Forest Hills, Queens, NY, USA – February 23, 2023 | 13:10 P.M.
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Starling had been cycling for nearly half an hour, weaving through the frostbitten quiet of Forest Hills. The narrow streets stretched out beneath a brittle winter sun, their silence broken only by the grind of tyres against ice-rimed asphalt. Flanking her were Tetsuo and Sievernich, scanning for medical supplies. Close behind followed Lucy and four other Paradox Rebels.
Her lungs burned with cold as she fought the incline of a long hill, each breath leaving behind a fading ghost in the air. The sun, unusually sharp for the season, glared down from a pale sky. Sweat trickled from her temple, stinging her eyes.
They had no choice but to travel by bicycle—any motorised vehicle risked attracting Biohazards. Even electric engines carried vibrations. A single misplaced hum, a tremor in the wrong frequency, and the swarm would come.
Teleportation was off the table. Starling could have blinked to the destination in moments—if she weren’t under contract and probation.
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***
Earlier that morning...
Starling barged into Armstrong’s room, rifling through drawers and wardrobes for something more appropriate to wear. She hadn’t bothered collecting clothes since returning; the ones she wore seemed perpetually clean, as though frozen in time—but hardly suited for the field.
“You’re going out?!” Georgie squealed with excitement as Meg tossed folded shirts onto the bed, fresh from nearby scavenged stores.
“Yes,” Starling muttered, folding a jacket she disliked. “To gather medical supplies. For Pandora.”
“But aren’t you supposed to fight the bad guy and get our stuff back?” Georgie whined.
“I never agreed to that,” she replied flatly, inspecting a pair of fingerless gloves and elbow guards. In the corner, Blake mashed buttons on a game controller, lost in another playthrough of Resident Evil.
“I made a wish for Zeus to fulfil! So… he did it all for nothing?!” Georgie scowled, arms crossed.
Starling offered no reply. Georgie stormed out, returning moments later with a creased map of New York.
“Look! Our old house is in Forest Hills. There’s a hospital nearby. If you're getting supplies, maybe the tape's still there?”
Starling’s hand drifted to the mirror. In a blink, her outfit changed—black blazer, tank top, and the same high-waist jeans.
Autumn strode in, holding two wrapped parcels—one decorated with cartoon reindeer, the other plain red.
“Which one would Pandora prefer?” she asked.
Starling and Meg both pointed at the reindeer package. Satisfied, Autumn left.
“How am I supposed to know what I’m looking for?” Starling finally turned to Georgie. “You weren’t exactly specific.”
“It’s Dad’s last recorded tape—before he died in the war. He and his team never made it home,” Georgie murmured. “The bad guy wants it. We don’t know why, but he doesn’t know where it’s hidden.”
Starling raised an eyebrow. “And where would that be?”
“We can’t say it here. What if he’s listening?” Georgie whispered conspiratorially.
Starling switched to telepathic speech. Who?
Brimstone. Georgie responded. He told me to make the wish. Said Zeus would find the perfect superhero... or be eliminated if they failed.
Before you launched Zeus into orbit, he added, he told Mum someone had set him free. That someone was Brimstone.
Starling pinched the bridge of her nose and sat on the edge of the bed. “And how exactly did he make the wish?”
Zeus’s home was that lantern, right? There used to be copies—meant to divide the Djinn’s power. Instead, it just spread him out. Brimstone must’ve found one. That’s how he made the wish. But I don’t trust him. Georgie’s thoughts were laced with doubt, like he was realising too late he’d been played.
We’re coming with you. Meg’s voice joined the telepathic link. Blake followed. We know where the tape is.
Starling sighed. “I can’t manipulate reality or summon aid. I’ve only got my attributes—and the Vorpal. I’m not sure that’s enough to protect both of you. Just tell me where it is.”
It’s not just the tape, Blake argued.
“I won’t have an alibi if either of you dies under my supervision,” Starling coldly adamant.
“I can’t handle telepathic chatter with my tiny princess brain!” Autumn chimed in aloud, sealing Pandora’s gift with ribbon. Carol, the Armstrongs’ mother, entered quietly, placing a hand-knitted dormouse into the box.
