———Keegan———

The lights flicker on as I step into the warehouse, and there she is, lounging in the only chair in the room like she owns the place. Her mask is off, revealing her sharp grin, and in her hand, she casually tosses the sphere—up and catch, up and catch—like it's a stress ball instead of something half the city seems to want.

"Wondered when you'd show up, Walker," she says, her tone dripping with amusement.

"Nice to know my security system is ass," I mutter, shrugging off my sweatshirt and tossing it onto the mattress.

"What security system?" She smirks, tossing the sphere higher.

I roll my eyes. "What's the deal with that thing? You figure it out yet?"

She nods, leaning back in the chair. "Yes and no. It's property of Smith Inc., I can tell you that much. Kylen himself showed up a little while ago, looking for it. Had his brother with him."

I stop mid-step, raising an eyebrow. "Kylen has a brother? Since when?"

She shrugs. "No clue. Weird, right? And get this—when you dig into Kylen's background, he didn't exist until six years ago. No birth records, no nothing. Whole thing is sketchy as hell."

I frown, heading to the microwave to heat up a bowl of ramen. "Okay, so why didn't you just give the sphere back to him?"

She tosses it one more time, catching it with a flourish. "I'm getting to that. First off, I looked into these markings on it. They don't translate into any known language. Secondly, the guys who were trying to make off with it? Their briefcase had a symbol on it—two letters: MV."

"MV?" I lean against the counter, arms crossed. "What does that mean?"

She sighs. "That's the problem—it's a dead end. No records, no affiliations, nothing. Whoever wants this thing has some serious balls, stealing from Smith Inc. My guess? They're part of something big."

I set the timer on the microwave and slide down to sit on the floor next to her. "So what are you thinking? Gang war?"

She tilts her head, her smile fading slightly. "Something like that. But it feels... bigger. The way Kylen was acting, and that brother of his? They're not telling the whole story. There's something about this sphere they don't want anyone else to know."

I glance at the sphere, its smooth surface catching the overhead light. "What are you gonna do with it?"

She grins again, her mischievous energy returning. "What I always do—play the long game. This thing's a puzzle, and I'm gonna solve it. In the meantime, I figure holding onto it keeps things interesting."

The microwave beeps, breaking the tension. I grab my ramen, the smell filling the air as I stir the noodles. "Well, just don't get yourself killed, alright? I'd hate to have to avenge you or whatever."

She laughs, standing up and flipping the sphere in her hand one last time before tucking it into her bag. "Don't worry, Walker. I'm not the dying type."

As she heads for the door, I watch her go, my mind already racing with questions I can't answer. Something about this whole thing feels off, like a storm is brewing just over the horizon. And somehow, I know we're all gonna get caught in it.

But first, lunch fit for a king. I dig into my instant ramen, the savory broth and noodles hitting like a feast after a battle. Each bite is a glorious symphony of artificial flavoring and sodium, infectiously delicious in the way only desperation food can be.

I slurp another mouthful, sighing contentedly. "Nothing like gourmet cooking to fuel a potential gang war."

Spectra pauses at the door, glancing back with a smirk. "Careful, Walker. Keep talking like that, and I might take you out to dinner next time instead."

I wave her off with my chopsticks, grinning. "Yeah, sure. As long as you're paying."

She laughs, disappearing into the shadows. I finish the last of the ramen, the bowl empty way too soon, and set it aside with a deep breath. Whatever's coming next, at least I'm not facing it on an empty stomach.

———Dylan———

Keegan left my house only a few minutes ago. My mind was racing the entire time he was here. The idea that he lied to me about going to see Rust Bucket, I mean maybe there's a chance he was there and I just missed him?

I looked everywhere but, maybe in my altered state of mind I just over looked him? Everyone there was dressed the same.

I wander into the garage, cleaning up the left over beer cans from last night. We decided to hang in here incase we were being too loud, wouldn't want my mom catching us drinking.

It was the first time we were both in here since he moved out, back when things seemed simpler. His guitar and amp sit untouched in the corner, a thin layer of dust covering the "workshop" we once called our own. It was our spot, where we built stupid little gadgets, dreamed up wild ideas and well, got drunk.

Keegan was obsessed with one project in particular a couple months ago—a reusable grappling hook. He poured everything into it, working late into the night for weeks. Said it was for some physics project, though I'd never seen him care about school like that before.

