The ground beneath them didn't crack. It didn't break.
It opened.
Gavin felt it first in his chest, a lurch like something had reached in and grabbed his heart, twisting it. The sensation of weightlessness hit his body, and for a brief moment, he thought he might actually float. He tried to move, but the air around him thickened, pinning his limbs. The space he occupied was no longer defined by walls and floors, by concrete or steel. It was as if reality itself had folded, shifted, become something else entirely.
Everything around them began to pulse, each heartbeat sending shockwaves through the room, the walls bending and warping as though they were alive. It was as if the city itself was breathing—a mechanical, suffocating exhale that rattled their bones.
Gavin couldn't look away. His eyes traced the edges of the room, watching the air shimmer, the lights flickering erratically, casting long, harsh shadows that danced like ghosts. The floor underneath them vibrated, hums and echoes crawling through the concrete as if the city's foundation had come to life, testing the seams of its own existence.
The ball was still vibrating, still pulsing in Riley's arms. It had never felt heavier than it did now. The weight of it seemed to pull them all down, deeper, into the heart of this nightmare. The air was so thick it was hard to breathe, but Riley kept her grip on the ball, as if it were the only thing holding her together, even as her fingers turned pale, her knuckles tight.
And then the voice came again.
"Throw it."
This time, it wasn't just in their heads. The voice reverberated through the walls, a deep, resonating boom that rattled their bones, as though the city itself was speaking through the air, through the ground, through them. The sound pressed against their eardrums like pressure from deep underwater.
Gavin's chest tightened. His heart raced. He wanted to respond, wanted to say something, anything, but the voice overwhelmed him. The pressure built, suffocating, as though every inch of space was being consumed by the sound, by the force of it.
"Throw it."
The voice was clearer now, but it still wasn't Jalen's voice. It was deeper, darker, something ancient and cold, something that wasn't even human. It was the city—the thing that had taken everything. The thing that was trying to take them, too.
Gavin's legs felt heavy, like cement blocks had been tied to his feet. He tried to move, but it was as if the very ground beneath him had turned into quicksand, pulling him in, making it harder to escape. He wanted to reach for Riley, to help her with the ball, but he couldn't bring himself to act. He was paralyzed, trapped in the city's grip.
Suddenly, the ground under them trembled. A low rumble surged through the room, and Gavin felt the pressure increase. It wasn't a simple shaking—no, this was something different. This was the city waking up. This was the moment it had been waiting for.
"Throw it."
The voice echoed again, but this time, it wasn't just a command. It was a demand.
Gavin's heart skipped a beat. He knew it was too late. Whatever game they had been playing, whatever rules they thought they understood, were over. The city wasn't just a backdrop—it was alive, conscious, and it was playing them like puppets on strings.
The ball pulsed in Riley's arms, growing heavier, almost alive. Gavin's vision blurred as the room seemed to tilt, bending out of shape. His legs buckled beneath him, and he barely managed to stay standing. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the blood that had started to gather in his mouth, the taste metallic, bitter.
"Don't throw it," a voice inside him warned. It was the voice of reason, the voice that told him not to give in, not to play the game anymore. But it was too late for reason. There was no stopping now.
The voice from the walls reached a fever pitch.
"You've made your choice. Throw it."
A pressure built in Gavin's chest. He couldn't fight it anymore. He could feel it taking control, spreading through his body like poison, making him move without thinking, without choice. His arm moved involuntarily toward Riley, toward the ball that seemed to hum with a life of its own.
But before his fingers could make contact, Riley jerked back, holding the ball closer to her chest. She shook her head, her breath quickening, the panic in her eyes growing.
"We don't have to do this," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It's not worth it. We can fight back."
But Gavin could see it in her eyes—the same thing he felt in his chest: the city had already won. It had always been in control, from the moment they stepped into its grip. The ball, the game—it wasn't about winning anymore. It was about survival. And in the end, the only way to survive was to throw the damn ball.
He reached out again, but this time, Riley didn't pull away. Her hands were trembling as she passed the ball into his.
The moment their fingers met, the ground shook harder, and the air around them pressed in. The hum of the ball seemed to fill the entire chamber, its pulse vibrating in their chests, in their heads.
The voice came again, louder this time, almost deafening.
"Throw it, QB."
And Gavin did.
The instant the ball left his hands, the world shifted.
Everything went black, and the sound of the city was replaced with a scream—a roar that drowned out everything. Gavin felt as though the entire world had collapsed in on itself, the walls folding and crushing, pulling them into a void they couldn't escape.
The ball shot through the darkness, its path clear, like it was meant to be thrown. Gavin couldn't see where it was going, couldn't feel anything except the deafening silence in his mind. The weight had lifted from him, but only for a moment, only for a breath.
And then it hit.
The sound of the ball making contact with something solid echoed through the dark chamber, sharp and final. But there was no cheer. No applause. No victory.
Just silence.
The ball bounced once, twice, and then everything went still.
Gavin couldn't breathe. The silence was deafening, suffocating. And then, like a tide, everything came crashing back.