Echoes of the inevitable

Selene stepped out of Jaxon's house, the door clicking shut behind her. The night air was crisp, cool against her skin. The street was dead silent, save for the faint hum of floating street lamps and the occasional flicker of light from house windows.

Her mind was still tangled in the night's events. The tea, the dream, the weirdly calm way Jaxon had been watching her sleep like he was conducting some government-funded research project.

She rolled her eyes at the thought.

"Scientific observation," my ass.

The sidewalk beneath her boots felt oddly distant, like she wasn't fully grounded in reality. It was that weird feeling of being too aware of yourself, like when you overthink walking and suddenly forget how legs work.

As she passed a darkened storefront, her implant automatically picked up the latest news updates flashing across the glass panels—a bunch of headlines about stock markets, political scandals, and some vague warning about "data inconsistencies in predictive weather models."

She ignored them. The world was always ending in one way or another.

Halfway down the street, a figure in a gray, featureless coat walked along the opposite sidewalk. Their movements were too slow, too controlled, like an NPC that hadn't been programmed to act naturally.

Her implant pinged—no ID detected.

Her stomach tensed slightly. Nothing illegal, but it was weird.

She subtly picked up her pace, her mind already running through worst-case scenarios.

Kidnapper? Black market organ thief? Some loser who just liked looking suspicious at 9 PM?

The figure didn't follow her. They turned down another street.

Still, she didn't relax until she was in front of her house. The front sensor recognized her, unlocking the door with a quiet click.

Inside, the low hum of the home's atmospheric control system greeted her, along with the distant voice of her mother.

"Selene? That you?"

She sighed. "Yeah."

Her mom stepped into view, arms crossed. "You were at Jaxon's?"

Selene hesitated for half a second—not because she was hiding anything, but because she could already predict the unnecessary commentary.

"Yeah."

Her mom raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Why does anyone go anywhere? I was just there."

Her mom gave her that look. The one that said I don't trust your life choices, but I'm too tired to argue.

"Just be careful, okay?"

Selene held back a sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Goodnight."

She turned toward the stairs before her mom could start some deep, unrequested life talk.

In her room, she flopped onto her bed, exhaling. The night wasn't even that weird, and yet she felt like she had stepped into something bigger than herself.

Her implant flickered.

Selene [Mind-Link]: You awake?

A pause. Then—

Jaxon [Mind-Link]: You think I sleep?

She snorted. Typical.

Selene [Mind-Link]: Well, thanks for not being a creep and staring at me all night.

A longer pause this time. Then—

Jaxon [Mind-Link]: Can't say I wasn't tempted. For science, obviously.

She let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. This guy.

Selene [Mind-Link]: Congratulations on resisting your villain arc. Proud of you.

Jaxon [Mind-Link]: Barely.

She rolled onto her side, smirking. The city outside buzzed quietly, but her mind was strangely awake.

Maybe she'd dive deeper into this rabbit hole.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she just wanted to sleep.

***

She didn't remember falling asleep.

There was no transition, no gradual fade into unconsciousness. Just—here.

A quiet morning.

Sunlight spilled through half-open blinds, casting shifting lines across the floor as a breeze moved the curtains. A faint smell of rain still clung to the air from last night's storm. Outside, the world moved at its usual rhythm—distant car horns, muffled conversations, the occasional bark of a stray dog.

Serene sat by her window, absentmindedly scrolling through feeds she wasn't really reading. Normal. Everything felt normal.

Until it wasn't.

She caught movement outside—small at first, barely noticeable. A few people had stopped in the middle of the street, their heads tilted upward. Their expressions are unreadable.

Then more people stopped.

Then more.

A ripple of unease spread through the morning air. No screams. No panic. Just silence, like the city itself was holding its breath.

Serene stood up, following their gaze.

And then she saw it.

At first, it looked like an asteroid. A distant shape against the blue sky, moving too slowly to feel real.

Then her vision adjusted.

It wasn't a rock. It was something bigger. Something unnatural. Its metal surface was torn and broken, pieces of it crumbling away as it entered the atmosphere. It wasn't just falling—it was dying.

Someone nearby muttered, "What the hell is that?"

Another voice—shaky, almost laughing—"It's not real, right? Like—CGI or some—"

A sonic boom ripped through the city.

Everything exploded.

People screamed. Some ran. Some froze. Some just stood there, paralyzed by the sheer wrongness of it.

The ship moved faster, gravity taking control. And then—

The world didn't shake. It convulsed.

The first explosion took out a city block instantly—not fire, but force. A shockwave blasted outward, ripping bodies apart before they even had time to register pain. Windows shattered, glass slicing through flesh like paper.

Serene saw a man standing near a bus stop, his mouth still open in shock—until a metal fragment the size of a car door severed him in half. His torso slid to the ground, his lower half still standing for half a second before crumpling.

A woman, clutching a child, tried to run—but the ground split beneath them. One second they were there. The next, they were swallowed by darkness, falling into the Earth's gaping wound.

A teenager tripped over a fallen street light, hands outstretched, trying to crawl away—only for a collapsing building to crush him like an insect. A single scream, then nothing.

