The night is smothering, clinging to me like a wet rag. Every breath feels thick, the air heavy with the lake's humidity and the filth of the city. It's like the streets themselves are sweating. The Black Pillar—Sears Tower—cuts through the haze ahead, standing like some ancient, silent guardian, watching. I keep moving toward it, even though my brain's throwing every red flag possible. But hey, ignoring warnings is kind of my thing, right?
I shouldn't even be here, I know that much. Parker Springs might've been boring, but at least it wasn't dangerous. Small-town life kept me safe—well, safe-ish. But that's the thing; I wasn't made for safe.
Out here, it's all grit and shadows. Parker Springs feels like a fuzzy memory—left behind because it couldn't handle me, couldn't contain what I'm becoming. And yet, here I am, risking everything for answers that place could never give.
Even then, it was like my own skin couldn't keep me in. And now, here I am—out in a city that feels like it's ready to eat me alive, with power bleeding out of me faster than I can hold it in.
Since I started figuring out what I can do, it's been pulling at me—a restless itch, like I was born to break free of the quiet, slow life. Now, I'm not even sure if this is about the Black Pillar, the night, or me finally finding something worth risking everything for. That thought alone makes my pulse hammer harder. Maybe I'm doing this to prove I'm not crazy—or that I am.
"Found a whisper." Those words keep running laps in my head, and I can't stop hearing them. Why am I doing this? I don't even know what that means. Maybe it's some weird code for, "Hey, follow this bad idea and almost get yourself killed." Great. Just what I need.
Turn around, Ignis. Seriously, what are you even doing? You're chasing shadows in the middle of a humid-as-hell night toward a building that's probably not going to give you any answers. Dumb idea. Walk away.
Yeah, my inner voice is having a field day. But my feet? They have a mind of their own. And apparently, they think running toward danger is the best plan ever.
And still, there it is—found a whisper—like a hidden code buried in the night, taunting me forward.
I look up at the Black Pillar again, looming in the distance like some huge, brooding thing that definitely has bad vibes. The air gets thicker with each step, like the city itself is pressing down on me, trying to slow me down.
This is a bad idea. You know that, right?
I wipe the sweat off my forehead, and it feels like my skin's trying to peel off with it, sticky from the grime of the streets. My power keeps slipping through my grasp, glitching like an old tape I can't control. It's not just weird—it's dangerous. Still, I push on. Because apparently, that's what I do now—walk straight into whatever the hell is waiting for me at the foot of that tower.
And then, out of nowhere—screech!
I barely have time to react. Headlights flare, blinding me, and a car's engine roars like it's ready to plow me into next Tuesday. And not in the fun way. My body does the brilliant thing of completely locking up. Awesome. Way to save yourself, Ignis.
Move, genius. MOVE.
But I can't. My legs feel like they've decided to join the freeze and panic club. The air around me feels thick and grimy, as if I'm breathing in the very guts of this city. The faint metallic stench of rust mixes with the sharpness of hot asphalt, the remnants of spilled gasoline, and something faintly sour—like rot. Every part of this place feels like it's decaying, festering with something ugly, something hungry. I press my fingers to my forehead, feeling the sweat start to bead along my brow, and in that moment, it's like the city itself has come alive, clinging to me, watching. It's like the Pillar's more than just stone and steel; it's alive, pulling me into its depths.
So this is how you go out, freak? Good at running, but not so good at stopping. You think you're made for more than this? Prove it.
"Safe doesn't get answers, asshole. I'm not here to be safe," I shout, holding back a few tears. "I'm here to figure out what the hell this power means. And if it kills me? At least I'll be out of the prairie and left in this damn city reaching to scrape at the sky."
Or stay right here and let them call you what you've always been—nothing but another lost bitchy kid.
The car's coming fast, way too fast, and all I can do is stand there like an idiot, waiting for it to flatten me. My brain's screaming, telling me to do something—anything—but I just... don't.
"Are you trying to die, or is this your new hobby?" I mutter to myself, sarcasm my only armor.
I reach for my power, trying to freeze time—just stop everything. But nothing happens. Instead, everything jumps.
One second, I'm about to become roadkill. The next, I'm... not?! A few feet away, I watch the car zoom by, just missing me. The wind knocks me off balance, and I stumble, like I've been yanked out of a dream.
What the actual hell?
