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—rhythmic, peaceful. 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 pavement 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. No pain. No strain.
And then—I squealed. Full-on, high-pitched, hands-to-my-face excitement.
It worked.
I jumped again in place—this time 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 me up and onto the top of a nearby lamppost, the cool metal 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 time aiming to avoid cracking more concrete. I landed on all fours, let the movement roll through my body, and came 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 became more like bounding. Gliding. The city blurred around me. 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 me. The driver didn't notice. Just some night commuter heading home to forgettable things.
Once the car passed, I waited a beat—then took off again, this time 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. Excitement. Triumph.
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 time 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 meant to avoid. I passed them all in a heartbeat, my legs devouring the distance with each stride.
Then I saw it.
The bridge.
It loomed 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 me 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 something 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 me 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 metal 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 meant 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 cameras. Just speed, instinct, and whatever it was that had changed inside me.
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 metal rod jutted out—probably meant 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 metallic 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 apartment. Everything familiar looked foreign from up here.
Then I turned my gaze toward the heart of the city.
Skyscrapers loomed 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 me as I watched, as if the chase was a song I knew the rhythm to. Only this time, I was on the outside. Watching.
I wasn't a hero.
Right?
I mean, usually I was the one in the getaway car.
But now—thanks to whatever the hell these powers were—I was considering helping the cops? Me?
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 me 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 me, 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 metal.
Instead, I went with something a bit more… me.
I yanked the black spray can from my bag and dashed a thick, jagged line across the pavement—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 shimmer rise from my fingertips, light gathering into the blackness like ink swallowing starlight.
And then I ran.
The sedan came 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 slammed 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 meters 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 frame 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 me yet.
Good.
I crouched in the shadows just beyond the blast of headlights, heart steady, mind racing.
This wasn't the kind of fight I'd expected when I put on the mask tonight.
But it was a fight I could finish.
--
"Fuck it, Marco! We gotta move or the boss'll kill us. Forget the goddamn cops."
My head throbbed. It felt like I'd slammed into a wall of concrete. Whatever we hit on the road hadn't been natural. My ears still rang from the impact. The car was wrecked, the front axle snapped like a twig, steam hissing from the hood. I gripped my shotgun, fingers slick with sweat. Heart racing. Thoughts jumbled.
"Man, we gotta deal with them quick," Marco said, unlocking his SMG with a cold, metallic click. The fucker was always too eager, always hot-headed. This was supposed to be a run. A simple hand-off. No cops, no guns. Just deliver the accountant and bounce.
"Don't shoot!" I yelled toward the sirens, raising my voice over the chaos. "There's a guy in the trunk! You shoot, you might kill him!"
That gave the cops pause.
For one brief second, everything was still.
Then Marco ruined it.
"I ain't waiting anymore!" he growled, crouched behind the crumpled car hood, and opened fire.
Automatic fire screamed across the bridge, each bullet sparking on metal and glass, echoing like thunder between the towers. The night lit up in flashes of muzzle light and red-blue sirens. Marco laughed like a man possessed.
"I got 'em, man! I got 'em!"
I looked—sure enough, the cops were down behind their vehicle. Maybe hit, maybe not. But for once, Marco had done something right.
"Go check their car," I barked. "I'll get the trunk open. We'll stash the guy in the cruiser and bolt."
"Sure!" Marco shouted and took off running, high on adrenaline, still clutching the smoking SMG.
Then—THUMP.
Something landed on the hood of the police car. Hard. Metal crumpled like a soda can under the force. A deep dent punched through the windshield. Marco stopped dead mid-run.
I saw it too.
At first, I thought it was a person. Then I realized—I was wrong.
It was short, lean—clad in black cargo pants, a hoodie that fluttered slightly in the wind. But its head—
A rabbit.
A white face. Long ears. Empty, black eyes that gleamed like oil. Tilted slightly, watching Marco like prey. A nightmare dropped into reality.
It moved.
So fast.
In a blink, it was on him.
Marco didn't even scream. One second he was standing there. The next—lifted clean off the ground by his collar, legs kicking like a ragdoll.
The rabbit-thing crushed the SMG in its other hand—crushed it. Bent the steel like it was wet paper, then tossed it away like garbage.
Then it threw Marco.
He flew like a sack of meat, slammed into our car with a crack that shook the whole frame. I dropped the accountant I was dragging out of the trunk.
What the fuck. What the FUCK.
I scrambled, grabbed my shotgun, leveled it.
It turned its head toward me.
Then it looked at me.
Straight at me.
