image [https://i.imgur.com/27gNa7j.jpeg]
“Though I shall fall, mankind will be granted the chance they need to live—not as slaves, but as free people, in control of their own destiny.”
PRESENT DAY — SPOKANE, WA.
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Joel shot awake, his chest heaving, sweat slick against his skin. His pulse thundered in his ears, the remnants of a dream—no, a memory—clinging to the edges of his mind. The desert. That voice, always distant, yet so close. His fingers gripped the sheets, knuckles pale as the images refused to fade, their weight pressing down on him.
He blinked, dragging his gaze to the clock on the nightstand. The dim glow read only an hour before he needed to be at work. But it wasn’t time that gnawed at him—it was the cold dread that the dream left behind, a shadow coiling around his thoughts, heavy and unshakable. You can’t lie here forever, he reminded himself, pushing through the fog of exhaustion. His job at the bar was a lifeline, a promise he had made to his mom after the service, after everything had fallen apart. I can’t let her down again.
Sighing, Joel swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor grounding him. A soft tickle of fur brushed against his toes, and he looked down to see Kip, sprawled across his clothes, his small body a black smudge in the low light. A faint smile tugged at Joel’s lips despite the weight in his chest.
"Hey, bud," he muttered, his voice rough with sleep. "Keeping those warm for me?"
Kip yawned lazily, barely acknowledging him. Joel chuckled, the sound catching in his throat as he gently nudged the cat. "I still need those, little guy."
Kip’s only response was to roll over, his body still draped across the fabric. Shaking his head, Joel rose to his feet and walked to the dresser. As he reached for a drawer, a flicker caught his attention—a shadow, just on the edge of his vision. His breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat. He spun, eyes searching the room, but it was empty. Just me. And Kip. Nothing else.
Get it together, he scolded himself, clenching his jaw. He grabbed his black shirt and jeans, inhaling deeply before heading toward the bathroom. The past can wait.
The hot water hit his skin like a balm, loosening the tension knotted in his muscles. But the tightness went deeper than his body—it was buried under the surface, tangled in memories and scars that refused to heal. Even after all these years, the nightmares clung to him, a second skin he couldn’t shed. It’s been over a decade, he thought, watching the steam rise, the fog creeping across the mirror. Why can’t I just move on?
He stepped out of the shower, the chill of the room biting at his damp skin. As he wiped the fog from the mirror, a sudden wave of vertigo slammed into him, his hand shooting out to steady himself against the sink. His vision blurred, and for a split second, golden symbols twisted across the glass—pulsing, shifting, as though alive.
Joel froze, his breath sharp in the silence. No. Not again. The symbols shimmered, daring him to look closer, to understand. But as quickly as they appeared, they vanished, leaving only streaks of moisture in their place.
His fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of the sink. Panic bubbled in his gut, spreading like poison through his veins. His reflection was pale, gaunt, shadows etched beneath his eyes. For a long moment, he didn’t move, waiting for the tightness in his chest to ease, for the world to stop spinning.
When the room finally steadied, Joel exhaled shakily, running a hand through his damp hair. Stay strong, he told himself, though the words felt thin, hollow. You’ve got this.
Back in the bedroom, Kip had shifted, his small body curled into a tight ball atop Joel’s rumpled clothes. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes drifting to the picture of his father hanging on the wall—his dad, tall and proud in his Navy uniform, standing in front of a fighter jet. That photo was one of the few things Joel had taken from home after his father’s death. It was a reminder of the man his dad had been—the hero Joel had always looked up to, even if he never felt like he could measure up.
"You’ve got so much potential, Joel," his dad used to say, pride lacing his voice. But now, staring at his father’s face, all Joel could feel was the weight of those words pressing down on him. Why does it never feel like enough?
A soft nudge at his leg broke through the haze of guilt. Kip padded over, his soft fur brushing against Joel’s skin, grounding him in the present. Joel knelt down, scratching behind the cat’s ears, grateful for the small distraction.
"Thanks, little guy," he smiled. "Let’s get something to eat."
Kip purred in response, weaving between Joel’s legs as he stood and made his way to the kitchen. The sound of the TV filled the apartment, the news anchor’s voice a distant hum. Joel barely registered the words as he poured water into the coffee maker, the gentle rhythm of the machine sputtering to life offering a small reprieve from the noise in his head.