My head spins, a sickening lurch in my stomach like I just stepped off a roller coaster I didn't even know I was on. My vision blurs, then snaps back into focus, the world feeling slightly off-kilter. Whatever's happening to my power, it's like I'm slipping under murky water, blurred and unpredictable.
Okay, so… you didn't die. That's cool. But what the fuck was that?
I didn't move. I didn't even try to dodge. I skipped—time just yanked me through the moment like I hit fast-forward. And here I am, alive but seriously freaked out. The car's already gone, swallowed by the night, leaving behind a stench of burning rubber and my rapidly growing panic.
You didn't freeze time. You skipped it—literally just jumped through. That's… uh, that's not normal, Ignis!
My heart's pounding like I just ran a marathon, my legs still shaky from almost getting smashed into the pavement. I wipe my face again, but it's pointless. The city's grime is glued to my skin now, mixing with the sweat from the humid night, and I feel like I've been dunked in sludge. Gross.
What if this shit happens again? What if you don't skip far enough?
I glance around, but the car's long gone. Still, I can't shake the feeling that something's seriously wrong with me. My power is supposed to freeze time, not throw me forward like some weird version of fast-forward. And I didn't even mean to do it—it just happened. That's not exactly comforting.
You're losing control, Ignis. Face it. You've got no idea what you're doing.
My stomach twists, the panic clawing its way back in. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but the air is thick and sticky, and it feels like the whole city's breathing down my neck. I glance up at the Black Pillar. It feels closer now, looming over everything, pulling me in.
Something about that fucking tower—it's like it's alive, lying in wait, as if it's been starving for decades, its shadow reaching for me like claws. Not just black carven steel—this thing's a monster. Every damn step I take toward it feels like I'm walking straight into its jaws, the city closing in, thick and rancid like it's oozing all over me. Sweat's pouring down my back, sliding over my skin, and it's not just from the heat. No, it's something else, something twisted, like I'm being peeled open, layer by layer, with every inch I get closer. It's like time itself is screwing with me, stretching and twisting like a bloodied wound torn open in slow motion.
I can feel it—the pull, dark and absolute, digging into my bones, like I'm being reeled in, helpless as a fish on a hook. This isn't a call; it's a goddamn command. My heart's hammering, each beat nastier and louder, like a countdown to my own fucking funeral. The Black Pillar's pull—each step, a slow surrender—is the final nail in my coffin, the city dragging me under. And even knowing that, even with this sick feeling crawling up my spine, ready to tear me apart… I can't fucking stop.
Yeah, sure. Because following the spooky tower after you almost got flattened by a car is a fantastic plan. Genius.
I shake my head, trying to shove the inner voice down. I can't think like that. I've already come this far. The Black Pillar is waiting, and something tells me I'll find some kind of answer there. Or maybe just more questions. But I'm not turning back now. No way.
I start walking again, more cautiously this time, eyes darting to every shadow. The city's grime sticks to me, the air thick with the weight of whatever I'm walking into. My power is slipping, and I don't know how to fix it. But whatever's waiting for me at the top of that tower... I have to find out.
The Black Pillar looms overhead, casting a shadow that eats up the skyline. But my focus isn't on the tower—it's on the way time keeps jerking me around, like I'm stuck in a broken VCR. First fast-forward, then pause, now rewind. Every time I think I've got my footing, it pulls me again, throwing me into moments I don't even understand.
What the hell is happening to me?
I try to brace for the next jump, but time doesn't care about what I'm ready for. It snaps me forward again, hurling me into the filthy alley. The stink of rot hits me, thick and sour, before I see anything. I catch myself against the wall, scraping my palms on the rough brick as I narrowly avoid crashing into a pile of garbage. There are two hobos nearby, barely clothed, but this isn't some drunken argument—it's something darker, more visceral. One of them is hunched over the other, clawing at his skin like he's peeling back layers, blood and sweat smeared across their bodies.
What the fuck is this?
My stomach churns, the sight too raw, too intense to fully comprehend. Time glitches again, but this time it's different. It's like the world itself rewinds, pulling me backward, as if every second wants to be replayed, savored. Everything warps and bends as I'm yanked through the moment in reverse.
Before I can process what's happening, I'm thrown back, everything shifting into place like a tape rolling at high speed. It all clicks into place too fast, like skipping scenes, but this time, it's dragging me backward for a reason.
