Two Months Later

The world had only grown stranger in the two months since the initial wave of building collapses. The oddities that had begun to surface in the immediate aftermath had now intensified, spreading like a virus through every corner of society. Governments scrambled to maintain order, scientists were grasping at theories, and entire industries were struggling to cope with changes that defied all logic and understanding.

Industries across the globe were reporting bizarre phenomena. In mining, raw materials were being pulled from the earth that were subtly—but unmistakably—different from anything previously seen. Ores were harder, denser, and exhibited strange new properties, making them difficult, if not impossible, to process using conventional methods. Factories found their machines malfunctioning as they tried to work with the altered materials, the metals resisting normal treatment or behaving unpredictably under heat and pressure.

In laboratories, chemists were confounded. Known compounds were suddenly behaving differently, and simple reactions that had once been routine now produced erratic and unpredictable results. Some chemicals refused to bond, while others fused in ways no one had ever seen. New elements—unknown to the periodic table—appeared in their test tubes, though none could explain where they had come from. It was as if the very nature of matter was shifting beneath their feet.

Botanists reported fruits that had become larger, more vibrant, but also more dangerous. Some plants produced spiked, weapon-like fruits that could puncture skin, while others bore produce that was irresistibly sweet and unnaturally nutritious. Farmers, once content with their harvests, now faced fields overrun with mutations—grains that grew too fast, trees that reached for the sky in a matter of weeks. Insects that once posed little threat had become aggressive and difficult to control, some growing in size, others breeding at exponential rates.

In zoos and wildlife reserves, animals were exhibiting similar changes. Zookeepers reported animals growing larger, faster, and reproducing at alarming speeds. Some species, previously endangered, were suddenly flourishing beyond their enclosures, while others developed strange, new behaviors—packs of wolves coordinating with near-human intelligence, apes mimicking complex human actions after only a brief exposure.

Ornithologists noted the most startling of these changes in birds. Worldwide, birds were singing with new levels of complexity, their songs weaving together in intricate patterns that no one had ever recorded before. It was as if their calls had evolved, becoming more than mere communication—almost like a language.

And then there were the people.

More and more instances of what should have been impossible were being reported by everyday citizens. Stories circulated of mothers not just lifting cars off their trapped children but hurling them across the street in moments of panic. A man who missed his bus had somehow outrun it—not for a short distance, but all the way across the city to his workplace, moving faster than any human should be able to. These weren't isolated incidents anymore; they were happening everywhere. But they were momentary, fleeting flashes of superhuman ability, lasting only seconds before the person returned to normal.

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No one knew how to handle it. Governments initially tried to suppress the reports, issuing statements to calm the public, claiming these were anomalies or exaggerations. But it had reached a point where nearly everyone had witnessed something impossible—whether it was their neighbor lifting a truck or their own hands moving faster than they should. Denial wasn’t working anymore.

Scientists, once confident in their tools and machines, were beginning to panic. Their equipment, designed to measure the fundamental forces of the universe, was no longer reliable. Readings were erratic. Lab instruments that had once provided definitive answers now produced gibberish. Test results couldn’t be replicated, and some machines stopped working altogether, while others worked far beyond their intended capacity.

Some early experiments suggested that the very fabric of reality had shifted, but no one could say how or why. The laws of physics seemed to be fluctuating, but without a clear pattern. What was certain, though, was that the world wasn’t the same anymore.

Religions around the world had descended into chaos. Some saw the changes as divine intervention—proof that the gods, or God, had returned to reshape the Earth. Others claimed it was the end of days, that humanity was being judged. Entire countries, already teetering on the edge of instability, collapsed under the weight of religious fervor. Martial law was declared in major cities as governments sought to contain the hysteria, but the military had its own problems. In places like Chicago, Seattle, and Los Angeles, civil unrest turned to anarchy, and the cities fell. The military established strongholds in other urban areas, enforcing strict control, but in the smaller towns and rural regions, looters roamed freely.

Strangely, technology—once prone to malfunction during the initial wave of collapses—was now performing flawlessly. Computer errors, network outages, and software glitches had all but disappeared. More bizarrely, certain devices no longer required power sources. Phones, computers, and televisions began running without being plugged in. Screens flickered to life without batteries or chargers, drawing power from some unknown source. Devices that had never been connected to the internet before were now accessing it freely, regardless of location or signal strength. It was as if technology itself was evolving, becoming something beyond human design.

Even nature seemed to have gone mad. Storms began rotating in the wrong direction—hurricanes spun counterclockwise in the Northern Hemisphere, and cyclones behaved unpredictably in the Southern. Volcanic activity, previously dormant or mild, had erupted in unexpected places. Old Faithful, the iconic geyser, was no longer reliable, sometimes erupting with violent force, other times lying completely still for days.

Out in space, the solar system had begun to exhibit signs of instability. The sun, normally a steady source of light and warmth, was producing strange, erratic solar flares that did not follow the expected patterns. They shot out from the sun’s surface at odd angles, sometimes in loops, as if bending around some invisible force. On Mars, titanic dust storms raged endlessly, and the Great Red Spot on Jupiter had quadrupled in size, its swirling vortex expanding at an unprecedented rate.

To the shock of scientists, the technology that had been sent into space—satellites, probes, and exploratory vessels—was now outperforming its original capabilities. Satellites that had lost connection years ago suddenly began transmitting again, with faster response times and greater power than before. Communication with deep space probes, previously spotty and prone to failure, was now crystal clear, as if some external force was boosting the signals.

The world had changed, and no one knew how to respond.

For most, it was easier to carry on with life, to pretend that the strange events were isolated incidents, something that could be explained or controlled in time. But for those paying attention—those like Elmore—there was a growing realization that whatever was happening, it was far bigger than anyone could comprehend. The strangeness was no longer something to be ignored. It was everywhere, in the air they breathed, in the ground they walked on.

And it wasn’t stopping.