The scent of coffee and toasting bagels mingled in the air, a brief comfort against the chill of the morning. On the screen, the anchor mentioned something about a celestial body on a new trajectory, its path bringing it closer to Earth than anticipated. Joel frowned, glancing at his reflection in the darkened window above the sink. His shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes, and he impatiently brushed it aside, his blue gaze clouded with the remnants of the dream, of that desert night.
Focus, he reminded himself, pouring the coffee into a mug. One thing at a time.
Kip meowed softly from beneath the table, his small body weaving in and out between Joel’s legs, a warm nudge against the growing unease. Joel smiled, reaching for the kibble.
"Alright, alright," he laughed, filling the cat’s bowl. The sound of the dry food hitting the dish grounded him in the simplicity of the moment. Kip purred contentedly, his soft fur brushing against Joel’s ankle as he ate. For a brief moment, Joel felt a flicker of peace.
But as he hurriedly finished his bagel and sipped his coffee, the sense of foreboding crept back in, the symbols and shadows lingering at the edges of his mind, waiting. He grabbed his jacket, the keys jingling in his pocket as he bent down to give Kip one final pat.
"Be good, bud," he whispered, though the cat was too focused on his food to notice.
image [https://i.imgur.com/ERAUndQ.jpeg]
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The early morning air gnawed at Joel’s skin as he stepped outside, the cold settling into the ache of old wounds. He winced, instinctively reaching for the scar on his shoulder, fingers brushing the rough, familiar mark. I’ll be okay, he muttered under his breath, more to reassure himself than anyone else.
As he moved toward his truck, a prickle of unease crawled along his spine. It was subtle, like an itch at the back of his neck, something he couldn’t quite shake. His gaze swept across the quiet streets of Spokane, the faint glow of dawn just beginning to paint the horizon. There was nothing out of place—just the usual calm of a waking world. Still, he threw a glance over his shoulder before jogging to his truck.
In the parking lot, a few neighbors had gathered, their voices low but animated. Joel, curiosity piqued, veered toward them. Mrs. Thompson, her silver hair catching the early light, stood at the center, worry etched into her features.
“Morning, Mrs. Thompson,” Joel greeted, his breath hanging in the cold air. “What’s going on?”
She looked up, her eyes wide with concern. “Joel, did you hear the news? They’re saying something strange is happening with the planets. It’s unsettling.”
Joel forced a casual nod, even as unease stirred in his chest. Yeah, I heard something about that. What’s the latest?
Mr. Patel chimed in, his brow furrowed. “It’s not just the planets. Strange things are happening all over. People are disappearing. Weird weather. Animals acting up. No one knows what’s going on.”
Joel’s mind whirled as he processed their words, a tight knot forming in his stomach. It sounds like speculation, he tried to reason, but the tension in his shoulders wouldn’t ease. “I’m sure the authorities will figure it out.”
Mrs. Thompson shook her head, her gaze distant. “I hope you’re right. But everything feels... off.”
Joel offered a tight smile, his words feeling forced. “One day at a time, right?” He would have stayed longer, tried to ease their concerns, but time wasn’t on his side. Jim had given him too many chances already.
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The engine of his old '07 Ford Ranger hummed to life, its warmth seeping into his bones. The radio clicked on, an old country song filling the cab. As he backed out of the lot, a figure suddenly appeared from behind the next car. Joel slammed the brakes, heart thudding against his ribs.
“Hey! Watch it!” he yelled, pulse racing. The man glanced up, eyes wide in realization, and quickly hurried toward the apartment complex. Shaking his head, Joel gritted his teeth and pulled away, the uneasy feeling from earlier now a full-blown knot in his gut.
When he arrived at Jim’s Bar, the empty parking lot greeted him like a bad omen. No Brian. No Jamie’s car. He parked under the usual spruce tree, staring at the door with a growing sense of dread. I can’t be the first one here, he thought, his hand pressing the doorbell as worry crept back into his mind.
Several moments passed before the door swung open. Jamie stood in the entrance, a warm smile on her lips.
image [https://i.imgur.com/KO4JUlU.jpeg]
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“Hey! So sorry, was on the other end of the bar when I heard the bell ring,”
Her smile always lit up the room, but today, something lingered in her expression—something she wasn’t saying. Joel stepped inside, the warmth of the bar wrapping around him, though it did little to chase away the cold knot in his chest.
“No Brian today?” Joel asked, glancing around the quiet bar.