“You can read minds?!” Georgie asked, blinking.
“Duh,” Autumn said, without looking up.
“No,” Starling said firmly. “I’ll find your trinkets—with or without directions.”
As she turned to leave, Georgie called out, “How? I thought you couldn’t use your powers!”
“ESP. I said I couldn’t impose my will. Telepathy is one of my innate abilities which doesn't breach Brimstone’s contract.” She paused at the doorway. “Wish me luck.”
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***
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We’re here,” Lucy announced, checking her Gizmo. “This is the Armstrong house.”
She barely finished the sentence when a gasp shot through the group.
“HOLY SHIT.”
They had already coasted down the slope on their bikes, tyres crunching to a halt in front of the fractured, impossible structure: the house had ruptured open from within, its upper floor blown skyward—yet nothing moved. Debris hung midair in slow rotation, frozen in a quiet ballet of wreckage, all of it suspended within a translucent, humming stasis field that pulsed faintly like the skin of something alive.
Starling was still behind them, slowly pushing her bike up the incline. They turned at the sound of a bicycle bell in distress.
“Get out of the way! The brakes are broken!”
Starling flew down the hill, white-knuckling the handlebars, eyes wide, hair streaming like comet trails. Her boots hovered uncertainly above the pavement, too scared to touch down.
The others jumped aside just in time as she shot straight into the stasis field.
Her bike hit the ground with a muted crack.
The house groaned—glitching—as if rewinding itself for half a second. Electricity snapped across its corners, sparks tracing geometry like circuit veins, but no energy reached the bystanders. Inside, Starling had vanished behind the suspended wreckage.
Sievernich exhaled sharply. “Well... she’s in.”
The others rolled their bikes to a stop just before the boundary. A few remained behind to guard the perimeter, but not before Sievernich gave orders.
“Tetsuo. There's a major hospital near 112-05 Queens Blvd, Suite A. Scout ahead. Ensure any threats are neutralised or at least avoidable.”
Tetsuo shot him a withering glance. “Why do you always give me the worst assignments? That’s going to take hours.”
“Mandate from Brimstone,” Sievernich replied smoothly, folding his arms. “I’ve been granted clearance to issue one. So… chop chop.”
Tetsuo ride his bike out of sight with a gust of wind—only to be spotted moments later pedalling uphill like a disgruntled tourist.
Sievernich sighed and entered the house.
Sievernich then enters the warping house, all the objects and furniture in the house are in disarray, floating in stasis.
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Objects floated mid-air, suspended in silent defiance of gravity. A teacup lingered just above the floor, droplets poised in a weightless moment before impact. Nearby, a family portrait hovered upside down near the staircase—faces frozen in time.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc2U4LFpxUD
The house didn’t feel abandoned.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHcbC9p4oNt
It felt paused.
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Stillness thickened the atmosphere, as though the air had been saturated with memory—every surface steeped in the residue of lives abruptly interrupted.
“Damn. The state of this place... reminds me of the Onslaught at Alpha Centauri Mansion,” Sievernich muttered, eyes sweeping across the ruins.
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The ceiling and part of the upper floor had been blown out—likely Zeus, the Djinn, taking Armstrong with him.
“When did the Voids begin entering this timeline?” Starling asked.
“It had been infiltrating gradually,” Lucy replied. “But a full Incursion occurred on February 14th, 3:45 A.M.”
Starling glanced at the digital clock in the living room. “Same time the clock stopped,” she murmured.
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She stepped forward and examined the still figure of an elderly woman in a rocking chair. The blanket she’d been knitting lay completed across her knees. Her eyes, lifeless but expressive, held a hint of betrayal... and profound sadness.
Sievernich moved to approach, but Lucy use her arm to block his path, halting him. “Don’t interrupt her. She’s writing.”
The world deconstructed.
Overlapping Starling’s vision was a cascade of readouts and diagnostic overlays—schematic threads unravelled reality, as though the house itself had been dissected.
A collapsing chair was frozen in mid-air, traced with velocity lines and angle vectors. A scorched lampshade bore annotated markers charting flame trajectories. Her perception worked like an autonomous forensics lab—half scientist, half observer, part poet.
