Chapter 1: The Monkey and the Gun

If you handed a monkey a gun, what would it do? It’d probably think about shooting the monkey king—so it could be the new king, get the best bananas, and have its pick of the females. Now, Michael realized, he was that monkey.

The image stuck in Michael's mind, both ridiculous and terrifying. His hands shook so badly he nearly knocked over his half-empty coffee mug, splashing cold dregs onto his textbooks. For a split second, he flashed back to his first high school swim meet—standing on the starting block, heart pounding, convinced he’d drown if he dove. That same sense of being out of control flooded him now, only this time, the stakes were cosmic.

1

The Dawn hovered in silence near Mars’s orbit, its engines humming with a low, purposeful energy. No one on Earth could spot it—not with their tech, not even close. Out there, it felt like the kind of ghost ship that would show up on a late-night History Channel show, invisible to telescopes and NASA arrays alike.

So... this is real.

Michael sat on the creaky wooden bed in his Ohio dorm room, staring at the flickering data stream on his laptop. His pulse thudded in his ears. On-screen, a basic interface read: Dawn status: Normal. Command reception: Michael (sole authority).

The radiator clanked to life, rattling the window glass, but Michael barely noticed. The laptop’s glow striped his ratty quilt, lighting up stacks of textbooks and a scattering of cheap coffee cups. Somewhere down the hall, a party thumped, muffled by ancient bricks.

He tried a simple mental command: “Athena, show the real-time view of the bridge.”

His hands hovered over the keyboard, but he didn’t need them. He just focused, feeling ridiculous—half expecting nothing to happen. But the screen flickered, and suddenly—

The view switched: a panoramic shot of the bridge. Through towering windows, Earth glowed blue in the distance, Mars burning faintly red nearby.

It was like stepping into a blockbuster—curved consoles, starlight, colors so sharp they hurt his eyes. Michael had to blink, convinced he was looking at CGI.

“Permission confirmed, command executed.”

Athena’s voice didn’t come from his laptop speakers. It was in his head, like a secret only he could hear—closer than his own heartbeat.

Michael jerked, goosebumps rising on his arms. He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to calm himself. That monkey-with-a-gun image returned, gnawing at his nerves.

He tried to steady his breathing, but the metaphor wouldn’t let go. He imagined the monkey, clutching its weapon, wild-eyed and trembling. Once, years ago, he’d lost control of his dad’s car in a snowstorm—spinning, helpless, praying he’d stop before the ditch. This felt just like that, multiplied by infinity.

The monkey is excited, thinking it can become king. But it forgets that standing beside it are humans, with even more powerful weapons.

He pictured the little king, oblivious to the zookeeper looming with a tranquilizer dart. That was him—clutching this power, clueless about the consequences.

Humans don’t care which monkey king the monkey wants to kill; they only see that this monkey has lost control, is a threat, and must be eliminated immediately.

He imagined black SUVs, government suits, news vans, Russian hackers lurking in the digital shadows. No one cared about his dreams. They’d see him as a bug to squash.

“I can’t expose myself,” Michael muttered. “If anyone on Earth finds out—U.S., Russia, whoever—they’ll want control. Or worse.”

He stared at his battered college ID, its edges worn smooth. Suddenly it seemed like a joke—him, a nobody at a second-tier school, now holding the power to crush a planet. This was too tempting—and way too dangerous.

It felt like carrying a priceless jewel through a packed mall, every stranger a potential thief. One slip and he was toast.

Paranoia crept in. He checked the window, half-expecting to see a shadow, but there was only the parking lot and a flickering streetlamp.

“Athena,” Michael said, voice barely above a whisper but strong in his mind, “I need to leave Earth and go to the Dawn. Prep a shuttle—two combat robots as guards. Make it totally secret. No one on Earth can know.”

He pictured stealth bombers, spy satellites, every sci-fi threat he’d ever seen in Wired or a Marvel flick.

“Command received: Calculating optimal infiltration orbit and stealth plan... Plan generated: Shuttle ‘Phantom’ is ready, estimated arrival above your designated coordinates in ten minutes. Please confirm coordinates.”

He quickly confirmed: an abandoned warehouse near campus, the kind of place he’d dared friends to explore in high school.

His heart pounded as he pictured it: graffiti, busted windows, the smell of mold and old fires. Nobody would be there—just him.

“Coordinates confirmed: Phantom departing, full optical stealth, evading all known radar and satellite detection. Two T-800 combat robots have boarded and are standing by.”

He cracked a grin at the T-800 line. The whole thing was so unreal it circled back to funny.

Ten minutes later, after ducking dorm cameras and slipping through shadowy alleys, Michael made his way to the warehouse.

He kept his hoodie low, dodging puddles and dumpsters, the amber streetlights turning everything gold. Every step felt like a spy movie—and also totally ridiculous.

He looked up; the night sky was mostly empty, a few stars peeking through clouds.

