Fast forward to . In a cramped geology lab at the University of Alberta, Dr. Tj Cummings —a stubborn, chain-smoking paleoclimatologist—was studying a core sample drilled from a Greenland ice sheet. Beside him sat his young field assistant, Little Billy (real name: William Bilinski Jr., nicknamed for his short stature and insatiable curiosity).
One bitter night, she had a vision: a frozen river cracking in a straight line, a metal bird roaring without wings, and two names carved into an invisible wall: and Little Billy . The elders dismissed her vision as fever-dreams from eating spoiled birch bark. But Gwen believed it was a warning. Fast forward to
Tj noticed something odd. The isotope ratios in a layer dated to showed a sudden, unexplained methane spike—too brief for a volcanic event, too precise for a meteor. "Billy," Tj said, pointing at the graph. "This looks like someone lit a match in the prehistoric atmosphere for about six hours, then nothing." Beside him sat his young field assistant, Little