TIME ✩☆

THE ONE WITH THE NEW VARIANT

CHAPTER ONE

"With all do respect, what kind of bullshit is this"

505 - the arctic monkeys
"WELL IM GOING BACK TO 505, IF ITS A SEVEN HOURE FLIGHT OR A FORTY-FIVE MINUTE DRIVE"

I take a sip of my espresso and glance out at the rain pummeling the asphalt below. The café is dimly lit, only a few flickering lamps—due to the fact that this place is slowly sinking like Venice, but we'll get to that later. 

Apocalypses do get the heart pumping that's for sure, adrenaline takes the place of dopamine so I suppose it's good exercise as well. Running for your life really helps burn off calories, who knew?

I've been living in this hellhole for a few days — feels like hours to be honest. The mortals are alright, but who knows really. Mortals are stupid...that's probably what got them all into this mess. Throwing their man-made chemicals and substances everywhere, all the while demolishing their planet for the hope of their useless currency--impressive, really.

I finish off my coffee, throw down my tip on the table, and put on my leather jacket. The bell above the door jingles as I exit, cutting through the soft chattering in the café. Outside, torrential wind and rain begin to erode every surface until it's but a piece of cosmic sand. 

I forgot my damned umbrella at the last apocalypse, so I suppose I am screwed for a bit. Tucking the Tempad in my pocket, I shift my gaze around and survey the area...and then they're there.

The Time Variance Authority.

Well crap.

The minutemen step out of a time door, pruning sticks tightly gripped by gloved hands. There must  be about 18 of them. There could be 22 if I really pay attention. The rain bounces off their helmets and suits as they turn to examine the area. The bright orange logo on their chests practically glow in the misty air.

The thought of the TVA makes my stomach churn. Whatever genius decided to make the Cosmic-Time-Office themed around the Human's 1960s era was truly off their rocker--they didn't even think twice to put a customer service desk in there. 

My feet are glued to the slick ground. The rain starts to slowly seep into my scalp and clothes, bringing an uncomfortable dampness with it. For a moment, time seems to stop. The only sound throughout the entire city seems to be my heaving lungs and sprinting heart.

Oh...shit.

My eyes grow wide and I turn and book it down the sidewalk. My feet hit the ground, the water splashing up and spraying as I run. The sound of running footsteps crescendos.

"Go, go!—there they are—"

A woman says something into her intercom, "We've got variant L2122, Earth 3469, apocalypse 21."

I turn the corner into an alleyway, my back against the stone wall. The smell of wet concrete hangs in the air, and stray dogs bark a bit in the distance. My stomach ties itself into a knot. I close my eyes for a moment, a millisecond, to catch my breath. Panic washes over my body in a thick wave. 

I reach into my pocket and pull out the Tempad—well—drop the Tempad because of my damned shaky hands.

The sky is a bright grey, covered with clouds. Thunder rolls in the distance like the roar of a panther. Suppressing a sigh of frustration, I reach down but the moment I move — my airways close.

"What the-" I choke out.

One of the minutemen pins me to the wall by my neck. She pushes a pruning stick close enough to my face that the bright tip almost burns my eyelashes off. I read the little number on her chest—B15

"On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby arrest you for crimes against the sacred timeline," she states as more of the minutemen surround us.

"Oh, this is how we're doing this," I flick my wrist and send her flying into the wall. The other soldiers get into defensive positions, pruning sticks pointed directly at me. The soldier, B15 is laying unconscious against the alleyway.

"Hey guys, no need to get feisty," I sigh, then turn to punch on of the soldiers square in the jaw. My knuckles scrape on the chinstrap of his helmet. 

The man beside him lunges forward. I catch his wrist and twist it behind his back. Kicking that one down to the ground, I let out a fast breath. In one spin, I come face to face with the rest. A wave of static electricity washes over me. The surrealness spreads through my body, from my feet to the tips of my fingers. I release my clenched fists and observe as a wave of green energy knocks the minutemen to the ground.

...I'm almost getting too old for this bullshit.

Swiftly, I move over the pile of minutemen, hands tucked into the plaid pockets of my jacket. I swipe a soaked strand of hair from my face and sigh heavily, "Gods, you guys are so predictable—"

B15 kicks me in the back of my shins, sending me flat onto the freezing concrete. Her expression is masked by the shadow of her helmet. Before I can form a thought or single word, she places her foot on my hand to keep me from attacking and kneels, slapping one of those goddamn collars on my neck.

"You little—"

"Save it for the judge, variant," the soldier's voice is monotone and cold, her eyes narrow.

"With all do respect, what kind of bullshit is this?" I roll my eyes and touch my fingertips to the device around my throat. The familiar metal tightens around my neck.

I feel the soldier harshly pick me up by my biceps and drag me into a time door.

This should be fun.

THANK YOU FOR READING...
T I M E