Chapter 1 - The Whistle Over the River
The afternoon sun cast a warm, golden shimmer across the wide, calm waters of the American river. On the grassy meadow along the bank, scattered willow trees swayed gently in the light breeze, their leaves rustling above a landscape of peaceful green hills. Jack sat comfortably in his low folding chair, his rolled-sleeve white linen shirt catching the warm light as he held his fishing rod loosely in his hands. He hummed a cheerful, rhythm-less tune to himself, completely at ease in the quiet afternoon, watching his bobber float lazily on the sparkling surface of the water.
High above the quiet valley, the deep blue sky was suddenly pierced by a streak of dark metal. A small, missile-shaped capsule equipped with tiny tail fins plummeted diagonally toward the earth at incredible speed. As it cut through the upper atmosphere, a faint, high-pitched whistling sound began to echo across the hills. At first, Jack paid it no mind, assuming it was a distant jet or a trick of the wind through the willow branches. But within seconds, the descending whistle grew into a sharp, deafening scream that rattled the quiet air right above his head.