I sit at the workbench, picking up the prototype he convinced me to help him make. He ignored it last night, didn't say much when I pointed to it and laughed about it being our last and greatest creation. My fingers trace the smooth metal finish, my head starting to throb again.

And then it happens.

The vision.

Images flood my mind like a tidal wave—flashes of a man in black, grappling through the air, fighting alongside the woman with lightning in her hands. I see a newspaper, the headline with the name, Voidstrider. The name cuts through the noise like a blade, and suddenly, it all snaps into place when I see the date on the paper, it's tomorrow's date and the article is about last night.

Voidstrider...

The thought yanks me back to reality, my breath uneven. My nose drips again, a single red streak hitting the prototype.

Keegan. No—he can't be.

Can he?

How would that even—?

I push the thought away. It's just my delusions again. Or maybe it's something more. Intuition, maybe.

Gripping the prototype, I shove it into my bag, heart racing. Without thinking, I step out of the garage and into the street, heading for his warehouse.

The walk to Keegan's warehouse feels longer than usual. Every step is heavy, my mind replaying the vision like a broken record. Voidstrider. Keegan. It doesn't make sense, but it fits in ways I can't ignore.

I approach the warehouse, its looming frame silhouetted against the fading light of the evening. From the outside, it looks as rundown as ever—broken windows, faded graffiti, rusted metal siding—but Keegan always said the best hiding spots were the ones no one gave a second glance.

The door creaks loudly as I push it open. Inside, the space is dimly lit, the faint hum of an old generator barely cutting through the silence. The smell of oil and burnt metal lingers in the air.

"Keegan?" I call out, my voice echoing through the cavernous room. No answer.

I step further inside, my eyes adjusting to the gloom. The workshop is just as cluttered as I remember—scraps of metal, half-built contraptions, and blueprints scattered across every surface. But something new catches my eye.

A corner of the room has been cleared out, transformed into a makeshift armory. Pieces of sleek black equipment hang on the wall—gauntlets, grappling hooks, even a mask with sharp angular lines.

It fits the image of Voidstrider's gear in my vision.

My stomach twists. I was right. Or maybe I was hoping to be wrong.

I pick up the mask, its surface cool and smooth under my fingers. Just holding it feels surreal, like I've stumbled into someone else's life. But it's Keegan's. All of this is his.

"You're not supposed to be here," a voice says from behind me.

I whip around, startled, and there he is. Keegan stands in the doorway, dressed in his usual dark hoodie and jeans, but his face is a mask of stone. He looks between me and the gear, realization dawning in his eyes.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"You're Voidstrider," I say, more an accusation than a question.

He doesn't deny it. Instead, he sighs and steps inside, closing the door behind him.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

"How else was I supposed to find out? You've been sneaking around for months, and you didn't think to tell me?"

"You don't understand," Keegan snaps. "I didn't tell you because I couldn't. It's not just me out there, Dylan. There's more to this than you'd understand."

I narrow my eyes, anger bubbling up. "So you've been lying to me? Pretending everything's fine while you're out risking your life?"

Keegan crosses his arms, his jaw tightening. "It's not like that."

"Then what's it like, Keegan? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're in over your head."

Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. Finally, Keegan speaks, his voice quieter now.

"I didn't want to drag you into this. You've already got enough going on. I thought... I thought I could handle it on my own."

I shake my head, frustration mixing with concern. "You don't have to do this alone, Keegan. You never did."

He looks away, guilt flickering in his eyes. For a moment, he's just my best friend again—no masks, no secrets.

Then the moment passes, and he straightens, his resolve hardening.

"I'll explain everything, but not here. Not now. There are people watching, and if they see you..." He trails off, the weight of the unspoken threat heavy in the air.

I watch as Keegan slips the mask over his face, his posture straightening, the same Voidstrider I've seen from a distance. But now, seeing him up close, it's like I'm standing in front of a stranger—someone I never really knew at all. The room feels smaller, the weight of everything too much to bear as he turns to the door.

"Keegan, stop." I step forward, standing my ground. "I'm not just going to let this slide. I deserve to know what's going on. We've been friends for years—friends who've got each other's backs. You're not going to just put on a mask and pretend I don't matter."

Keegan's hands freeze, fingers brushing the edge of the mask, his shoulders tense beneath the fabric. He doesn't look at me for a moment, just stares down at the floor, like he's trying to make sense of something in his head. Finally, he exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping as he looks up at me, his eyes no longer the usual guarded walls but something far more raw—regret, frustration, exhaustion.

