The Girl Who Knew Too Much..
The streets of Times Square buzzed with the usual chaos flashing billboards, honking taxis, and the endless sea of tourists snapping selfies in front of digital screens. Amid the neon overload, one figure stood out like a glitch in the system.
Rexi, a 17-year-old with tangled hair and a hand-painted sign that read "IT'S NOT A CONSPIRACY IT'S MATH!", stood on a makeshift soapbox in the middle of the square. She waved her arms frantically as if the world's survival hinged on her next sentence.
"We're fucked! Humanity is gonna end by 2094!" she shouted, her voice cracking from hours of yelling. "You think this is just another crazy rant, huh? You think I'm some unhinged TikTok reject? NO! I have proof! PROOF!"
A crowd had gathered not out of concern but out of curiosity, the kind people reserve for train wrecks and public meltdowns. Someone snickered. Another person pulled out their phone to record.
"Do you hear yourselves laughing?" Rexi pointed accusingly, nearly dropping her sign in the process. "Do you realize how insane it is that you're laughing? You're sitting ducks, waiting for the apocalypse to slap you in the face!"
"Hey, lady, what's your source? Wikipedia?" a guy in a Mets cap jeered, earning a ripple of laughter from the onlookers.
Rexi didn't flinch. "You'll all see. The Weinxsies are coming! They've been watching us, studying us, and when they make their move, you won't be laughing. You'll be running. But by then, it'll be too late!"
Someone tossed an empty soda cup in her direction. It missed but hit the pavement with a hollow clatter. The crowd's amusement grew louder, morphing into outright mockery.
"Humanity's biggest mistake," Rexi muttered, more to herself now, "is ignoring the signs. We think the future can't touch us because it feels so far away." Her voice cracked again, but this time with something rawer despair.
For a split second, the laughter dimmed, and a few people actually looked at her. Really looked. But before she could seize the moment, the flashing screens of Times Square changed.
The ads and bright images flickered, glitched. For a brief moment, the square was plunged into darkness.
A single, distorted voice crackled through every screen and speaker:
"We... are... coming."
The crowd froze, their laughter dying in their throats. Phones were raised, not for mockery now, but for evidence.
Rexi blinked, her hands trembling. "Did you did you see that? Did you hear it?" she whispered, clutching her sign tighter.
The screens returned to their usual blaring ads, and the moment passed. A collective sigh of relief rippled through the square, the kind that comes when people convince themselves they've imagined something.
"Damn hackers," someone muttered. "Probably some PR stunt."
But Rexi knew better. She could feel it in her bones. The timeline was unravelling faster than she'd expected.
"We're out of time," she whispered. Then, louder: "We're OUT OF TIME!"
As the crowd dispersed, Rexi stayed rooted to her spot, her eyes scanning the sky as if the answers would descend from above.
She wasn't wrong.