Chapter 12: The First Record
Cass sat at the kitchen table, staring at the blank page in front of him.
The notebook was old—something he'd dug out of a drawer, buried beneath expired coupons and forgotten receipts. The cover was faded black, the edges worn, the pages slightly yellowed. It had been empty for years, untouched.
Until now.
His fingers hovered over the pen.
He didn't know what to write.
No, that wasn't right. He knew exactly what he needed to write. He just wasn't sure if it would matter.
Would this even work? Would they erase this, too?
Would he wake up tomorrow and find the pages blank?
Cass swallowed, his pulse a slow, heavy drum in his chest. His phone sat on the table beside him, dark screen reflecting the dim glow of the kitchen light. The last message was still burned into his mind.
"You're next."
His fingers tightened around the pen.
If they were going to erase him, he was going to make sure he left something behind.
He pressed the tip of the pen to the page and wrote, slowly, deliberately—
My name is Cassian Voss.
He stared at the words.
Then, as if to anchor himself, he wrote it again.
My name is Cassian Voss.
My name is Cassian Voss.
The ink pressed deep into the paper, leaving faint indentations even on the next page. He ran his fingers over the marks, as if testing to see if they were real.
Then, finally, he let out a slow breath and kept writing.
October 4th (Or at least, I think it is.)
I don't know if this is going to work. I don't know if I'll wake up tomorrow and forget I even wrote this. I don't know if they can erase it.
But I have to try.
Things are disappearing. People. Places. Memories.
It started with little things—a bookstore that wasn't there anymore, a street that didn't exist. But now it's people.
Jonathan Carlisle. Rich's uncle.
Rich remembered him. He was real. We talked about him. And now he's gone.
Not just from records. From Rich's memory.
I asked my mom. She didn't remember him either.
It wasn't just that she forgot. She laughed, like he'd never existed.
That's what's happening.
The world is rewriting itself.
And now, whoever's doing this—they know I'm noticing.
They sent me a message.
"You're next."
If they can make people disappear, what happens when they come for me?
Will Rich remember me?
Will my mom?
Will my kids?
Will there even be a record that I ever existed at all?
I don't know.
But if I wake up tomorrow, and something feels wrong, this journal is my proof.
This is what's real.
My name is Cassian Voss.
I will not disappear.
Cass's hand trembled as he set the pen down.
The words stared back at him, heavy, final.
He ran his fingers over them again, half expecting them to fade beneath his touch. But they didn't. The ink was still there. Solid. Permanent.
For now.
He exhaled and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face. The house was silent. His wife and kids had gone to bed hours ago, leaving only the distant hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
It should have felt comforting.
Instead, it felt like the world was holding its breath.
His fingers drummed against the notebook, the weight of it suddenly immense. How many times had he lost time lately? How many times had he walked into a room and felt something missing—a detail, a person, a thought that should have been there?
Would he even notice if something disappeared from his own head?
A sharp exhale left him as he stood, stretching his back. He moved on autopilot, sliding the notebook into the kitchen drawer, pushing it beneath some old mail and random clutter. Out of sight, but not out of reach.
He took one last look around before heading toward the hallway. He paused by the door to his kids' room, listening to the soft, even breaths coming from inside.
Logan would be sprawled out, tangled in his sheets. Vera would be curled up tight, buried beneath her favorite blanket.
They were still here.
They were still real.
For now.
Cass clenched his jaw and turned away, stepping into his bedroom. His wife shifted slightly as he slid under the covers, but she didn't wake.
His mind wouldn't stop.
What happens when they come for me?
Would it be slow, like Rich's uncle—gradual, piece by piece?
Or would it happen all at once?
Would he wake up one day and forget something important, something vital, and not even realize it was missing?
Or worse—would someone else wake up and forget he existed?
Cass's breath was slow, measured. His body was exhausted, but his mind felt like it was teetering on the edge of something vast and empty.
A terrifying thought slithered into his mind.
What if this had already happened before?
What if this wasn't the first time he had started remembering?
What if they had erased him before, and he had found a way back?
His heartbeat quickened.
No.
He couldn't think like that. Not now.
Cass turned onto his side, staring at the faint glow of the bedside alarm clock.
Tomorrow, he would check the notebook.
Tomorrow, he would see if the words were still there.
