent pat Ron's head, in acknowledgement, expressing his sincere gratitude.

"I must confess, Kiddo, this is magnificent."

Ron sighed in reluctance, indeed he felt like a prisoner of his own mind.

"So uhh.. yeah, what's your wallet address?" Brad inquired, fiddling with his iPhone.

"Excuse me?" Ron was perplexed.

"Wallet ID? BTC?" Smith smacked his face in mock exasperation, his sarcasm, evident in his diction.

"Usually after a strenuous day at the office, an individual gets paid?

What do I look like to you, Kid? A slaver?

I ain't no colonist?"

Ron's eyes widened in dismay, locking gazes with Brad.

"Uhm.. Sir, you really didn't need to.." he stuttered with modesty.

"Just shut up, and airdrop me your details," Brad's words were blunt.

"Don't expect me to pay in Naira, do you? In that currency, the E.F.C.C. would be trailing you like a 'Gee Boy'."

"Thank you, Sir! I appreciate," Ron's tone was laced with gratitude, texting the Federal Agent his Wallet I.D.

"I should be the one thanking ya, Kiddo.

Creating a molecular star is unimaginable."

"Don't mention.." Ron's words were interrupted by his buzzing phone, as an alert reading ; "Ten Thousand BTCs," flashed passed his notification bar.

"How's it feel to be a Billionaire?" a benevolent grin was etched across the face of the Federal Agent.

"Kinda feels.. overwhelming," Ron replied, engulfed in disbelief.

"Great! Now, suit your self, cause we've arrived at our destination."

Brad's words triggered Ron's curiosity, he peered through the windows, dismayed by the fleet of colossal vessels seated atop the Atlantic.

"What the.." he muttered beneath his breath.