“Blast origin: upper second floor, southwest quadrant. Internal detonation. Not an external breach.”
She passed a fractured mirror. Her reflection fragmented, scattered across the temporal fault line—her own silhouette distorted in unnatural echoes.
“Debris pattern inconsistent with standard Void incursion.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz0SiHPaMzj
Conclusion: This wasn’t an attack. It was a containment attempt. Someone tried to halt what came through—or escape it. Zeus.”
She ducked beneath a floating dinner tray, suspended like an exhibit in a gravity-defying gallery. Above it, a porcelain teacup hung mid-pour—liquid spiralling through the air in a millisecond of captured time.
Starling observed the fluid’s trajectory. A neural overlay mapped the swirling motion: caffeine molecules separated, thermal decay noted. It had been hot—recently.
“Stasis wasn’t instantaneous. There was a delay. Enough time for motion.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdtvUnmY8LG
Conclusion. Manual activation. Someone triggered the stasis deliberately.”
She stepped into what remained of the living room. A rocking chair hovered mid-tilt, suspended in the stillness of temporal stasis. In it sat the preserved corpse of an elderly woman, her posture undisturbed—hands gently folded over a finished blanket. Her expression was frozen mid-refusal: lips slightly parted, eyes half-lowered, as if saying no to something she couldn’t accept.
Starling sat down on the opposite couch, easing into the cushions with a slow exhale. Her eyes locked onto the woman. The room seemed to blur around them, the scene sharpening into a theatre-lit spotlight visible only to her.
“The woman—likely an Armstrong—finished the blanket. Then she let someone in.”
Time reversed and flash belong to the camera change the scene.
[The old lady, had just completed the last knit of the blanket.]56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYLUTgFsGKN
In a diagnostic projection, Starling addressed her.
“May I ask... who are you?”
The woman raised her gaze and replied, “Juliet Armstrong. I was once Juliet Zweyer.”
[Juliet set the blanket aside and waited. A soft knock came. She rose and answered the door.]
Again the flash belongs to the camera, the scene shifted.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBSHkijgIXf
Starling stood between Juliet and a guest, both seated, sipping chamomile tea. Their expressions were warm, civil—familiar. But then—
Another flash.
Their smiles faltered. Tension cracked the air. Starling turned slightly, distracted. Behind her; Autumn and Georgie stood on the stairs, holding a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. Crumbs dropped soundlessly onto the wood below.
She glanced back.
Juliet now looked visibly distressed. Her voice trembled with conviction.
“I’m sorry. She’s my friend—she’s also my sister. I can’t give you what she entrusted to me. It wasn’t meant for you.”
Her eyes pleaded. Her guest stood—silent, looming.
Another flash.
Juliet now lay lifeless in the rocking chair. The glass and plate shattered on the stairs. The children screamed as they bolted upward:
“Mommy! A bad guy is in our house! Grandma is dead!”
A dark figure placed a hand on their shoulders, too quick for the children. They let out a frightful scream.
Blake and Meg rushed out from the hallway, only to freeze—eyes wide—as they saw the intruder. A man. No... a monster. Something no longer entirely human.
He spoke as a horrified Carol emerged from her bedroom doorway:
“Tell me where Juliet hid the Diary of Jane.”
Reality fragmented—glitched.
Zeus descended, clashing with the man in a storm of power. Outside, the Voids erupted—blossoming from the soil, the sky, the shadows. Chaos consumed the air.
The intruder raised a camera and clicked. Time around Zeus slowed—but he retaliated, hurling lightning straight through the device. Zeus expanded his form and hurled the family out of the collapsing house, shielding them as reality fractured.
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The man vanished, unseen ever since.
The vision faded.
Starling turned. The elderly Juliet now stood at a nearby window, staring toward the backyard. Only one thing remained untouched: the gazebo.
Within Juliet’s vision, Starling saw a final memory:56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQR5trmPXvf
The Armstrong family, whole. A father still present—filming his children as they celebrated Georgie’s tenth birthday. A stack of Superman comics rested in the boy’s hands, his joy unmistakable.
Juliet’s voice carried through time.
