Day in the story: 29th September (Monday)
I could feel the painted armor responding exactly as I willed it to, but that didn’t change the fact that I still felt pretty much naked. So I dressed.
Cargo pants and running shoes. A loose t-shirt. My favorite hoodie. Then I reached for the Usagi mask. I slipped it on, channeling power into it, infusing it with my animal senses.
The world sharpened instantly.
My room exploded with light and clarity. Shadows no longer hid in corners; colors deepened. I could hear Peter snoring through the wall in the next room. I grinned.
Grabbing my black bag, I stuffed it with an arsenal of spray paints, each can rattling with potential. Then I walked to the window.
Second floor. Not ideal.
I paused only for a second, staring down at the quiet street bathed in orange streetlamp glow. It was late enough that most of the neighborhood had gone still. The world felt like it was holding its breath.
I didn’t.
I took a deep breath and jumped.
I hit the pavent with a heavy thump, cracks spidering out beneath my shoes. The impact should have rattled my bones, but instead I felt a muted jolt, more like a reminder than a blow. It wasn’t exactly a full dare-devil like attempt. Sothing inside of told I could do this, but I still squealed. Full-on, high-pitched, hands-to-my-face excitent.
It worked.
I jumped again in place, this ti just to test the legs.
Six feet. Straight up. Landed soft.
I laughed out loud.
I crouched, focused, gathered energy in my legs like a spring and launched. My arc carried up and onto the top of a nearby lamppost, the cool tal steady beneath my feet. At least ten feet. Maybe more. I stood there for a heartbeat, arms outstretched, grinning like a lunatic behind my mask.
“This is amazing,” I whispered.
I dropped down again, this ti aiming to avoid cracking more concrete. I landed on all fours, let the movent roll through my body and ca up into a light sprint. It was effortless. Seamless. Every limb obeyed like it had known this power all along.
I ran.
Step after step, I gained speed, each stride longer than the last until my run beca more like bounding. Gliding. The city blurred around . My legs, my armor, my instincts, everything moved in perfect sync.
A car turned onto my street.
I skidded to a halt and went perfectly still, crouched low in the shadows. The headlights swept past . The driver didn’t notice. Just so night commuter heading ho to forgettable things.
Once the car passed, I waited a beat, then took off again, this ti after it. I let myself fall into the rhythm, timing my pace to the whir of its tires. I gained on it in seconds. I could have reached out and touched the bumper.
But I didn’t.
I stopped just short, breath steady, heart racing with pure adrenaline, not fear—excitent.
This wasn’t just an upgrade. It was freedom.
Tonight, the city belonged to Usagi.
I ran toward the usual bus route I took for Uni, but this ti I wasn’t waiting, I was racing it. The familiar buildings blurred past in my periphery: the corner café with the peeling awning, the gas station with its flickering sign, the rundown laundromat I always ant to avoid. I passed them all in a heartbeat, my legs devouring the distance with each stride.
Lincoln Bridge lood ahead, casting long shadows over the wide river like a sleeping giant. Steel cables arched up into the night, thick as tree trunks and silver in the moonlight. The road stretched across the water, suspended on those cables like it was hung from the stars.
And I didn’t slow down.
I blew past a few cars on the way, normal, boring traffic trying to cross the bridge while I was out here writing myths. A few drivers saw just as I overtook them. I glanced back, half-curious. Behind the Usagi mask, my face was hidden, but I could feel their reactions. I must’ve looked like sothing out of a nightmare, like a cursed spirit or a glitch in the world, sprinting past at impossible speed with ears and shadows trailing behind.
Every one of them hit the brakes.
Stopped cold.
The exhilaration buzzed through like electricity.
I didn’t just feel fast, I felt like a legend being born.
When I reached the base of the bridge, I didn't take the road. I turned off, eyes locked on the thick tal cable that stretched skyward, holding the weight of the world.
And I jumped.
My hands gripped cool steel, feet landing sure. I scrambled upward, quick and fluid. The wind grew stronger as I climbed, tugging at my hoodie, howling around my mask. Step by step, leap by leap, I rose higher than any pedestrian was ever ant to go. The traffic noise below faded into a distant hum.