Tomorrow, he would find out if he was still Cassian Voss.
And if not—
At least now, he had proof.
Cass dreamed.
He didn't remember falling asleep, didn't even remember the moment exhaustion finally dragged him under. But suddenly, he was somewhere else.
Cold air stung his skin. The ground beneath him was smooth, stretching outward in every direction. A city—his city—but wrong. Empty.
The streets were too clean, like they had never been touched by life. The buildings stood tall, hollow, their windows dark and unseeing. There was no sound. No wind. No hum of distant traffic.
Nothing.
And then, he heard footsteps.
Not his own.
Cass turned sharply, his pulse spiking—but there was no one there.
Just the city.
Just the emptiness.
A whisper curled through the air.
"You're wasting time, Caleb."
Cass's blood turned to ice.
He knew that voice.
She was here.
But before he could see her—
Before he could even move—
The city flickered.
And then—
Everything changed.
He was in a car.
No—he was someone else.
His hands weren't his own. They gripped the steering wheel too tightly, knuckles pale, fingers thicker, rougher than they should have been. His chest felt heavier, his breaths deeper.
But there was no time to think.
A radio crackled beside him.
"—fifteen minutes—do you have it?"
Cass—or whoever he was—didn't hesitate. His voice came automatically, sharp and sure.
"On my way. But the city's already breaking."
The skyline ahead of him was shifting. Buildings tilted at impossible angles, flickering like a broken projection. Cass's stomach turned, but his body—this borrowed body—kept driving.
A device sat on the passenger seat beside him.
Small. Metal. Blinking with red lights.
He had seen it before.
It had never worked.
"If you fail, it resets."
Cass's chest tightened.
He knew what came next.
The sky ripped open.
A soundless explosion cracked through the atmosphere, and suddenly—they were falling.
The meteors.
Dozens. Hundreds.
Streaking toward the city like burning spears, pulling light and gravity in their wake. The air shuddered, pressure collapsing around him as if the world itself was caving inward.
Cass—whoever he was—pressed harder on the gas, weaving between abandoned cars, his pulse hammering.
He had to reach the tower.
He had to activate the device.
It had never worked.
The meteors tore through skyscrapers like paper. Impact after impact. Shockwaves rippled outward, cracking the streets, sending dust and fire into the air.
The countdown in his head had started.
It always started.
He swerved onto an overpass, tires screeching. He could see the facility now—the one place that could stop this. The one place that had never stopped this.
"Five minutes."
He was running out of time.
Then—
He saw them.
The Cat People.
They stood in the wreckage like shadows stretched into the shape of men. Long-limbed, faceless, moving in unnatural silence. They emerged from the collapsing buildings, stepping through fire and ruin like ghosts untouched by the apocalypse.
Waiting.
Watching.
Cass's chest tightened. His hands—not his hands—gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles cracked.
They knew.
They knew this was the end.
The radio crackled.
"You have to move!"
Cass tore his eyes away, pushing the car forward.
The entrance was ahead. A single door, waiting at the top of the steps.
One minute.
Cass shoved the door open and ran.
His legs burned. His lungs ached. He nearly stumbled as the world buckled beneath him—a building tilted as it collapsed, raining fire and shattered glass across the street.
He made it inside.
Thirty seconds.
He sprinted down the hallway, heart pounding, the device clutched in his hands.
The walls flickered.
For a split second—just a fraction of a moment—he wasn't in the city anymore.
He was in the black field.
Tall grass shifting like liquid. The sky too vast, too wrong.
Then—
Back.
The control room. The console. The buttons that never worked.
Cass slammed the device down, fingers flying over the controls.
He entered the sequence.
He pressed the final key.
A hollow beep.
The system rejected him.
It always rejected him.
A deep, horrible silence filled the air.
Cass's breath shuddered.
The building shook.
The sky collapsed.
And then—
The Cat People moved.
Cass spun as the shadows stretched toward him, limbs lengthening, shifting, twisting.
There was no time.
There was never any time.
The first one reached for him.
The second loomed closer.
The third tilted its head—a slow, knowing motion.
It knew him.
Cass's pulse slammed against his ribs. He stumbled backward—toward the window, toward the open air.
A whisper—
Soft. Familiar.
"Wake up."
End of Chapter 12.