Chapter 1: The Dust
230 words
The sledgehammer hit the drywall with a satisfying crunch, sending a plume of gray powder into the stagnant air of the farmhouse attic. Jack Miller coughed, waving a hand in front of his face. He pulled his flannel shirt up over his nose. At thirty-two, his knees already creaked from years of construction work, but this renovation was personal. He needed to flip his late father’s house to pay off the estate debts.
"Cheap insulation," Jack muttered, squinting through the gloom. The particles danced in the single beam of sunlight cutting through the roof, shimmering like microscopic shards of glass.
He reached into the wall cavity to rip out the rotting studs, but his hand hit cold metal.
It wasn't a pipe. It was a heavy, iron lockbox, wedged between the joists. Jack grunted, leveraging it out with a crowbar. It hit the floorboards with a heavy thud that shook the dust loose from the rafters. No padlock.
He flipped the latch. Inside sat a single, leather-bound journal, preserved perfectly against the decay of the house. He opened the first page. The handwriting was shaky, frantic—his father’s handwriting.
“If you are reading this, OmniCore killed me. And they know I kept the proof.”
Jack’s breath hitched. He wasn't looking at a diary; he was looking at a hazardous material log that could change everything.
End of Chapter 1