Up here, I was alone with the stars and the rhythmic sound of my own breathing. Up here, I felt like the only person in the world.
As I ascended the cable, I couldn’t stop wondering, Am I the first?
The first to climb this high, this fast, in total silence. No ropes. No caras. Just speed, instinct and whatever it was that had changed inside .
I reached the central tower where the cables converged, a massive steel structure rising above the rest of the bridge like a spine. Four gargoyle-like figures perched at the corners, silent, steel guardians, their design inspired by Gothic cathedrals. At the top, a long tal rod jutted out, probably ant for a flag, though none flew there now. I leapt toward it, catching myself with one hand my feet braced against the vertical beam. The wind tugged at my hoodie, carrying the tallic scent of the river and the faint hum of electricity running through the bridge’s skeleton.
I looked out over the sea of rooftops stretching into the distance, buildings I’d just passed in a blur. They all looked different from this height, rearranged like a scattered puzzle. I couldn’t even pick out my own apartnt. Everything familiar looked foreign from up here.
Then I turned my gaze toward the heart of the city.
Skyscrapers lood in the distance, lit up like glass monoliths, but they didn’t seem so imposing anymore. Not from where I stood. Not with the wind in my lungs and this impossible strength in my limbs.
That’s when I heard it.
High-pitched. Distant. Winding through the city like a warning call.
Sirens.
My rabbit ears caught them before my eyes could. I turned my head, tracking the sound. A pair of flashing blue-and-red lights wove through traffic far below, chasing a black sedan that had just turned onto the bridge.
Amateurs.
Bad move. If the police were smart and they usually were, they’d cut off the other end of the bridge, the one closer to my place. That car was running headfirst into a trap.
Still… it was fast.
The getaway driver was skilled, weaving between cars, pushing every inch of space like a pro. I felt the tension rise inside as I watched, as if the chase was a song I knew the rhythm to. Only this ti, I was on the outside. Watching.
I wasn't a hero.
Right?
I an, usually I was the one in the getaway car.
But now this alien thought stirred within . I was considering helping the cops? ?
My legs were already itching to move. My heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of tires and sirens.
I didn’t want to be chased tonight.
I wanted to be the one chasing.
Fuck it.
I vaulted off the tower and sprinted down the cable, each step precise, each landing flawless. My armor absorbed the force of impact, made feel like I was made of feathers and steel all at once. I ran like I was born to do it.
As I neared the street again, I saw the chase closing in. The black sedan was speeding toward , sirens howling behind it.
How do you stop a car? Definitely not by stepping in front of it. I wasn’t ready to test my armor against two tons of speeding tal.
Instead, I went with sothing a bit more… .
I yanked the black spray can from my bag and dashed a thick, jagged line across the pavent, one broad enough to catch both tires. It looked like graffiti, but I poured energy into it as I pressed my palm against the fresh paint.
“Be the crack in the bridge,” I whispered.
I felt the shimr rise from my fingertips, light gathering into the blackness like ink swallowing starlight.
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And then I ran.
The sedan ca in fast, too fast. Its wheels hit the painted line and caught.
It was like the road swallowed part of the car. The front axle snapped with a crack that echoed across the bridge and the car skidded sideways, tires screaming, before it slamd into the railing and jerked to a halt.
The police car, chasing close behind, saw what happened and slowed instinctively, but I’d already lifted my power from the paint. They passed harmlessly through it, rolling to a stop a few ters ahead of the wreck.
The officers spilled out, weapons drawn, shouting for the suspects to exit the vehicle slowly. Typical protocol. Except these weren’t amateurs either.
The back door of the crashed sedan swung open and two figures rolled out, using the car’s fra for cover. One had what looked like an SMG, the other a sawed-off shotgun. They crouched low, professional, ready to fight their way out.
Neither the cops nor the gangsters had noticed yet.
Good.