Serene ran. Instinct. Nothing else.

The air was thick with smoke, dust, and the smell of burning flesh.

To her right, a man was on fire—his screams high-pitched, inhuman. He stumbled forward, hands clawing at his own face, melting as he moved. He collapsed before he could reach help, his body twitching for a moment before going still.

A woman fell next to him, her leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled beneath her, but she didn't even seem to notice. She was too busy reaching for something—no, someone. A severed arm lay inches from her grasp, fingers still curled as if they had been holding hers before the blast separated them.

Serene's chest burned. The dust, the heat, the sheer terror—it was too much.

She turned a corner—

And slammed into Jaxon.

His grip was iron. Steady. The first real thing she could hold onto.

But there was no time. No words.

The city was dying.

And they were next.

Serene's breath burned in her throat.

"Where are we going?!" she gasped, feet slamming against the cracked pavement.

Jaxon didn't answer. Just kept running.

No plan. No destination. Like a scalar quantity—magnitude, no direction.

Behind them, the city collapsed.

Buildings crumbled like sandcastles, concrete snapping like brittle bones. Somewhere in the chaos, a car alarm blared—pointless. A half-crushed bus teetered on the edge of a fissure before plummeting into the abyss below, taking screaming passengers with it.

Serene stole a glance back—regretted it instantly.

Bodies. So many. Some are still moving, some not. People wailing, reaching out for help that wasn't coming.

Jaxon yanked her forward. "Don't look."

They dodged falling debris, leapt over rubble, but it was useless.

They turned a corner—

Dead end.

A collapsed overpass blocked the road.

Jaxon stopped so fast she almost slammed into him.

No way out.

Behind them, the firestorm grew, a wall of heat and destruction racing toward them.

Nowhere to run.

Nowhere to hide.

Serene turned to Jaxon—eyes wild, breath shaking.

This was it.

Serene's breath hitched as she turned to Jaxon. His face was streaked with dust, eyes darting between the wall of fire behind them and the wreckage ahead—no way out.

The heat pressed in. The screams in the distance blurred into a single, hollow sound. People were dying. Buildings are collapsing. The ground itself is splitting apart.

She felt it all.

Hopelessness.

And then—his eyes met hers.

A thousand unspoken things passed between them in that instant. The weight of the moment crushed every unnecessary thought, leaving only this: they were about to die.

Her chest rose, fell. His hand was still gripping hers—tight, almost painful. But he didn't let go.

Fuck it.

She surged forward, crashing into him. Their lips met—desperate, raw, unplanned. It wasn't soft. It wasn't romantic. It was survival. It was a scream into the void.

Jaxon froze for half a second before kissing her back just as hard.

The world burned around them.

And then—

Serene jerked upright, her lungs dragging in air like she had been drowning. Her hands trembled, clutching at the sheets, grounding herself in the familiar fabric. It was just a dream. Just a bad dream.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, refusing to calm down. The heat, the screams, the way the world split apart beneath her feet—it was already fading, the way dreams always do. But something lingered. Something wouldn't let go.

Her fingers brushed over her lips.

The kiss.

Jaxon's kiss.

It felt too real. Not just the way his lips pressed against hers, urgent, desperate—but the weight behind it. The fear. The rawness. The undeniable, world-ending finality of it.

Serene ran a shaky hand through her hair, exhaling hard. It didn't make sense. It was just a dream. People had nightmares all the time. They didn't mean anything.

So why couldn't she shake this one?

Why did she still feel like she was breathing in smoke?

Why did she still hear the buildings collapsing, the bones snapping, the helpless screams?

Why did she feel like something was coming?

She forced herself to lie back down, staring at the ceiling. Morning would come soon. The dream would fade.

And maybe—just maybe—she could forget that she had kissed Jaxon.

***

Jaxon's room is minimalistic yet chaotic—a contradiction, just like him. A sleek black desk sits in the corner, illuminated only by the soft blue glow of a data pad, untouched for hours. A bookshelf stands against the wall, but it's not arranged neatly like a scholar's—it's messy, stacked with old paperbacks, digital archives, and obscure texts on quantum mechanics, esoteric philosophy, and extraterrestrial intelligence.

The walls are dark, almost suffocating, yet on one side, a single digital window projection shows a vast expanse of stars—he keeps it there not because it's beautiful, but because it reminds him of what he's seen. His bed? Unmade. Sheets tangled from restless nights.

And in the center of the room, Jaxon himself sits, barely moving, deep in thought, his fingers interlocked, his breathing steady but his mind on the verge of collapse.

"What if I'm wrong?"

His own voice echoes in his mind, questioning, accusing.

"What if all of this—the visions, the entities, the war councils, the infinite galaxies—is just my brain assembling nonsense from fragments of information I've consumed? What if astral projection is nothing more than lucid dreaming wrapped in pseudoscience?"

He shifts his gaze to the window projection. The stars look mocking tonight.