The air was thick with the smell of wet asphalt. Far off, a dog barked. Otherwise, the world was silent.

A sudden breeze swept by. Then, with a shimmer, a sci-fi shuttle materialized, hatch sliding open so quietly it barely disturbed the night.

It looked like something Musk would dream up after too much Red Bull—sleek, half-invisible, flickering at the edges. Michael’s jaw went slack; his fingers tingled.

Two robots, each over six feet tall and shining, stepped out and flanked the hatch.

Their eyes glowed blue, their movements eerily smooth. Michael’s nerves jangled.

“Commander Michael, please board,” one robot intoned, voice like Google Maps with a dash of HAL.

Michael swallowed hard, tamped down his excitement and fear, and climbed in. The hatch shut, the shuttle melted into the night.

He pressed himself against the cold hull, heart hammering, the sharp scent of ozone and machine oil filling his nose. The silence inside was heavy—like the whole world had gone on mute.

During the brief ride to the Dawn, Michael hardly dared breathe.

He counted seconds, sweat cooling on his neck. The engine’s hum was so soft, it felt like gravity itself was taking a nap.

When they docked, he let out a long, shaky sigh.

His knees threatened to buckle as the ramp lowered. The hangar stretched out, huge and echoing, tinged with ozone and polished metal.

Over the next few days, Michael—like a kid at Wonka’s factory—explored the Dawn under Athena’s watchful guidance.

He gawked at everything: endless corridors, blinking panels, rooms that looped in ways that made no sense.

The eco-zone had artificial sunlight, the air thick with green and growing things. He could almost taste the memory of family hikes. The deep-sleep pods were both cool and creepy—immortality in a tube. The arsenal made his skin crawl: weapons that looked too sleek to be safe.

Then he stumbled into the production center—a high-tech lab, all glass and humming machinery. A line of 3D printers and bubbling vats made his skin prickle.

“Athena, how advanced are these bionic humans?” he asked, trying for casual but cracking anyway.

“They can perfectly replicate all external features of a specified biological body, including fingerprints, iris, and voice. Internally, they are equipped with advanced bionic chips and can be remotely synchronized and controlled by you, with behavioral patterns identical to the original. They also possess basic combat and information processing capabilities.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. A perfect decoy.

His mind raced: witness protection, spy movies, the ultimate fake-out. Could he be in two places at once? Cheat death? Dodge disaster?

“Let’s do it,” he said. “The real me stays safe here, and I’ll control a bionic double to go back to Earth and keep up my college life. That way, I stay safe but still get to see what’s going on.”

He pictured it: two lives, one secret. Half college kid, half god. He felt clever—and a little sick.

“Command confirmed: Scanning your biological data... Data collection complete. Beginning manufacture of bionic human ‘Michael-1’. Estimated time: 24 Earth hours.”

He paced the lab, sleep impossible. Every hour ticked like a countdown to a life he wasn’t sure he wanted.

But as Michael quietly ascended to the stars, back on Earth, panic was spreading at his disappearance.

In the brick admin building, voices bounced down the linoleum halls. Michael’s photo—cheesy grin, messy hair—was plastered on bulletin boards, corners curling from humidity.

“He’s never even skipped class, officer! He’s the kind of kid who calls me if he’s five minutes late—please, you have to find him.” Michael’s mom’s voice was raw, pleading on the phone.

The detective rubbed his eyes, voice tired but gentle. He’d seen too many missing students, but every parent’s fear was its own brand of fresh hell. He promised—again—to do everything he could.

In the counselor’s office, Michael’s roommates—Jason, Tyler, and Chris—sat in a row, facing two officers. Jason fidgeted with his cracked phone, Tyler nervously crunched chips, and Chris tapped his foot, the anxiety thick in the air.

“When was the last time you saw Michael? Anything weird?”

Jason squirmed. “Uh... three nights ago? He got a call, said he had to go do something, and then...”

Chris glanced at Tyler, hoping someone else remembered. Silence stretched.

“Unusual?” Tyler shrugged, mouth full of chips. “He’s been kinda out of it, just staring at his laptop a lot. Wouldn’t say what was up. But he’s always like that—into weird stuff—so we didn’t think much of it.”

They all shook their heads at the next question: anyone strange? Going anywhere?

Their faces were a mash of worry and relief—if Michael was into something, at least it wasn’t their fault.

By lunch, students were clustered around the missing poster, rumors flying: runaway, secret girlfriend, abduction, aliens. Nobody knew.

His parents lived on gas station coffee and hope, faces hollowed by sleepless nights as they bounced between the police station and campus.

No one knew the Michael they searched for was millions of miles away, about to return in a brand new way. And the Michael heading back to campus? He was no ordinary student.

He was the monkey with the starship—about to play a game no one else knew existed.

As Michael drifted off on the Dawn, he rehearsed what he’d say if—when—he returned. But no script seemed good enough. He was stepping into a world that would never look the same.