Jacob Price and the Comet

Jacob Price wasn’t much of a stargazer. To him, the night sky was just a collection of faint specks scattered across black velvet. So when the news announced that Aquila-9 would pass “closer to Earth than any comet in the last hundred years,” he didn’t bother to stay up. His friends camped out on rooftops with telescopes, but Jacob went to bed early.

He woke at 2:47 a.m. to an unnatural silence. His cat, Piper, was hissing at him from the windowsill, her fur standing straight up. Jacob rubbed his eyes and groaned—until he noticed the faint blue glow radiating from his arms.

At first, he thought he was dreaming. He stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the light, but his skin outshone the bulb. Tiny sparks rippled along his fingers when he touched the mirror, leaving faint scorch marks. His phone, left charging on the counter, buzzed once and then went dead, screen shattered by an unseen surge.

“Okay,” Jacob muttered, trying to steady his breath. “This… this is not normal.”

The next morning, things only got stranger. When he walked outside, the air hummed against his skin, and every passing person seemed to whisper without moving their mouths. Their thoughts—fleeting, fragmented—brushed against his mind like a breeze.

Coffee… don’t forget coffee.

Rent’s due today.

I hope she calls me back.

Jacob reeled, gripping a lamppost. The world had turned into a radio station, and he was the antenna.

For the next week, he experimented. He learned he could short out electronics by accident, but with focus, he could make lights dance across wires or stop a drone midair. He wrapped his phone in layers of foil just to keep it from frying. The thoughts of strangers were harder to control, but he found he could push them away—most of the time.

By the eighth day, he stopped showing up for work. He couldn’t. His presence had crashed three computers in the office, and his boss had given him a look that said don’t come back until you figure this out.

It wasn’t long before others noticed.

One night, as he sat on the roof with Piper in his lap, a black SUV rolled to a stop on the street below. Two men in suits stepped out, scanning the building. Their radios crackled, but Jacob could feel the signal before he even heard it. He ducked flat against the shingles, heart pounding.

Subject confirmed. Proceeding with containment.

Containment. The word echoed in his skull.

The next day, a woman appeared at his door. She didn’t wear a suit, just jeans and a windbreaker, but her eyes were sharp. She introduced herself as Dr. Evelyn Cross from a private research institute.

“You’ve been changed,” she said without preamble. “The comet’s radiation has altered your neural pathways. You’re a danger to yourself—and to others—unless you learn to control it. We can help you.”

Jacob hesitated. The SUV. The men in suits. The way she didn’t seem surprised when his microwave sparked as he stepped closer.

“Why me?” he asked.

She smiled thinly. “Because you’re not the only one.”

Jacob’s stomach dropped.

That night, lying awake with Piper curled against him, Jacob stared out the window at the fading comet tail in the sky. He had been marked—given something extraordinary, but also hunted for it. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just his problem anymore.

And if others had changed like him, he needed to find them before the people in black SUVs did.