I crouched in the dark just beyond the wash of headlights, heart steady, mind cold. This wasn’t the kind of fight I’d planned when I put on the mask tonight, but plans didn’t seem to matter to that night.
The wreck stank of gasoline and scorched tal. I perched above it, breathing slow inside the mask, listening. Their voices bled fear with every syllable. Two of them. One jittering around a shotgun, the other barking orders while his hands trembled on a cheap machine gun.
They didn’t see yet. Better.
“Fuck it, Marco! We gotta move or the boss’ll kill us. Forget the goddamn cops.” The shotgun shook in his grip. I could hear his pulse hamring from here.
“Man, we gotta deal with them quick,” Marco snapped, racking the SMG with a tallic clack that cut through the night.
“Don’t shoot!” the other yelled toward the sirens. His voice cracked with panic. “There’s a guy in the trunk! You fire, you kill him!”
That froze the cops for a heartbeat. One breath where the world went still.
Then Marco ruined it.
“I ain’t waiting anymore!” he snarled, crouched behind the bent hood, and opened fire.
Automatic fire scread across the bridge, bullets spitting sparks off steel and glass. Thunder rolled between the towers. Red and blue sirens strobed over the carnage as Marco laughed, wild and manic.
“I got ‘em, man! I got ‘em!”
The cops dropped behind their cruiser. Maybe hit, maybe not. Didn’t matter.
“Go check their car!” the shotgun man barked. “I’ll get the trunk open. We stash the accountant in the cruiser!”
“Sure!” Marco yelled, charging forward, high on adrenaline, SMG still smoking in his grip..
I dropped onto the police cruiser. tal scread and buckled beneath . The blast of impact froze both n where they stood.
The mask worked its magic. Their eyes went wide, moves stopped.
Marco looked at like a deer caught in headlights. Wrong instinct. Before he could raise his gun, I had him by the collar, feet kicking in the air. His weapon crumpled in my hand with a squeal of tortured steel. Useless. Then I hurled him across the asphalt. The wreck t him with a sickening crack..
The other one dropped the accountant and clawed for his shotgun. His pulse thundered. The air reeked of sweat and fear.
He leveled the weapon, hands trembling. My head tilted, the mask catching his reflection in its blank black eyes.
We stared at each other for a single, taut breath. He thought he was ready.
He wasn’t.
I moved.
The world blurred into streaks of color. The shotgun roared too late, its blast chewing through empty air. A heartbeat later, I slamd into him, the impact folding his body inward. His weapon spun away.
He gasped against my grip, eyes wide, terrified, searching for rcy. I gave him none. I let him see it instead—the emptiness behind the mask, the inevitability—as the fight drained from his chest.
People believe death waits for them. That it’s patient.
They never realize it hunts.
And tonight, death wore a rabbit face.
Marco lay crumpled, unconscious. The shotgun man twitched but still breathed.
I turned to the trunk. Their prize.
A man, late forties, unconscious, sweating, pale but alive. The accountant. I lifted him from the wreck as if he weighed nothing and set him gently against the cruiser.
This armor, my armor, was sothing else.
I felt unstoppable.
Quickly, I checked on the officers. One was groaning, the other already trying to sit up. Both had taken hits to the chest, but their vests held. Judging by the way they moved, they’d be sore tomorrow, but alive.
Then I heard more sirens.
Three sets. Close. The cavalry was coming, fast.
I didn’t wait.
No heroic poses. No signature exit.
I sprinted toward the Bronx, toward the cover of shadowed buildings and sleeping streets. My footsteps were light, barely touching the pavent. I scaled a fire escape and crouched low on a rooftop, watching from above as the flashing lights flooded the bridge.
Adrenaline still buzzed in my veins. My lungs barely needed the breath. My fingers tingled.
I did it. I stopped a getaway. I saved a hostage. I neutralized ard targets.
Without anyone knowing it was .
And I felt… electric.
A little shaken. A little high.
And still so not ready to admit what this might an.
Hero? Vigilante? Sothing in between?
I didn’t have the answer. Not yet.
But I knew this: I wanted more.