“My son, Fitzgerald... he always loved filming everything. Wanted to be a photographer—or maybe a filmmaker. But that changed when he was drafted. He died before the war ended in 2011. It’s been twelve years now... He and his friends never came home. Somewhere in the desert.”56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ02twsdvqfT
She exhaled slowly.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaSVLFPqj7A
“The tape is hidden. At the top of the gazebo.”
Starling had her answer.
She took a stool from the hallway. Lucy and Sievernich followed as she made her way outside. The backyard was eerily quiet, cicadas humming like ghosts in the grass.
She placed the stool beneath the gazebo roof, tapped the ceiling panels—until one shifted loose.
Inside, a dusty videotape.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡf5aFF1yYpp
She pulled it out. The label read: “A Thousand and One Nights.”
Sievernich squinted at the tape and shook his head.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdFWTexT4MW
“Never thought it’d be in a gazebo, of all places.”
Starling stared at the label, her expression unreadable.
“I’ll have Drakenstein deliver the tape back to Brimstone,” Sievernich said, breaking the silence.
Lucy turned toward him, scowling. “What?! Why me? You already sent Tetsuo to scout the hospital, and now I’m supposed to trek back another ten miles?!”
“Then don’t come back. Stay at the apartment, Drakenstein,” Sievernich replied, unflinching. “You still need recovery time, remember? This job’s light. Drop it off and rest until you're fully operational.”
He glanced toward Starling for affirmation. She exhaled, then reluctantly handed the tape to Lucy.
“Give it to the Armstrongs, not Brimstone,” she said quietly.
Lucy gave a begrudging nod and exited the house without another word. Sievernich followed soon after. Starling lingered, her steps slowing near the fireplace.
A row of photo frames adorned the mantel, suspended in the still, dust-heavy air. One image drew her attention. She leaned in, studying it.
She recognised herself—Constantine. Schrödinger sat perched on Eva’s shoulder. Around them, soldiers stood in formal rows alongside a British general, a Japanese officer, and several nuns. Among them, a younger Juliet smiled faintly in the second row.
One man stood out. A lieutenant, his posture rigid behind Victor—now wearing a topknot.
She squinted, reading the date etched into the photograph’s bottom edge: April 3rd, 1944.
"Miss, there's something I want to give you," Juliet’s voice called from the upper landing.
Starling slipped the photograph into her messenger bag and climbed the stairs.
Sievernich had not yet left. He watched silently from the hallway below, then followed her at a distance, peering from the doorway as she entered what remained of Juliet’s room.
The place was a wreck—walls half-destroyed from Zeus’s earlier escape—but Juliet stood among the rubble, pointing toward a pile of pillows.
Starling stepped over debris and rummaged through the pile. Beneath the final cushion, she uncovered a thick, timeworn journal bound with a leather ribbon.
“Any thief could’ve found this,” she muttered, testing the knot.
Juliet smiled. “He’s always missed the obvious,” she said wistfully. “Take care of it. Eva poured herself into those pages. She may be forgetful, but she wrote with precision.”
And with that, Juliet vanished.
Starling slid the journal into her bag, tightened the strap, and descended the stairs.
Outside, Lucy was already pedalling toward the apartment with the tape in tow. As she disappeared down the road, Tetsuo came roaring past on a beat-up bicycle, riding like a street racer.
“Kenshin’s done scouting,” Sievernich announced. “Time to raid the hospital for medical supplies.”
Everyone mounted their bikes.
Tetsuo slumped forward in exhaustion, barely able to breathe.
“Can I borrow your bike? Mine’s trashed,” Starling asked, eyeing his wrecked ride.
Before Tetsuo could reply, Sievernich gestured toward his own. “Ride with me. Kenshin’s in no shape for passengers.”
He waited, trying not to look overly eager.
Then he heard it—wheels spinning.
Starling zoomed past on Tetsuo’s bicycle.
Sievernich’s expression soured as storm clouds brewed in his thoughts. He turned to see Tetsuo smiling smugly, mounted his bike.
“Thank you for your contribution,” Tetsuo said with mock sincerity.
Grunting, Sievernich rode toward the hospital with Tetsuo in tow.
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