I'm back in the street—the same street as before.
The presence of a car is coming.
I know this moment. I've been here before, just seconds away from getting hit. But this time, time didn't just throw me forward—it pulled me back, rewinding to the instant before I almost got flattened.
The car is speeding toward me again, headlights blinding in the darkness. My heart skips, the panic rising, but something inside me is buzzing—like the energy I've felt surging all night. Time didn't bring me here to watch the same disaster play out again.
Move, dumbass. Do something!
You want to die here? it whispers, the edge of my thoughts turning dark. Come on, freak, you've always been good at running away. Why not do it now? But something stronger fights back.
"That's right—I came here to prove something, didn't I?" Saying to myself and maybe to whoever keeps screwing with my head. Either way—I'm not backing down. I wasn't that girl who hides behind her freak label and cowers. "I want to find out what this all means. I want to know why it feels like I've been walking toward this moment my whole life," I exclaim.
It's like trying to break free from quicksand. My legs feel slow, heavy, like the world's resisting me, but I throw myself to the side. The car rushes past, a blur of metal and screeching tires. The wind knocks me off my feet, and I hit the ground hard, but I'm still breathing. Still alive.
The blue car vanishes around the corner, leaving behind a cloud of burning rubber and my heart jackhammering against my ribs.
Holy shit. I didn't get hit.
I push myself off the pavement, shaking, skin still buzzing from whatever the hell just happened. Time didn't just yank me around this time—it rewound. It brought me back to the moment before the car almost took me out.
So… I can control tapes?
"But what if there's more?" My hands tremble as I feel the energy shifting, like it's an old machine chugging to life but barely holding together. This fast-forward thing just saved my life, but what if it backfires? What if there's something deeper I'm missing, something that could chew me up from the inside out? Every time I think I'm close to control, it slips away, and it's only a matter of time before I skip forward, backward, or… something worse. This is uncharted territory, and the more I use it, the more I wonder if I'm setting myself up for something I can't undo.
I stand there, breathless, staring down the empty street where the car disappeared. I didn't just avoid a crash. I snapped back. Time let me change the outcome.
That's twice now I've nearly been toast—shredded by time. If this power of mine's some kind of weapon, it's got a damn mind of its own, and I'm just the sucker holding it.
Guess I've got more than just fast-forward going on here.
I don't know why or how, but my power just lets me playback, flickering between scenes, paying attention in certain moments. Whatever's going on, I'm in deeper than I thought. Time's not just messing with me—it's letting me play the game.
The street is eerily quiet, the last echo of that car's tires still ringing in my ears. My heart's choking, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer fact that I rewound time. Like I'm stuck— glitchy, outdated with a busted remote—skipping frames to find where it left off. It should've sent me flying. I should be a stain on the asphalt, but here I am, jeans slipping down, trying to wrap my head around what just happened.
Rewind. Fast-forward. What kind of freaky VHS magic is this?
I pull up my jeans again, swearing under my breath. Of course I didn't bring a fucking belt. I'm practically skin and bones, and these damn pants are doing everything they can to ditch me. One wrong move and I'll be standing here in my underwear, trying to deal with whatever cosmic disaster is coming next.
Focus, Ignis. You can mess with time, but handling that scene back there? You barely made it out of that roach motel alive, and now you think you're ready for whatever the hell that crackhouse rumble was?
There's no way I'm going back into that alley. Those scumbags, barely dressed and looking like something straight out of a junkie horror flick—no thanks. They didn't even notice me earlier, too busy ripping each other apart, but I'm not sticking around to see what happens if they do. Plus, with the way my jeans keep slipping, I'd be caught half-naked and half-dead before I even had a chance to figure out what's pulling me toward that damn car.
The car. The car isn't just the key; it's a lure, something I'm bound to. It's as if I'm caught in its wake, unable to escape, and yet… something in me doesn't want to. It's drawing me closer, and with each rewind, every blur of motion, I'm starting to think it wants me here. But here's the thing—I still don't know what kind of car it is. All I've got is a blur of blue, some sharp headlights, and the overwhelming sense that this car is important. My mind's buzzing, like static on an old TV, and it's driving me nuts.
Rewind. Fast-forward. I'm a human cassette, and the tape's jammed.