"Fine," he mutters. "You want the truth? Here it is." He steps back, gesturing around the room, the darkened corners of the warehouse seeming even more foreboding now. "This isn't just a 'hobby,' Dylan. This... this is bigger than just us."

I stay quiet, waiting for him to continue, but the words hang in the air for a moment too long. Finally, he shakes his head.

"When I first started with this whole thing, I didn't know what I was getting into. It was just about helping people... stopping criminals, making sure things didn't get out of hand—I mean—I have powers, might as well use them. But then I found out about the groups. The ones that move in the shadows. They're not just some low-level thieves or street gangs, Dylan. They've got influence. They've got power."

I'm trying to keep my cool, but his words hit like a punch to the gut. "What groups? What the hell are you talking about?"

Keegan lowers his voice, glancing over his shoulder like someone might be listening. "I'm not really sure to be honest. Last night I uncovered something I wasn't expecting. I've been trying to figure out what they want, why they're here... and it all leads back to Smith Inc. and the stuff they've been hiding. The real stuff, not the crap they sell to the public."

He steps closer, the air thick with tension. "When did you find out?" He asks. "What made you come here when I was just a your house this morning, had to have been something?"

"To be honest it wasn't that hard to piece it together," I admit, my voice steady. "You... you've been acting weird for a while now. Always sneaking out, showing up late when we are supposed to hangout. Every time you show up you're bruised or bleeding. Then last night, you were way too energetic about the band but you didn't even go to see Rust Bucket. I know because I showed up and you weren't there."

He looks at me, his eyes searching mine for something, then finally nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. "And yet, you didn't say anything." It's not a question, but an observation.

I narrow my eyes. "What was I supposed to say, Keegan? 'I know you've been lying to me'? I wasn't wanting to start shit incase I was wrong but clearly—" I gesture again to the gear and the warehouse—"I was always right."

"And what it was just a hunch?" he asks, his voice tight.

I glance to the gear on the floor and then back to him. "For the past few weeks... since these migraines started... I've been having these... visions, of what I think might be the future."

He snickers. "So it's a double standard?"

"Okay no, I kept mine from you because I thought people would think I was crazy. You kept it from me because you thought I couldn't handle it."

"Because you can't, these people I'm tracking now, they are dangerous. Maybe you can see the future, but that doesn't make you invincible."

I swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. "And what about you? What are you fucking invincible, Keegan?"

He sighs and glances around uncomfortably.

I feel it again, tugging at the back of my mind, pulling me deeper into a dark, swirling space. Something's coming, something big. A vision flashes in my mind. I see Keegan, on the ground, struggling to move. The contents of the warehouse all scattered across the floor, and I can feel the panic seeping through him.

I grunt in pain as the image takes hold of me, my head pounding like it's going to split open. My vision blurs, and Keegan's voice shakes me out of the trance.

"Dylan, what is it? What do you see?" He grabs my arms, trying to ground me, but it's like I'm slipping through my own reality.

But the vision pulls me back in, and the intensity makes my skin burn, my limbs feeling like they're on fire.

Suddenly, I open my eyes, and everything goes haywire. My arms shoot out, the skin of my limbs glowing with an intense blue light. It's like I can't control them, like the energy is flooding through me. Gravity warps, bending under the force of whatever's happening to me. Keegan and I float—no, everything in the warehouse floats. His personal items—his guitar, his books, even those half-empty ramen bowls—are tossed up into the air, suspended like they weigh nothing, colliding with the walls with a force I can't comprehend.

The sensation is overwhelming, like being caught in the middle of a storm of energy, and then—just as quickly as it started—everything slams back down to the floor with a violent thud.

Keegan rolls in pain, clutching his side. I try to push myself up but can barely move. My head is spinning, and my hands feel like they're on fire, the blue light fading, leaving only an eerie quiet in its wake.

I stare at my hands, still shaking from the energy, my breath ragged as fear creeps in. What the hell was that?

"Dylan, what the fuck was that?" Keegan's voice cracks through the silence, shaky with confusion and pain.

I don't have an answer. How could I? That was... not normal.

I can feel the panic rising in me, mixing with the confusion. I try to breathe, but everything feels like it's coming apart at the seams. This isn't just a headache or a random vision. This is something real, something I have no control over.