Jamie shook her head, leaning against the doorframe, her gaze lingering on his face. “Nope! Just us today. He called in sick I think.”
Joel nodded, his eyes meeting hers for a beat longer than necessary. There was a heaviness between them, unspoken but palpable. Jamie’s presence had always been steady, grounding him in ways he couldn’t explain. But today, that steadiness wavered. Her eyes were probing, searching his face for something she wasn’t sure how to ask about.
“You look like you didn’t sleep,” she said softly, tying her apron with practiced ease, though her fingers fumbled with the strings.
Joel offered a half-smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Rough night.”
She didn’t push, but the weight of her concern lingered in the air. Jamie always knew when to let the silence sit, to give it space, but today felt different—like she was holding something back. She stole another glance at him, her brow furrowing slightly before she spoke.
“Hey...” she began, her voice quieter than usual, “do you ever think about how things could have been different?”
Joel frowned, taken aback by the question. “At the bar? Or... in general?”
Jamie laughed softly, the sound light and cheery, but her eyes betrayed her true emotions. She leaned against the counter, her fingers playing absently with the apron strings. “In general. Lately, I’ve just been thinking about how I ended up here. It wasn’t... the plan, you know?”
Joel nodded, saying nothing. He’d heard bits and pieces of Jamie’s story over the months they had worked together and become close friends—the dreams she’d had, the places she wanted to see with her boyfriend, Daniel. How life had shifted from big plans to the reality of bills and responsibilities. Now, she spent her days fending off rude customers, wiping down tables, and trying to keep her head above water. I understand that feeling, he thought, being stuck. He knew it all too well.
“I love Daniel,” she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. Her fingers now traced invisible patterns on the counter, her eyes distant. “But it’s been hard. His debt. The pressure to keep us afloat. I feel like I’m just... waiting. Waiting for something to change... but I'm worried that it never will.”
Her words hit Joel harder than he expected. He knew that feeling—waiting for something, anything, to shift. He nodded, the tightness in his chest making it hard to speak. “It’ll get better,” he said, though the lie felt heavy on his tongue. “One day at a time, right?”
Jamie looked up at him, her eyes searching his face, as if she could see right through the hollow reassurance. But after a moment, she smiled—a small, soft smile that warmed the air between them. “I hope you're right.”
They settled into a comfortable routine, working in silence as the bar slowly came to life. Joel cooked a small breakfast for them while Jamie filled napkin holders, her quiet humming pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. Every now and then, she glanced over at him, concern lingering behind her eyes.
The strange symbols from that morning crept back into Joel’s mind. They had started as flashes, months apart, but now they were almost daily—impossible to ignore no matter how hard he had tried to. The more vivid they became, the more he doubted his grip on reality.
Am I losing it? Joel scrubbed at the same spot on the counter for the third time, trying to shake the thought. He hadn’t told Jamie about the visions. He couldn’t. She had enough to deal with and more importantly he feared that she would abandon him, call him crazy, that he would lose the one friend he had managed to make.
Jamie’s hum broke through his thoughts again, grounding him like an anchor in the chaos of his mind. “Hey, you’ve been quiet today,” she teased, glancing over with a playful smirk.
Joel forced a chuckle, though it felt shallow. “Just... a lot on my mind.”
Jamie didn’t push, but her concern was clear in the way she stepped closer into his space, leaning her hip against the bar right next to him. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. You’ve always been there for me, so it’s only right I return the favor. Don't you agree?”
Her words should have been comforting, but Joel’s chest tightened. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to say it all—the visions, the voices, the feeling that his world was unraveling. But fear crept in. What if she thinks I’m crazy? What if she leaves?
So instead, he shrugged, keeping his tone light. “It’s just... the usual stuff. Life. Work. The future.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. But she let it go, offering a playful smile before reaching for the faucet hose. “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here.”
Before Joel could react, she spritzed him with water, her laughter filling the air, light and infectious. For a moment, Joel felt the weight lift, his chest loosening just enough for him to laugh too.
Then, without warning, the world spun. The bar, Jamie, the warmth—it all blurred. Joel collapsed to the floor, his body hitting the cold tile hard. Jamie’s laughter cut off, replaced by her panicked voice as she rushed to his side. But Joel couldn’t hear her. The only sound that reached him was a whisper, faint but unmistakable:
“They’re coming, son of Idim.”
