Baba Astronaut The Wind God

Title: Baba and the Wind Core

Baba wasn’t supposed to leave the station.

The Eurus-3 orbital lab, floating just outside Saturn’s upper atmosphere, was studying atmospheric anomalies—violent, unexplained cyclones forming faster than physics allowed. The crew was told never to enter the outer collection ring without a tether. But Baba Ayodele, mission engineer and sometimes stubborn as hell, hated waiting on bureaucracy.

So he went out alone.

What he found wasn’t a storm.

It was a sphere—smooth, metallic, and pulsing like a heart. Hovering in the middle of the gas giant’s hurricane. The instruments failed instantly. His suit temperature spiked. The vacuum screamed like a siren in his helmet.

The sphere cracked open. Light poured out. Not bright—fast. A blur of motion and memory and pressure. Baba’s body seized, lifted, then… stilled. He blacked out.

When they pulled him back aboard, his vitals were erratic, his lungs hyper-oxygenated. He spoke with a voice that echoed like it was coming through a tunnel. And when a sudden decompression crisis threatened the station, Baba didn’t run. He stood in the corridor, raised a hand, and stopped the air from escaping—bent the wind like it was a rope in his grip.

He didn’t understand it then. Not fully.

Back on Earth, tests revealed microfilaments of alien origin fused into his respiratory system. His breath could accelerate particles, spin turbines without engines, crack concrete with a whisper. Scientists called it a "quantum aerokinetic interface."

Baba called it the Wind Core.

He wasn’t just controlling wind. He had become a living conduit of atmospheric force. He could summon jet streams with a snap, ride hurricanes like highways, exhale and flatten cities—if he wanted.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he built turbines in the Sahara, redirected typhoons away from coastal villages, and whispered fresh air into polluted cities.

They asked him how it felt.

“Like every breath,” he said, “has the power to change the world.”