Two Bonds That Shatter Time

The gun barrel wavered.

The finger on the trigger twitched in indecision.

Of the two eyes in the same face, one glowed red. The other, blue.

The man holding the gun stood like a statue forged in fire and metal—a young Black man, lean but muscled, clad in a long brown leather duster lined with copper threading and brass fastenings. His boots clinked with each shift, gears embedded in their soles. His long African braids were threaded with silver rings and clockwork beads, swaying faintly as if ticking with their own rhythm. A pair of bronze goggles hung loosely around his neck like a badge of bizarre authority.

His face: calm.

His body: still.

But inside, two minds wrestled for control.

"Why are you stopping me? Let me shoot that fox," growled a thin, wiry voice—Rider, as the red eye flared.

"I’d say it’s odd that you want to kill someone now," replied a deeper, measured voice—Chrono, the blue eye narrowing.