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Joel’s vision swam as he blinked away the haze. The cold tile pressed against his cheek, a sharp contrast to the warmth creeping through his body as reality clawed its way back to him. His head throbbed, each pulse bringing a new wave of disorientation. Slowly, he became aware of Jamie kneeling beside him, her breath quick and shallow. Her voice was low, tight with fear, as she spoke into her phone.
"—I don’t know, I think he had a seizure..." Her words slurred together in his ears, like they were being funneled through water, distant and distorted.
The heaviness in Joel’s limbs made even the slightest movement feel monumental, but he forced his fingers to twitch, his hand brushing against Jamie’s. A tremor passed through him, sapping what little energy he had left, but it was enough to pull her attention.
“Joel?” she gasped, her eyes locking onto his. The phone slipped from her fingers, clattering against the tile. “You’re awake. Thank God.” Her arms enveloped him, pulling him against her, her body trembling with barely contained relief. Her warmth seeped into him, filling his world with warmth and light. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m...” His throat felt like sandpaper, and the words came out as a rasp. “Don’t... don...don’t call an ambulance.”
Jamie’s eyes widened, her lips parting as though she wanted to protest, but she hesitated. Her arms tightened around him, and for a moment, she didn’t move. Then, with shaky hands, she reached for her phone and ended the call. “Okay. Okay, I won’t. But, Joel, you scared me.” She leaned back, her hand brushing his forehead, her brow furrowed with worry. “You’re burning up.”
Joel closed his eyes, letting the sound of her voice wash over him. He felt the weight of her concern in every word, every glance. “I’m... I’m okay,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. The visions, the voice—they lingered at the edge of his consciousness, teasing him, taunting him. What’s happening to me?
He opened his eyes again, his gaze finding Jamie’s. Her face was pale, drawn tight with fear, but beneath it, there was something more—something deeper. She wasn’t just worried; she was scared for him. The weight of it settled in his chest, twisting at the guilt gnawing at his insides. He needed to tell her. If he didn’t, the madness would swallow him whole.
“Jamie,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I need to tell you something. Can you... can you just listen until I’m done?”
Jamie blinked, her hand lingering on his arm, her fingers trembling slightly. She didn’t say anything at first, just nodded, her eyes locked on his, unwavering. She leaned closer, her breath catching in her throat as she waited.
“I don’t know what’s real anymore.” His words were raw, frayed at the edges as they left his lips. “When I got hurt in Iraq... something happened to me. I saw things. Things I can’t explain. And it’s only gotten worse since then. The visions... the voices... they’re getting stronger.”
Jamie’s eyes flickered with something—fear, understanding, maybe both. But she didn’t pull away. Her grip on his arm tightened, steady and firm, like she was holding him to the present. “Go on,” she urged softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Joel swallowed, his throat dry, but he pushed forward. “There are these symbols—runes, maybe. I see them, but then they vanish before I can make sense of them. And shadows... people, but they aren’t really there. I know how this sounds. It's crazy. I know it is.”
Jamie’s brow furrowed, concern deepening in her eyes, but she didn’t avert her gaze. She made no attempt to dismiss his words. Instead, she simply nodded, her hand finding his, fingers intertwining through his own with a gentle pressure that seemed to say, I’m here.
A heavy silence settled between them, but it wasn’t oppressive. It was the kind of silence that held space for understanding, for shared burdens.
“I don’t know what it’s like to see those things,” Jamie said finally, her voice soft but steady. “But I do know what it’s like to feel like everything’s slipping out of your control, to feel like you’re losing yourself.” She leaned closer, her gaze piercing, as though she could see right through him. “You’re not crazy, Joel.”
Her words were a lifeline, pulling him out of the storm that had been brewing inside his mind. His heart beat loudly in his chest, but this time it wasn’t from the suffocating grip of fear—it was something else, something raw and unspoken.
Joel closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. “There’s more,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “I should have died that night in Iraq... but something saved me. And now... I think it’s trying to tell me something.”
Jamie’s breath stopped, her eyes widening as she absorbed his words. She didn’t pull away; she didn’t recoil. She stayed right there, her hand still gripping his as she leaned in closer, her voice low, urgent. “Tell you what?”
Joel hesitated, his mind racing, but when he met her gaze again, something inside him shifted. The fear that had been gnawing at him ebbed, just for a moment. “Something is coming,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of a truth he didn’t fully understand.