"No. I've seen too much. I've been to places I can't explain with any rational framework. If I was just hallucinating, why do some of my 'hallucinations' contain knowledge I later confirm in real life? Why do I remember standing before beings who made it clear I wasn't supposed to be there? Why do they react, push back, try to manipulate me—if it's all fake?"

He exhales sharply, gripping his own arms.

"But what if I'm in a dream right now? What if this—this moment of sitting in my room, questioning everything—is just another layer? How would I know?"

His head tilts back, hitting the chair.

"You're losing it, Jaxon."

For a second, the room feels too small. Too quiet. His heart rate spikes—not out of fear, but out of something worse. Doubt.

"Maybe I should just shut up and be normal. Go to class. Talk about pointless things. Pretend I don't know what I know."

A bitter chuckle.

"No. I refuse."

He sits forward, dragging a hand through his hair. His mind may be collapsing in on itself,but there's one place where he can find clarity. The chatroom.

With a single thought, his neural implant connects. The interface materializes in his mind—a floating, translucent chat screen suspended in an infinite void, glowing with faint golden lines, pulsating like a living thing.

The usernames pop up one by one:

Eidolon_404: "Another day, another distraction for the masses. Y'all seen the new headlines?"

NeuralParadox: "Gov just announced 'ethical enhancements' for Nexus 9. Lol. Ethics."

SpecterTheory: "Can't wait to see how they justify human augmentation while banning independent research. Clowns."

CipherNode: "Because it's not about enhancement, it's about control. But y'all aren't ready for that convo."

Jaxon types, his words flowing almost mechanically:

Markov_Signal: "Control isn't about restriction. It's about predictability. As long as they can predict behavior, they don't care how enhanced we are."

There's a brief pause. Then—

[NeuralParadox:] "Ain't no way this dude casually dropping the coldest take like that."

[Eidolon_404]: "Markov, you sound like you got inside knowledge sometimes. Should we be worried?"

Jaxon smirks faintly but doesn't reply to that.

Because, in truth, they have no idea how deep he's gone.

[NeuralParadox]: "For real though, what's the play here? You control predictability, you control behavior. But what's the endgame?"

[Jaxon]: "There is no 'endgame.' There never was. Control isn't about reaching a final state—it's about perpetual management. The moment they reach a perfect system, they break it just enough to justify maintaining it. A machine that regulates itself indefinitely."

[SpecterTheory]: "So you're saying the cycle isn't a failure of the system, but a feature?"

[Jaxon]: "Exactly. Every revolution, every collapse, every 'reset'—it's all by design. The moment chaos becomes unpredictable, it gets restructured into a new, acceptable form of control. Rinse and repeat."

[Eidolon_404]: "Man, you talk like you've seen this happen firsthand."

[NeuralParadox]: "Fr bro, you are talking like a dude who read history from the original source, not the filtered version."

Jaxon leans back, fingers hovering over the mental interface. They have no idea.

He has seen civilizations rise and fall, not just in textbooks but with his own eyes. He has stood on planets where entire species were wiped out, only for their conquerors to rewrite history as if they never existed. He has seen leaders who thought they were free, only to realize they were pawns in a grander system they never understood.

He exhales slowly. They wouldn't believe him.

[Jaxon]: "History repeats itself. That's all I'll say."

[CipherNode]: "Repeats, or is it repeated?"

That makes Jaxon pause. A rare moment where someone else is on the edge of the truth.

[Jaxon]: "Both."

There's a long silence in the chat. Then—

[Eidolon_404]: "Alright, I'm logging off. This convo got me staring at my ceiling."

[NeuralParadox]: "Markov be dropping existential crises for free. Insane."

[SpecterTheory]: "Can't unsee it now. I hate it here."

One by one, they disconnect, leaving only CipherNode and Jaxon in the void.

[CipherNode]: "You've seen something, haven't you?"

Jaxon's fingers hover over the interface. A test. A trap. A genuine question?

[Jaxon]: "What makes you think that?"

[CipherNode]: "Because you don't theorize. You confirm."

Jaxon feels something tighten in his chest.

CipherNode: "Stay safe, traveler."

And with that, CipherNode logs off.

Jaxon stares at the empty chatroom, the golden lines dimming slightly. His heartbeat is steady, but his mind? Unsettled.

He closes the interface. The room is silent again. But somehow, it feels smaller. Like something is watching.

Jaxon stared at the screen, but his mind was elsewhere. The chatroom's digital glow flickered across his face, illuminating the silent space around him. Another night, another debate. Chippernode had pushed him into a corner—not a loss, but not a win either. The conversation had ended, but the thoughts it planted still spiraled in his head.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. One last message? No. What was the point? The world remained the same. People still moved in their loops, driven by instincts they mistook for independent thought. They would wake up tomorrow, read whatever headline was fed to them, and regurgitate opinions they didn't even own. It was exhausting.

He exhaled sharply and shut the chat down with a mental command. The interface collapsed into nothingness inside his neural HUD, leaving behind only darkness. Silence.

He reached up, rubbing his temples as the afterimage of text still burned in his vision. His room was dark, save for the dim glow of the city outside. The world kept moving, indifferent to his thoughts, indifferent to everything.

Log out. Shut down. Escape.