Creighton was a boy of many talents. At just 16 months old, he had mastered astrophysics, cracked quantum mechanics wide open, and once reorganized the Wi-Fi at Grammy and DoDad’s house just to prove a point. But tonight, his concerns were simpler: gathering eggs.
Even geniuses had chores.
He and his mother, Lana, strolled through the backyard toward the chicken coop, the evening sky painted in warm oranges and purples.
“I read the report on Sawyer’s ninja battle today,” Creighton said, carefully collecting eggs in his tiny hands.
His mother nodded, wiping a smudge of dirt off his cheek. “Your cousin did well. A multi-ninja attack is no joke.”
Creighton nodded, pleased. Sawyer was proving himself to be a worthy warrior. Perhaps they should start a Baby Defense League—something to consider between astrophysics calculations.
His father, Tanner, had just stepped outside, stretching after a long day, when the sky changed.
A massive UFO, the size of a football field, loomed overhead, its metallic surface gleaming under the moonlight. It hovered silently for a moment before letting out an ominous hum.
Creighton narrowed his eyes. He had seen this exact setup in at least thirty different sci-fi movies with DoDad.
“Mom. Dad,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “Come stand by me. Something bad is about to happen.”
The UFO pulsed.
Then, without warning, it fired a massive energy beam directly at them.
Creighton barely had time to react before he was blasted backward, landing hard on the dirt. His eggs went flying, one of them landing tragically in a pile of hay.
Lana gasped. “Creighton, are you okay?”
Tanner, however, was already in full dad mode. He grabbed Creighton’s arm and yelled, “Remember what DoDad taught you! Remember the sci-fi movies! Use your Force lightning! Use your Force shield!”
Creighton, shaking the dust from his red hair, slowly rose to his feet. He wiped his sweaty brow with the determination of a battle-worn warrior.
He stared up at the UFO.
“You’re not taking these eggs,” he growled. “These are my eggs. My mommy’s. My daddy’s.”
Then he thrust his tiny hands forward—and unleashed a storm of baby-powered lightning.
The sky exploded with crackling energy as Creighton’s miniature yet mighty bolts struck the UFO, sending sparks cascading through the air. The ship shuddered, its sleek, unearthly hull now scarred and sputtering.
Creighton smirked. He had wounded the beast.
But the UFO wasn’t done.
With an eerie whir, the alien ship fired again, this time with a beam so large its glow lit up the entire backyard. The blast radius was massive—too much for even a genius baby.
For the first time, Creighton wavered.
His legs felt weak. The power of the UFO was overwhelming. His tiny hands trembled. He thought about dropping to his knees, admitting defeat.
But then…
A faint musical score played in his mind.
Not just any score.
The Portal Scene music.
From Avengers: Endgame.
Creighton closed his eyes and let the memory wash over him—Captain America, beaten, barely standing, as Thanos’ army prepared to wipe him out. The scene had seemed hopeless.
But then—the portals opened.
Reinforcements had arrived.
Creighton’s eyes snapped open.
He was the last line of defense between Earth and an alien egg thief.
He would not fall.
Summoning every ounce of baby strength in his body, he rose again, feet planted firmly in the dirt. He expanded his Force shield, enveloping his parents in a protective dome of pure, shimmering energy.
Then, with a mighty battle cry, he summoned the largest, most powerful bolt of lightning in the history of the universe.
The sky erupted in a cataclysm of blue and white energy.
The UFO screamed (or at least, it made a noise that sounded appropriately distressed). The ship’s circuits fried, its hull fractured, and with a final gasp of metallic failure, it lurched backward, spinning out of control.
Then, with a mighty boom, it exploded into a thousand glittering pieces, the remains scattering across the night sky like falling stars.
Silence fell over the backyard.
The battle was over.
Creighton exhaled, victorious.
Lana and Tanner stood in awe as Creighton calmly bent down and picked up the last unbroken egg.
“Well,” Lana said, dusting off her apron. “That was certainly exciting.”
Tanner clapped his son on the back. “Proud of you, buddy. Just like Captain America.”
Creighton nodded sagely. “I know.”
They returned to the house, carefully stepping over the remnants of alien destruction scattered around the yard.
As Creighton set the eggs on the counter, he turned to his parents.
“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but after all that, I’m really in the mood for scrambled eggs.”
Lana sighed. “We just fought an alien spaceship, and you’re still thinking about food?”
Creighton simply winked. “Everything’s all right while I’m around.”
And with that, they sat down for the greatest supper in history.