I focus, locking onto the feeling. If I'm going to figure this out, I need more than just a vague blur. I need to see it again—over and over. I grip that energy inside me, like I'm trying to fix a messed-up tape, and I hit fast-forward. The world snaps into motion, everything blurring past, and suddenly, I'm standing in a dimly lit garage.
The smell of gasoline and oil hits me hard, thick and almost suffocating. The concrete walls are cold, gray, lifeless. But I know I'm in the right place. That car, whatever it is, is coming here. I can feel it.
Alright, Ignis. Beat the car. Get ahead of it.
I duck behind a pillar, pulling up my jeans again because, of course, they're slipping. My pants are dead set on screwing me over. If they drop at the wrong moment, I'm going to be flashing the world while I figure out how to deal with this car—and that's not the kind of hero moment I signed up for.
The garage feels like a tomb, quiet as a crypt, silence broken only by the faint drip of water from some hidden pipe, and a metallic creak that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. It's like the walls themselves are holding their breath, waiting.
The engine rumbles through the garage, vibrating through the floor, but I still can't make out what kind of car it is. And as the headlights sweep across the garage, something flickers in my mind—a sense that someone's watching, hidden behind that roar, waiting for me, just out of reach.
Rewind.
I let the scene play out, but it's not enough. I rewind again, back to the moment before the car almost hit me. This time, I focus harder, trying to pull more details. The headlights get closer, the engine's roar gets louder, but the make and model? Still slipping through my fingers.
Fast-forward again. Faster this time.
I snap back to the garage. The engine is still there, growling low and menacing, but I can't place it. It's like the car's hiding from me, playing tricks. I rewind again, and again, like a bad movie on repeat, each jump giving me a bit more, but it's still just pieces—burnt cue marks.
What the hell are you—ya damn fucking car?
Rewind, fast-forward—flickering scenes caught in a jammed tape, glitching and stuttering like it's barely holding me in place. Each jump sharpens my vision, the headlights become clearer, the way the car moves—it's slick, sleek, like a predator. But the name? The model? Still missing from playbacks.
Until I find my recording.
One more run, and then, there it is—the headlights slicing through the dark, sharp edges cutting into the night like a blade. The body smooth yet lethal. A Camaro, blue and predatory.
And then there's the license plate—BRN PYRO. Like the car isn't scary enough without a name that sounds like it's waiting to go up in flames.
Finally. Now I know what I'm dealing with. But this roars—it doesn't whisper.
I crouch lower. The Camaro rolls into the garage, the rumble of its engine vibrating in my chest. Now that I've pieced it together, it's all clear. A blue Camaro. That's what's been dragging me through time. It's here.
The car's alive, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its perfect moment to pounce. The way it moves—it's not just metal and gears; it's a predator, stalking forward, headlights slicing through the dark like hungry eyes, looking for something soft to tear into. And I know, with a sick twist in my gut, that's me.
The air thickens around it, dense and toxic, like some dark, oily poison spilling out of its growling engine. Every hair on my neck stands on edge, nerves firing like I'm the hunted, caught in the spotlight. My mouth's bone dry, but my palms are slick, fingers itching to grab hold of something solid—anything to keep from getting swallowed whole.
This Camaro isn't just a car; it's a damn nightmare—a sleek, dark horse that knows every last weakness I've got. I'm the fool that followed it down this twisted rabbit hole. Guess my name should be Alice—or am I going mad?
Alright, Camaro. You've been jerking me off, dragging me through time like I'm your personal copy of a Playboy bunny.
"I see a little silhouetto of a man," I mutter, trying to steady my breath, but it's as if reality's split wide open. The thunder of the car is all around me, booming like the sky itself is about to tear. Thunderbolt and lightning—it's the kind of rumble that splits stone, shudders through bone, and leaves nothing in its wake. This isn't just a made-up nightmare. It's— fucking real.
This time tomorrow, the wind could blow, scattering what's left of me across the pavement like shards of glass. But tonight, it's just me and this beast, its headlights staring me down like hungry eyes fixed on the last piece of prey. The engine snarls, low and wicked, savoring each inch it crawls forward.
This isn't a chase; it's a damn execution. No trial, no last words—just a brutal end. A strike that leaves no tomorrow, only the instinct to jump from one rabbit's foot to another.
Scaramouche, Scaramouche—let's see who's hunting who, and do the Fandango.