Michael didn't look away. The more he focused, the clearer it became.
"Wait... I see something on the monitor. It's small, and the color is changing." Michael's eyes widened. "It looks like... a countdown timer."
Through the monitor's reflection, a faint, translucent light revealed the numbers: 19:23:57. And it was ticking down.
Michael scrambled, snatching his gloves from where they hung. Raden's eyes followed Michael's frantic movements, his jaw hanging open in confusion.
"Michael, what the hell is going on? Why are you panicking?"
Pulling on his latex gloves, Michael snapped, "I have to leave. Immediately. If I don't..."
Raden frowned.
"If you don't, what?"
"This building is going to explode."
Raden bit down on his fingers at the news. Michael bolted from Mora's workspace, the automatic door sealing shut behind him.
He sprinted to the elevator, jamming the button for the third floor. The moment the doors slid open, he dashed to Mora's room and pounded on the door loud enough for her to hear over anything else.
"Mora! Mora, the timer is ticking! We have to move, now!"
"I don't give a damn! If this building blows up, then let it blow!" Mora shouted from inside.
Michael's fist stopped mid-air. He leaned his forehead against the door, teeth chattering, and swallowed hard.
"I admit I was wrong for not telling you about April. I'm sorry... I jus-"
"Just?! The fact that you like April at all is the problem! I don't agree with you dating her. I don't want romantic entanglements between my friends and my family. You know how hard it is to fix things once they get this complicated?"
For a few minutes, Michael stood in stunned silence.
"Is it really wrong," he whispered, "to have feelings for someone who is genuinely sincere with us?"
Mora gasped softly behind the door, rendered speechless. A heavy silence settled between them.
Michael turned his back to the door. He sat down, watching the birds decorating the afternoon sky, chirping as if trying to deliver news only he could hear. The afternoon breeze cut through their clothes, a chilling gust that raised goosebumps on their skin. The harsh glare of the setting sun from the east bathed them in orange light, ready to transition into the pitch black of the Spectre City sky.
Michael stood up tall.
"I'm going there anyway. Whatever happens to me, let me bear the risk alone. I'm sorry my feelings didn't meet your expectations, little sister."
Michael walked away from Mora's door, took the elevator down, and exited the Indi(e)go headquarters alone.
He trudged along the sidewalk, his heart still shaken. He let out a heavy sigh, scanning the city streets. Blue neon lights traced the contours of his face as he walked. Shops were locking their doors tight. Pedestrians were a rarity, all he saw were cars speeding by and wheel-less motorcycles tearing through the air, their wake whipping his hair upward for fleeting seconds.
Michael fished a cigarette from his pocket and approached a small, elderly black man sitting on a wooden chair at a small table. The man held a cigarette of his own, relaxed, watching the night sky.
"Got a light, old man?"
Without a word, the man slid a gas lighter across the table. Michael grabbed it, lit his cigarette, and slid it back.
"What's with the face, kid? You look like a man with no will to live. What happened?" the old man asked, finishing his drag.
Michael exhaled a cloud of smoke.
"Yeah, you could say that."
The old man smiled.
"You should try living out that life that didn't go according to plan. This city might look like a corpse, but it's trying its hardest to stay on its feet."
Michael took another drag and returned the smile.
"You're right. This city is terrified of dying, yet it survives on human blood. Anyway, thanks for the chat. I gotta run."
Michael resumed his trek toward the Pink House. He took one last drag from the shortening cigarette and flicked the butt onto the street.
---
Raden surveyed Mora's workspace, a room cluttered with high-tech gear, complex control panels, and various tools hanging from the walls.
You look restless. What's eating at you? Oni asked through Raden's mind.
"Yeah, um... I just feel useless in a crisis like this," Raden replied, rubbing his forehead.
Accept your condition until your leg heals, Oni advised.
"I'm curious though. If I turn into that horned man... uh, what was it called?"
Astral Rage.
"R-right, that. If I turn into that, will my leg be normal?"
No. That transformation doesn't heal your leg or your body. Your physical form needs to recover naturally. The transformation only grants you a second layer of armor; it doesn't replace your body with a new one. You aren't a snake that can shed its skin at will.
Raden sighed.
"So that's how it is, huh? I thought I could get an instant fix."
He looked around, his expression screaming boredom. The silence was suffocating. He gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, and tried to hoist himself up, fighting the stinging pain in his leg.
Being reckless again? Didn't you hear what your friend said? Oni chided.
"I-If I don't do this... I'll die of boredom..." Raden gritted his teeth, forcing himself up.
He managed to stand, leaning heavily on the desk, gasping for air. Slowly, he limped toward the exit. The automatic door slid open, and he made his way out, face twisted in pain.
Raden stepped out of the Indi(e)go HQ. His heart was hammering against his ribs, faster than usual. His breath came in ragged gasps. He collapsed onto a bench not far from the building, drenched in sweat.
You almost died a stupid death forcing yourself out here just because you were bored, Oni noted.
"I'd rather die a stupid death chasing my own curiosity than live a miserable life staring at dead scenery," Raden shot back.
Nice self-defense, but you really should be aware of your situation.
Raden rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, fine. Whatever happens, happens. Speaking of my transformation, do I really have to be angry to bring it out?"
Yes, absolutely. You can fake the rage slightly to trigger it, but to use the speed and strength to their full potential, you need a core of genuine anger. You can't cheat that part. Those are the rules set by the Astral Judge, Oni explained.
"Hmm... a short mantra, huh? Let's try saying-"
*Thwack!
A soda can struck the right side of Raden's head and landed by his left hand. He looked around, rubbing his head, but saw no one who could have thrown it.
Picking up the can, he turned it over. The label read: MONOSPACE Trigger Soda.
Raden's eyes widened.
"Yeah, that's it... Trigger," Raden whispered, gripping the can.
That's your short mantra? Oni asked.
"Yeah. Trigger."
Very well. Every time I hear that word, I will try to focus my rage. Interested in a test run?
Raden grinned.
"Sure, let's give it a shot."
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and focused his mind on a single emotionenough to fuel his rage. When his eyes snapped open, the irises had turned crimson, swirling with a black aura. He exhaled sharply.
"Trigger," Raden said, his voice dropping an octave deeper.
---
Michael stood before the entrance of the Pink House. Flanking the door was a muscle-bound man in a shirt and sunglasses, towering at nearly two meters tall. Michael tried to step inside, but the bouncer blocked his path with a massive arm.
"Sorry, sir. Do you have your entry card?"
Michael patted down his pockets. He didn't recall owning a card for this place.
"Uh... I think I left it at home. But there's a woman waiting for me upstairs," Said Michael.
"Name?"
"Rossie."
The bouncer lowered his sunglasses slightly, scanning Michael from head to toe.
"I know your face. Let me see, hmm..."
He pulled a stack of cards from his pocket and shuffled through them. Michael watched him, puzzled.
"Ah, here it is. You're a VVIP member. Here, take this, sir," the bouncer said, handing over a sleek, premium black card.
Printed on it was the name: Michael Saniston. It had a creation date and a photo that matched Michael's face perfectly.
Michael took the card, staring at it in confusion. The bouncer politely ushered him in, his attitude flipping 180 degrees in seconds.
Without overthinking it, Michael stepped into the Pink House. He made it only a few steps before two more hulking guards blocked his path. They ordered him to raise his hands to shoulder height, holding the card in his right hand.
Michael rolled his eyes and complied. One guard scrutinized the card while the other swept a handheld metal detector over his body.
When the device reached Michael's stomach, it shrieked loudly. Both guards locked eyes on Michael, their gazes sharp and dangerous.
Michael's eyes went wide as he stared back.