A silence came first. Before the end arrived, everything paused. Not a sound moved through the air. Time seemed to stop breathing. Then nothing followed.
That didn't matter much at the time.
So there it remained.
A figure waited where paths crossed. There he stood, feet still on the painted lines meant for stopping.
A stop signal glowed bright overhead.
Fingers of drizzle traced the pavement, one after another, as if time refused to stop ticking. The sky kept pushing down wetness without asking, steady enough to wear through thought.
He stood still while others lingered nearby.
Out of nowhere, a woman glanced at her phone. Then came the screen's glow. Her fingers tapped once. Silence followed after that small motion.
Out of breath, he let the air out hard enough for others to notice.
A hacking sound broke out, like the atmosphere had done something rude.
Few noticed the man standing there.
That was normal.
That was his choice. It suited him just fine.
A dark coat hung on him, worn-in shoes touching the ground, yet his face made it clear: conversation wasn't happening. Pockets held his hands. Not stiff - just upright, like balance came without effort.
Down the road came a bus, loud and fast.
He figured, odds-wise, nothing could be safer than this.
A quiet idea settled in. Stillness arrived without warning.
Measured.
It always was.
The light flickered.
No one noticed.
A frown crossed her face while looking down. The screen glowed under her stare.
He moved a little, changing how he stood.
The world hesitated.
For a moment only.
He felt it.
Not danger.
Not fear.
Recognition.
A quiet hush settled, as if a letter meant for years had just been delivered.
A sudden hush broke the downpour. Drops hung, then vanished before hitting ground.
Floating there, drops stayed still - sharp edges caught in light.
Sound died.
Stillness never took hold. The moment kept moving.
It withdrew.
Nothing moved on the road. Vehicles had disappeared. Folks vanished too. Layer after layer, the town stripped itself bare - leaving just a pale emptiness behind.
He stood alone.
He spoke the sound out loud - "Ah" - feeling how it formed on his tongue.
It echoed once.
After that, quiet came back, feeling awkward.
A shape appeared where there had been nothing. It watched without moving.
Not a presence.
A function.
A quiet measuring, one that refused to label things right or wrong, avoided warnings entirely, showed nothing but indifference.
It simply confirmed.
> [Asset Located]
He frowned slightly.
"I don't recall opting in," he said.
No response.
The emptiness compressed.
Pictures showed up - less like recollections, more like feelings. They carried weight without context, drifting in like fog before dawn.
Stars being shaped by will.
A single breath holds more pieces than you might guess. What fits between heartbeats shapes everything. Tiny moments pile up without noise. One flicker at a time builds what lasts.
Breath, perhaps, was just another form of making. The mind behind it too wide to tell them apart.
Then -
Fracture.
Down tumbles a deity, pulled by its own weight. Into shadows it sinks, silent, unguarded.
Not dying.
Dividing.
A deliberate loss.
A shape pulled loose, then tucked inside what barely makes a sound. What stays behind learns to breathe differently.
A skill.
A mechanism.
A vow spoken flat, no feeling behind it.
Continuity Protocol Active
The images vanished.
Time snapped back.
Water started falling again, hitting the fabric of his outer layer.
Back came the noise, sudden and loud.
Relief showed plainly as the city pulled back together near him.
Foot traffic got the go-ahead just then.
A push came from the side, hitting his shoulder.
Look out," he said sharply, his mind moving on.
He stepped forward.
Folks followed right along.
The moment passed.
No thunder.
No omen.
A vehicle ignored a red signal - somehow failed to avoid it despite clear conditions.
Metal screamed.
Impact was brief.
He bent in a way that looked wrong.
Falling, his mind floated clear of everything - just a quiet moment before the end.
This is how things start.
Darkness followed.
Not death.
Not yet.
A shape lingered past that point - still, not done. It stayed without rushing, holding its place like a thought left mid-sentence.
A system without a user.
A shape that never speaks. Still there.
A world waking up to regrets it hadn't seen coming.