Black eyes focused.
It moved.
I barely had time to blink. A blur of dark fabric and the gleam of a rabbit face, and it was coming for me—no, on me. Slamming into my chest.
I fired a gun. Too late. I missed.
The last thing I saw before everything went black was that face—blank, smooth, rabbit eyes staring down at me like they were pulling my soul straight from my bones.
I used to think hell waited for you after you died.
Turns out it comes early.
And Death is wearing a rabbit face.
--
Damn, that was easy.
One of them even tried to shoot me with a shotgun. Damn, I was fast. He must have missed me by just inches.
The guy I threw into the car? Out cold. The one I choked out? Same. Breathing, twitching slightly, but definitely not dead. Good. I wasn't trying to kill them. Not yet.
I turned toward the trunk. Their precious cargo.
A man. Late forties, maybe, unconscious but breathing steady. Pale, sweating. Probably the accountant they were smuggling. I lifted him out like he weighed nothing and propped him gently against the police cruiser.
This armor—my armor—was something 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 it—more sirens.
Three sets. Close. The cavalry was coming, fast.
I didn't wait.
No heroic poses. No signature exit.
I sprinted back toward the side of the city I came from, toward the cover of shadowed buildings and sleeping streets. My footsteps were light, barely touching the pavement. 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 armed targets.
Without anyone knowing it was me.
And I felt… electric.
A little shaken. A little high.
And still so not ready to admit what this might mean.
Hero? Vigilante? Something 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 something flickered in the corner of my eye.
I stopped, pivoted, focused.
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 someone had dropped it. Cracks ran through it like a shattered mirror, but the pieces held together. A faint silver shimmer ran along the fractures.
It reminded me of that wormhole from Interstellar—except this one was broken. Smaller. Glitching, somehow.
I walked around it carefully. It didn't pull at me. 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 shimmer. 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 came 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 shimmering 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, unharmed.
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 shimmered through its cracks, now it was shadow that bled from them—as if the dark itself was being pulled inward, feeding something unseen.
I turned away and surveyed my surroundings.
At first glance, I was on the same rooftop.
But as my eyes adjusted, the differences became undeniable.
The buildings around me rose taller than I remembered—towering monoliths of jagged stone and rough brick. They leaned in strange directions, twisted subtly, as if they were struggling against some architectural logic… or simply collapsing under time's weight.
Then 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—some slivers, others whole, frozen mid-phase like they were trapped in different timelines. 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 meteor. Then maybe bird. But no—it was neither. It shifted in the air with too much grace, too much sentience.
And then, it noticed me.
The thing changed course instantly, like a slingshot released, darting straight toward me 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 shimmered with liquid silver light. It looked like something torn from the pages of a forgotten fairy tale, like Tinkerbell reborn in mercury 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 shimmered 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 me—examining my paint-stained fingers.
Then it moved again—circling me 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 meaningful, 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 like the air after lightning. It froze for a moment, just out of reach, like it was deciding something.
And then, like a breath sucked in too sharply, it vanished—streaking upward and away in an arc of argent light, disappearing into the clouds above.
Gone.
I dropped to my knees, overwhelmed. A wave of awe surged through me, 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 some god's unfinished painting?
A flutter of wings broke the silence.
A pigeon landed on the far end of the roof—but something was wrong.
It wasn't just dirty. It was coated in a thick, black sludge, like oil clinging to every feather. The stuff shimmered and shifted as it moved, sliding like liquid ink, but somehow it left no trace behind—no footprints, no stains. It was as if the filth belonged only to the bird and nowhere else.
Then I saw it.
Atop its head, nestled between two matted tufts of feathers, was a third eye. Pale white. Milky. And wide open.
It stared straight at me.
Unblinking.
Tracking.
A chill ran down my spine. Something primal urged me to move, to disrupt the moment. 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 moment 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 emerged 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 me, the sphere shimmered softly, almost gently. As if nothing had happened.
But the question gnawed at me as I stared back at it:
Why did I pass through—when the can and the pigeon didn't?
Why did it let me 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, something changed.
It shivered.
Not visibly, not like something physical might tremble, but as if the space it occupied began to hesitate. I froze mid-step.
Then the cracks began to close.
Slowly, methodically, like a wound stitching itself shut in reverse. The silvery light that had once shimmered from within started to dim, curling back inward along invisible seams. The fractured surface folded into itself, folding tighter and tighter, like a collapsing star.
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 somehow made it worse.
I didn't move. I didn't dare to. My instincts screamed at me 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 shimmer 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.