Phone Home pt. 1

From above, I’m Jupiter—the armored guardian narrating a mission that could bend myth toward mercy. Bennie, the fearless goddess, is our heart; Eugene, our steady guide. We were on a recon to pull Bennie from danger when she called home from a lonely phone booth. Her voice carried warmth through static, a thread of safety in a dangerous night. Then the booth exploded in a fireball, glass rain, and ozone. Inside the armored truck, Bennie and Eugene clung to each other as the shock tore through the cabin. Windows shattered; only steel and will kept us in the fight. The blast scattered shards and fear, leaving Bennie and Eugene down—critical, fighting to breathe, while I, Jupiter, stayed the shield even as the world tilted. Hospital lights woke me to a pale, quiet hall. Bennie lay nearby, a goddess in stillness, and Eugene—eyes opening, world narrowing to the sound of monitors and the breath between us. If you want this trimmed further for a caption, I’ll cut to the line that hits hardest in one breath: “A rescue born from a call home, a bomb in a booth, and three souls fighting back from the edge.”