I jumped onto the bus stop roof, then the ledge of a lower building. From there, I grabbed a rusted ladder and climbed to a higher rooftop. Still higher. Then I ran, fast, across the tops of buildings, not to escape a chase, but to chase my escape. From reality. From everything.
I felt alive.
Birds burst into flight at my approach, feathers flaring in panic. Cats scrambled out of sight, tails puffed up. Dogs howled and barked from their balconies and gated alleyways as I soared by. I darted between chimneys and scaffolding, ducked under cables and clotheslines, vaulting ledges, climbing, jumping. Higher. Faster. Freer.
Until sothing flickered in the corner of my eye.
A few rooftops later, I found it.
Whatever it was.
It sat in the center of an unusually clean rooftop. No graffiti, no trash, no signs of people. No fire escapes or ladders leading up to it either.
In the middle of the rooftop, hovering just above the surface, the world had cracked.
That’s the only way I can describe it. Like reality itself had been painted onto a perfect, glassy sphere and then soone had dropped it. Cracks ran through it like a shattered mirror, but the pieces held together. A faint silver shimr ran along the fractures.
It reminded of that wormhole from Interstellar, except this one was broken. Smaller. Glitching, sohow.
I walked around it carefully. It didn’t pull at . Didn’t warp the air or suck in sound like a black hole would… I guess? I’m not a physicist.
I crouched at the edge of the roof and pulled the almost-empty black spray can from my bag. I tossed it toward the sphere.
No flash. No shimr. No sound.
It just passed through, cleanly and clattered on the other side like nothing was there at all.
Weird.
Maybe I was imagining it?
I sat down, cross-legged and stared at it.
Nothing changed. It just hovered there, cracked, broken-but-whole. Silent.
Then a pigeon landed nearby. It hobbled across the rooftop, pecking the ground, completely oblivious. When it reached the space directly beneath the sphere, I shifted slightly. The bird startled and took flight, straight through the center of the crack.
And ca out the other side. Totally fine.
Not even a ruffled feather.
I stared.
Okay… so maybe it wasn’t dangerous.
Maybe.
I leaned back on my hands and exhaled.
“Curiosity killed the cat…” I murmured to no one. “But not a rabbit… right?”
I stepped closer, hand outstretched and reached toward the shimring surface.
But there was nothing.
No resistance. No heat. No cold. Just… emptiness.
My fingers passed through. Then my hand. I pulled it back easily, unhard.
I took a slow, steadying breath and stepped in.
There was no jolt, no flash of light. Just the sensation of crossing through warm air into cool shade. On the other side, the sphere still floated just above the rooftop, but now… it had changed. Where before silver light shimred through its cracks, now it was shadow that bled from them, as if the dark itself was being pulled inward, feeding sothing unseen.
I turned away and surveyed my surroundings.
At first glance, I was on the sa rooftop.
But as my eyes adjusted, the differences beca undeniable.
The buildings around rose taller than I rembered, towering monoliths of brick, steel and glass. They leaned in strange directions, twisted subtly, as if they were struggling against so architectural logic… or simply collapsing under ti’s weight. There were bridges across them, connecting them in strange places.
I looked up.
The breath caught in my throat.
The sky above was a vast, perfect void, no haze, no smog, no artificial glow. Just infinite black velvet stretched from one end of existence to the other. Yet it wasn’t empty.
It pulsed with stars.
Thousands, no, millions, of them, burning brighter and sharper than I’d ever seen, packed so tightly they blurred together into rivers of silver, gold and pale fire. It was like staring into the heart of the universe.
And then the moons.
So many of them.
Not one. Not two. A dozen, at least. Maybe more.
Each one different, so slivers, others whole, frozen mid-phase like they were trapped in different tilines. Their light painted the buildings in a wash of soft blues and ghostly whites, changing with every step I took.
It was beautiful.
Terrifying.
Endless.
Then I saw it, just a glint at first, a light that streaked across the sky like a falling star caught in tar. It moved slowly, almost uncertainly, trailing faint silvery tendrils through the air like smoke illuminated by moonlight. It wasn’t falling, not really. It drifted. Curved. Danced.
