Turn back the clock...... except; its a brave new reality.

Biology lessons at Tudors High were always a snooze fest for one student. He had slept through them in his freshman, sophomore, and junior years. The trend was, it seemed, unlikely to be broken in the senior year. As the student somehow managed to scrap through with acceptable grades each semester, the teacher didn't care enough to reprimand him. It wasn't only the biology lessons that Jansen approached with a clear lack of enthusiasm, but also all the other subjects. He'd turn up to class, take the furthest seat from the teacher, and brood or doze off for the rest of the lesson.

In the past, well-intentioned teachers and mentors had tried breaking his habit or even talking to the teenager, to no avail. Since Jansen wasn't technically breaking any rules, most left the ne'er-do-well boy to his own devices. He was unapproachable and unfriendly, and most of his peers stayed clear of him. He always did the bare minimum in school and was the first to leave when the bell rang. 

Jansen hadn't always been like this; he had been a lovable and cheerful child, eager to make acquaintances. His parents were the ideal couple and the town's envy: successful scientists and explorers with model-like features. Simply put, they were the perfect family. As with all beautiful and good things, their light burned the brightest before it all came crashing down. An attempted feat of daring gone terribly awry, followed by a series of disasters and backstabbing relatives, had left Jansen orphaned without a penny to his name. He later found himself bouncing from one foster home to another as human greed and selfishness were laid bare. His bubbly personality slowly chipped away, leaving behind a tightly enclosed, deeply mistrusting person who swore never to open up to another.

The bell rang, rousing Jansen from his stupor. In one smooth motion, he had risen from his chair and secured his backpack on his shoulders. He was out of the class before his peers had even finished packing their books. The only solace he ever found was the peaceful hike through the forested region leading up to his foster home. It reminded him of better times: his mother's radiant smile as she gently guided him through the pathways, his father's playful chiding from behind, and the simple joyfulness of the moment. His dad would often identify exotic plants and point out the peculiar nature of some creatures whilst his mom sat there drinking in nature, looking like an angelic being. 

The hike through the woods, however, wasn't just for nostalgia. The jackals had yet to uncover one final secret about the Quinlan family. A secret that, even in his childlike innocence, he'd never let slip. This was because his parents had impressed on him the need to keep it closely guarded. Autumn leaves crunched under his boots as he made his way along the familiar route. His hands caressed the tree barks: in a way, he felt connected to the forest, almost as if some echo of his parents still lingered there. After half an hour's walk, he stopped and stooped, staring intently at a spot on the ground. He cleared some leaves from that spot, exposing an electronic keypad. After inputting a sequence of numbers, a groaning sound came from the forest floor as old, rusty mechanisms whirred to life. Two semi-rusted doors slid open, exposing an underground entrance, and dim bulbs lit up on either side of a descending staircase illuminating the path inside. Jansen hastily entered and inputted a similar sequence of numbers on another keypad on the other side of the doors. The doors slid shut after him as he descended into what looked like a laboratory. 

'Let's see if we can get this thing cracked open today,' he thought as he approached a cubic-shaped contraption with strange symbols etched on it. A sequential lock requiring the input of a five-digit figure was on one side. Jansen had mixed feelings about it: on the one hand, this might prove to be a great discovery; on the other hand, this cursed item had inadvertently led to his parent's demise. The box had intrigued them because it emitted unusual radiation and was made up of elements foreign to them. They had discovered it on one of their expeditions, and their interest had been piqued. They had sought clues from everywhere regarding this box, only to be swindled at every turn, leaving them none the wiser. A trip to a very remote island was their final hope and ultimately ended in their tragic demise.

After trying thousands of combinations, Jansen had all but given up hope of ever opening the box. His parents hadn't deterred his efforts but had understood the futility of attempting such a feat. At this point, it was more for a ritualistic reason for Jansen than hoping to crack the code. He had a written record of all the attempts he had made so far. Peering at his notes; a chuckle escaped him as he realized what the next set of numbers he was about to attempt were.

'69420, if there is any humor in the universe then this should be it.' He inputted the numbers and waited with bated breath. Mechanisms creaked and groaned, and a click sounded.

'What are the odds?' Jansen grinned and twisted a knob-like extension on the box. The side swung open as smoke started seeping out. A crackling sound like a lit fuse on a firecracker became audible. He peered in curiously and saw a timer rapidly counting down. He cursed loudly and made to duck, but it was too late. The timer hit zero, and the whole thing blew up with a boom. Jansen was tossed like a ragdoll. His skin was seared from the heat; shrapnel pierced his vital organs and nicked his arteries. 

'What a joke.' He thought bitterly as life seeped out of him. A final gasp and he was no more. A curious white mist seeped from his body and gathered into a vortex. The vortex spun faster and faster, creating an odd-looking black shadow disk. The vortex got sucked into the disk, and it winked out of existence. The whole underground facility started caving in, entombing Jansen. None on this planet would ever get to know his fate, and he would soon become just a distant memory.