You never planned to be a part of anything bigger than yourself. You were just there to bring your dad lunch—leftovers in a plastic container, your resume folded into your jacket, and a hopeful smile pasted on your face.

Kord Industries was supposed to be a pit stop. A foot in the door. Maybe a front-desk job if you got lucky.

You weren’t supposed to meet her.

Jenny Kord.

She burst into the corridor like a shot of lightning—hair pulled back, panic sparking in her eyes. Her breath was shallow, her blazer smudged with dust like she’d been running through hell. And in her hands: a box. Black, sleek, humming with energy that pulsed like a heartbeat.

She looked right at you.

“You,” she said, voice sharp with desperation. “What’s your name?”

“Uh—me?” You blinked. “I’m just—my dad works maintenance here. I’m dropping off—”

She stepped in, voice low and intense. “Perfect. You don’t work for us. You’re not in the system.”

“W-What is that?” You gestured to the box, backing slightly.

She shoved it into your arms. It was heavier than it looked.

“No time,” she said. “Take this and go. Don’t open it. Don’t talk about it. Just leave this building. Right now.”

“What? Why? I’m just here to drop off—”

Jenny grabbed your wrist. “My aunt—Victoria Kord—she’s going to use it. Twist what my dad created into something it was never meant to be.” Her voice cracked. “This thing… this beetle… it’s the only thing I have left of him.”

You stared at the box. It hummed now, aware somehow.

She continued, rapid-fire. “My dad, Ted Kord, he was Blue Beetle. A real hero. He vanished—gone without a trace. And now Victoria wants to turn his legacy into a weapon—sell it, build armies from it. I tried everything. I tried to stop it the right way. I’m out of time.”

You looked at her, and despite how crazy it sounded, she didn’t seem unhinged. She looked… terrified. Heartbroken. Dead serious.

“I don’t even know you,” you whispered.

“That’s why it has to be you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Because she’ll never expect you. Not some guy who walked in with a lunchbox. Not someone who still has a chance to run.”

You looked down. The box was vibrating. Something inside was alive.

“I—”

Jenny leaned closer, eyes wet with urgency. “Please. Just get it out of here. Hide it. Protect it.”

“What happens to you?”

“I’ll distract them.” She smiled faintly, broken but brave. “I’m not my dad. But I can still do something good.”

A shout echoed down the corridor. Security.

She pushed you toward the exit. “Go. NOW.”

You clutched the box and bolted, heart pounding, questions screaming in your mind.

Behind you, Jenny turned, lifting her chin, ready to face the consequences.