Always/Never

Chapter 32 / Cycles

For a second, all I could do was recalibrate the revolving door of time. If current me—future me?—was upstairs, which I could only assume was true, I wouldn't have to worry about her.

It was only an assumption, though. But it also wasn't my current priority.

More importantly, I needed to find Parkland. I weaved my way through a similar sequence of seemingly endless halls. Kept my head down. Now there were cameras. Computers. Witnesses who risked seeing me twice and interfering with my original failed master plan.

Though, I breathed in. And tugged at the system. It was a hum like noise, like temporality and time, and clicked into the CCTVs. Offline.

He might have been smart, but not that smart. He'd left me a trail without thinking of it like one. A series of downed technology which I followed to an exit door.

Outside, he stood. I leaped out of the way to avoid his rush to grab me.

"Stop." I seized his hands and twisted as hard as I could. "There's nothing you can do here."

I dragged him toward the door. He kicked and tried to fight me, before his eyes fell on the locked door.

The system tugged, and the light flashed bright green.

I grinned. Pushed him back into the building. His control over the cameras held tight, like a pressure around my neck. The light of my system crossed my face.

Lines of text scrawled across its vast expanse. As if he'd grabbed its hold and pulled over it. As if he'd taken it hostage.

My back ached.

He was everywhere in this place. For a moment, my shove against it did nothing.

I was majorly out of practice. And it didn't help that my body could barely stay upright. I swayed as the screen brightened, blinding me. Trying to dismiss it only made it more furious, and the twinge in my neck more persistent.

I let out a sharp exhale.

"So you're the one from the future," he said. "She is the one from your past."

I bit down on my lip with enough force that I could see him. For a second. Long enough that his system crawled over me like ants.

"We're in my territory." I swung, but his hands blocked me.

Every computer invaded my head. So many sounds. I could almost taste the metallic taste of their processors, like the first time.

A chill raked over me.

"Hardly." His taunting voice filled the room, and it became louder in my head.

I tried to picture the buttons on my laptop. With the chirring of advertisements, the click of mouses, and the endless ring of phones, finding silence was hard. Even harder still was the image of my system, which floated over my eyes even when I closed them.

Slowly, I stumbled forward. Followed the sounds until my fingers grazed the nearest monitor. The bubbled screen curved underneath my palm, echoing with colours like a pulse.

I focused. Pictured the sound getting softer, the tabs closing. Like a safety pin inside me sliding free, my neck thrummed.

But it had worked.

I whirled, digging my nails into my palms. Parkland's laughter was barely audible over the sounds.

I pulled again, silencing it. My eardrums pounded. The system faded out like an overexposed photograph. I grasped through it, into the mess of wires and pulses.