I thought teor. Then maybe bird. But no, it was neither. It shifted in the air with too much grace, too much sentience.
And it noticed .
The thing changed course instantly, like a slingshot released, darting straight toward across the night sky. I took a step back. But as it approached, I saw it clearly for what it was, a figure, humanoid and radiant. No bigger than a child’s forearm, its body shimred with liquid silver light. It looked like sothing torn from the pages of a forgotten fairy tale, like Tinkerbell reborn in rcury and fire.
Its form blurred when it moved, limbs dissolving into streams of luminance, but when it paused, hanging still in the air just a foot from my face, I could make out every detail. Narrow shoulders, tiny hands, a face shaped like still water and starlight and eyes that shimred with a strange, intelligent curiosity.
No wings. It didn’t need them. It floated on pure intention.
I held still, breath slow behind the mask. It hovered, studying , examining my paint-stained fingers.
Then it moved again, circling fast, leaving ribbons of soft light in its wake. I turned, trying to keep track, but it was too quick, like trying to follow a thought mid-dream. Every shift of its motion felt aningful, deliberate. Not hostile. Just… deeply curious.
I reached out.
My hand moved slowly through the space it had just occupied, fingers brushing against the last heat of its passage. It froze for a mont, just out of reach, like it was deciding sothing.
And then, like a breath sucked in too sharply, it vanished, streaking upward and away in an arc of argent light, disappearing into the sky above.
Gone.
I dropped to my knees, overwheld. A wave of awe surged through , bigger than fear, stronger than wonder. I felt so small, yet so… alive.
My mouth parted in a silent gasp as I stared up into the fractured night sky.
Was this another world? A dream?
Or had I just stepped into the canvas of so god’s unfinished painting?
A flutter of wings broke the silence.
A pigeon landed on the far end of the roof, but sothing was wrong.
It was coated in a thick, black sludge, like oil clinging to every feather. The stuff shimred and shifted as it moved, sliding like liquid ink, but sohow it left no trace behind, no footprints, no stains. It was as if the filth belonged only to the bird and nowhere else.
Atop its head, nestled between two matted tufts of feathers, was a third eye. Pale white. Milky. And wide open.
It stared straight at .
Unblinking.
Tracking.
A chill ran down my spine. Sothing primal urged to move, to disrupt the mont. So I did.
I stepped forward, sudden and sharp. The pigeon jerked, wings flaring with a sound like wet cloth being snapped and vanished into the night sky with a wheezing croak.
I stared after it for a mont longer, then turned my gaze back to the orb.
Still suspended. Still cracked. Sucking in shadows through the cracks.
I approached slowly, reached out and stepped through again.
No resistance. No tug. Just air.
I erged once more into the world I knew, the one with the streetlights, the sirens far away, the dull sky hanging over too-perfect rooftops. Behind , the sphere shimred softly, almost gently. As if nothing had happened.
But the question gnawed at as I stared back at it:
Why did I pass through, when the can and the pigeon didn’t?
Why did it let in?
I decided to go through again, certain now that I could return as easily as I had left. But just as I took a step toward the sphere, sothing changed.
It shivered.
Not visibly, not like sothing physical might tremble, but as if the space it occupied began to hesitate. I froze mid-step.
Then the cracks began to close.
Slowly, thodically, like a wound stitching itself shut in reverse. The silvery light that had once shimred from within started to dim, curling back inward along invisible seams. The fractured surface folded into itself, folding tighter and tighter.
The orb began to shrink.
It didn’t make a sound, no rumble, no hum, no sharp intake of air. Just silence. And that silence sohow made it worse.
I didn’t move. I didn’t dare to. My instincts scread at to keep my distance.
It took maybe ten minutes. Maybe less. But it felt like an hour.
Then, finally, with a faint flicker, gone.
The space where it had hovered was now just empty air. A bare rooftop. No residue. No trace. Not even a shimr in the moonlight.
I stood there for a long while after, staring at the spot like I expected it to blink back into existence.
But it didn’t.
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