First failure.
Don't worry, We're right here. - That was Antwan and Mia — my people. My brain squad.
And with that comfort in my chest, I dove over the edge.
Straight into the Obscurity.
After such a dramatic, screen-fading disappearance, any self-respecting series would cut to black, leave you sobbing, and flash a sexy little teaser: - In the Next Episode…-
But my life? Not a show. Not a stage. And definitely not in the budget.
No soundtrack. No cinematography.
Just me, sliding down the -cat hook- into a whole lotta WTF.
The moment my boots hit the ground, something squelched. And growled. At first, I thought it might be some mysterious organic terrain — maybe the stretched hide of a massive creature or pulsating alien moss or whatever.
Spoiler:
It was poop.
Very, very real shit.
The kind of smell that grabs your sinuses, shakes them, and whispers: -You stepped in someone's digestive journey.-
Silver lining? Something around here is alive. And it's big enough to leave steaming landmines.
I ran a quick gear check: My classic spiked jacket? Still on. Latex pants with knee-fangs? Fabulous. Wrist stilettos? Armed and loaded. My backpack — complete with a small, discreet patch of Antwan's face — still zipped and cozy.
(He's never seen it. Gotta keep that teenage ego in check. But damn if I'm not sentimental.)
Inside: three vials, a soda bottle, and... some cash.
Yeah. Actual paper bills. Crinkly, ancient, museum-worthy cash. Why? Well, in these Obscurity-wrecked zones, some survivors might still run on that old-school economy. Call me delusional, but money talks. Even in hellscapes.
I took a step. Then another.
Beneath my boots now lay what felt like stone pavement — although my eyes weren't doing me any favors. I could barely see anything.
Hands outstretched like a blind bat, I waddled forward, smacking into every object like a drunk mole.
First? A bucket. Sent it flying. Then I hugged a tree — sturdy, healthy, and surprisingly moist. So not everything here was dead. Noted.
Between the stumbles, I was making a lot of noise. Enough to summon every local demon, goblin, or eldritch Karen in the district.
But nothing came. Total. Freaking. Silence.
Let me just say — the quiet? Worse than the dark. No wind. No creaks. No distant howls.
Just the sound of my steps and the occasional muffled curse when I bumped into stuff.
After some timeless, undramatic interval (I didn't check my implant clock
— sue me), I heard something.
Voices. Singing. Like a festival echoing from somewhere very far away. Then — yelling. Cheers. Applause?
Then… nothing.
Was it real? Was it in my head? Don't know. Still spooked the crap outta me, though. I picked up the pace.
And then, just when I thought the void had eaten every lumen in existence… I saw light.
A flicker. A glow. Something.
— Guys, did I imagine that, or…? - I asked the brain-crew.
Nope, it's real, Ali, - Mia -We're seeing it too. Just be careful, okay?
Oh, brilliant advice. Let me put -stay alive- on my checklist right after - don't step on another turd.-
Just then, I slammed into something massive. I nearly screamed my lungs out right there. My heart played all five movements of The Dies Irae.
I backed up, gasping, barely staying vertical.
No Night Vision channel to drain power from, so I diverted a fraction of my mental juice into a good ol' Probe of Knowledge.
Yeah, yeah. Sounds fancy. But it's one of those basic mind-moves every trained operative has — like -identify that thing before you pee yourself.-
Tendrils of my energy wrapped around the object like ghostly spaghetti, analyzing every surface, molecule, and vibe.
In my mind's eye bloomed a shifting flower of shapes — morphing, twirling, pulsing with data.
And then? It clicked.
A cement mixer. A plain, factory-standard cement mixer, abandoned in the middle of a void-ridden street.
Antwan burst out laughing.
Mia followed with a stifled giggle-snort.
Oh, you think this is funny, you little trolls?! — I But five seconds later, I was laughing too.
Because in that moment of cosmic horror and silence, nothing — nothing
was funnier than nearly dying of fright over a cement mixer.
Move over, stand-up comedians. Construction equipment just stole your job.
Antwan was still dying of laughter, and Mia followed with her signature mischievous giggle.
Laugh it up, you little gremlins! — I snapped with mock indignation… and then joined in, the tension melting off me like a waxed-over Turns out, nothing breaks an existential horror spiral like a cement mixer with attitude.
After I'd had a good laugh and emotionally reset, I kicked the thing — hard.
It jolted. And whimpered. Like a person.
-Uhhh… that's not — Antwan gasped. Yup. The thing actually moaned.
My gut immediately remembered where I was, and I bailed fast, heading toward the growing light ahead. The weak, flickering glow was now clearly forming into a tall, ornate streetlamp — all wrought-iron legs and big frosted glass. And for some reason, it was swarming with bugs.
In winter.
Where the hell did they even come from?
Somehow, the thing was still drawing power — which made zero sense, considering this whole zone had been off-grid for centuries. The glow barely covered a 3-meter radius. No wonder I hadn't seen it earlier.
Still tossing banter with my support crew, I stepped into the light and stood under the lamp. Its pale glow formed a tiny island of safety in a roiling ocean of dark molasses.
Then, like a mystical ringtone from my subconscious, my mother's voice chimed in:
A simple task to light your path, though shadows thick may draw your wrath — walk and pause or stand and sigh, this light will guide your watching eye…
Okay. What's your deal, lightpost?
Before I could overthink it, Mia cheerfully cut in:
Success! I've been brainstorming how to fix your blindness problem. Normal vision's toast, and even your freaky inborn sight isn't cutting So I rerouted the spectral input on your implant. Oh? — I raised a brow, just as my vision clicked over like someone flipped a grayscale switch.
Suddenly, everything looked like moody November at 5 p.m. I couldn't see far — just a meter or so past the lamp's reach — but that was still better than zero.