What the hell is happening to me?

"Dylan?" Keegan asks again, his voice tight with worry, but I can barely register it through the pounding in my skull.

I try to steady myself, but everything's spinning. I blink, trying to make sense of what just happened, but the words barely come out of my mouth.

"I... I had a vision," I say, voice shaking. "Of you on the ground. And everything in the warehouse, scattered. Just like it is right now."

Keegan stares at me, disbelief creeping into his eyes. "Are you telling me you had a vision of two fucking seconds in the future... and then made that future... real?"

I stare at him, still trying to piece together what just happened, what I just did. My hands are still tingling, the energy barely fading. "I think... I don't fucking know. How the hell would I know? You're the powers expert!"

Keegan runs a hand through his hair, his face tightening in frustration. "Yeah, well teleporting shit is a lot different than whatever the fuck that was." He shakes his head, looking at me like I just grew another head.

I open my mouth, but the words stick, swallowed by the weight of everything that just happened. How the hell could I explain this? How could I make sense of this power, of whatever the hell I just unleashed?

"I—I don't get it," I mutter, my hands trembling. "I'm not... I'm not supposed to be able to do this."

Keegan steps closer, his brow furrowed. "Dylan... I don't know what the hell is going on, but that was real. That wasn't just some vision you saw in your head. You bent the space around us. That was like—like you broke reality for a second."

I rub my temples, the migraine creeping back in. "I don't want this. I didn't ask for this."

Keegan's expression softens, but there's still a tension in his voice. "I know. But whatever the hell this is, we're gonna figure it out."

"Yeah," I say quietly, trying to steady my breath. "We'd better."

Keegan doesn't say anything right away. Instead, he looks around at the mess we've made—cups, pillows, empty ramen dishes scattered across the floor like a storm tore through the place. His eyes linger on the broken mug by the wall, then back to me.

"Dylan..." His voice is low, but it carries weight. "This is... a lot."

I nod, feeling the pressure of it all. The buzzing in my head won't stop. The confusion, the fear. Everything feels bigger than me right now. And Keegan's here, watching it unfold, but I can't help feeling like I'm dragging him into something he never asked for.

"I didn't want to hurt you," I say, my voice a little hoarse.

"I know," Keegan says. He walks over to the wall and leans his back against it, crossing his arms. "But I'm not exactly sure what happened here, and I'm guessing you don't have any more control over it than I do."

The way he says it isn't exactly comforting, but it's true. The reality of it settles in deeper. Whatever this power is, it's not just something I can turn on or off. And I have no idea what to do with it.

"I don't get it," I mumble, more to myself than anyone. "I don't understand how any of this is possible."

Keegan's gaze softens, and he uncrosses his arms, stepping forward like he's trying to figure out whether I'm going to break down or explode next. "Look, whatever this is, it's not just some coincidence. You're not just imagining it. You're doing something real."

I force a breath, trying to center myself. "I'm not like you, Keegan. I don't have control. I can't—"

"You can," he interrupts, firm but not harsh. "You just don't know how yet." He walks around the pile of, well everything that's everywhere, searching for something.

I rub the back of my neck, trying to shake off the tension. "Great. So now I'm supposed to just—what? Learn to control a power that—"

"Yeah," Keegan says, cutting me off again. "That's what I'm saying." He's reaches down and grabs his pack of cigarettes from the floor. He reaches inside and brings one to his lips and lights it.

I look up at him, his eyes filled with determination, an understanding that I didn't know I could count on. It's like he's waiting for me to see it, to realize we're in this together.

"Why do you always do that?" I ask, a little frustrated. "Act like you've got it all figured out?"

Keegan gives a slight smile, his eyes gleaming with something between sarcasm and sincerity. "Because I don't have the luxury of being in the dark. We both have this now, whether we like it or not."

I sigh, slumping back against the couch, feeling the weight of everything that's been said, everything that's been started. "I didn't sign up for this, Keegan."

"Neither did I," he says, finally sitting beside me. "But look at me now."

The words settle in my chest. Maybe he's right. Maybe I can't just ignore this. I can't pretend it's not there. If I'm going to get through whatever this is, I need to start facing it.

I look over at him, and for the first time in a while, I feel like maybe we're in this together after all.

"Alright," I say. "Let's figure this out."

Keegan nods. "One step at a time."