Chapter IX: Requiem

“What the hell are you laughing at all of a sudden?!” Remy snapped, his glare sharp with venom. His fingers twitched, betraying his barely restrained volatility as his eyes flicked to the baseball bat nestled in his backpack. Eva and Bart flinched at the outburst—so unlike the usually carefree man—while Ramona remained still, long accustomed to his mood swings.

Alice’s laughter halted, and the air thickened like a pressure drop before a storm. Her midnight-blue eyes, star-flecked and endless, slowly swivelled toward him. Her presence swelled, filling the SUV’s confined space with an oppressive, almost physical weight. All except Eva felt it—an invisible pressure that left sweat collecting on their brows. Remy withered under her gaze, reduced to insignificance by a silence that promised unspeakable consequences if breached again.

Then she spoke, cutting through the tension like a scalpel:
“I’m surprised none of you noticed what’s actually wrong with the outside world. It’s glaring—like a bloody neon sign.”

The others turned to the windows. Finally, they saw it—subtle but unmistakable: buildings flickering between eras, glitching like corrupted data; screens rebooting in loops; cars from different decades occupying the same space; roads torn between asphalt and cobblestone. Advertisements flickered across timelines—one minute dated 2023, the next 2203.

Ramona and Remy turned pale, panic rising in their throats. Yet buried within their expressions was something more troubling: recognition.

“Not again. This isn’t supposed to be happening!” Remy clenched his jaw, panic spiralling as he fumbled with his phone.
“She better have answers—and a deal worth our time,” Ramona seethed silently, texting in a frenzy.

Alice’s cold eyes lingered on them, glinting with knowledge and fury barely contained. Her gaze shifted to the rear-view mirror, softening as it landed on Bart and Eva. Bart rested his head against the window, eyes distant yet calm—resigned but not broken. Eva curled into herself, small and ashamed. She scrubbed her hands together, trying to rub away the failure that haunted her: the failure to stop Apophis.

Alice looked away, her expression taut with regret.

The SUV trembled. Not violently—just enough to unsettle. The city outside convulsed in subtle spasms, spreading like a virus through the skyline.

“Do you have any idea what’s causing this?” Bart asked, voice low. “Two different timelines, I mean?”

“Theoretically,” Alice replied, hesitation threading her voice.

Be careful what you reveal, Schrödinger whispered in her mind.

Bart pressed gently. “Even a theory’s better than nothing.”

She nodded. “It could be an Interstice—a rupture in spacetime connecting parallel timelines. For Eva, Bart, and me, it’s the year 2203. For Remy and Ramona, it’s 2023. These rifts, when formed, allow timelines to overlap—blending events, matter, even people. The quakes and visual distortions are by-products of that interference.”

Bart straightened, wide-eyed. Eva perked up. Ramona and Remy stopped typing.

“So… we’re overlapping with another timeline?” Bart asked.

“Yes. Think of timelines as arteries in a body—separate, flowing, but occasionally, due to pressure or trauma, they collide. That’s when an Interstice forms. The more intense the intersection, the more destabilising the effects.”

“Why now? Why here?” Bart’s tone sharpened.

“There are variables. Advanced tech. Miscalculated experiments. Natural phenomena we don’t yet understand. What matters is this: the rifts are unstable. If they widen too far… the damage could unravel reality itself.”

Bart exhaled slowly. “Then what do we do?”

Alice’s eyes narrowed on the road ahead, the distorted skyline dancing in her irises.

“Find the rift’s core. Its ‘brain’. If we understand its genesis, we might close it.”

“You don’t have to search,” Eva interrupted, her voice hollow. “It’s already begun—at Central Park. I saw it happen. Light particles floated up from the earth, and then… a tower fell from the sky like a shattered hologram. That’s when it emerged. We called it Apophis. A Void serpent. If it fully crosses into our timeline—our world’s done.”

Remy and Ramona went rigid. Their eyes widened in abject terror. Memories surfaced—horrific, visceral, and real.

***

The world flickered like corrupted film. A cosmic abyss surrounded them—inky black but veined with pulsating, multicoloured lights. The ground beneath their feet writhed like molten flesh, cratered and slick.

Ramona clutched a Honeywell RT10A, fingers racing across its screen. “Remy! The exit’s blocked!”

“What?! That was our only way out!” Remy’s voice cracked. “Find another route! We’re going to die!”

Something stirred in the dark—a slender, pale figure cloaked in white. It moved like smoke, like thought. It saw them.

Panic turned to dread. Remy slipped on the slick floor; Ramona caught him, dragging him forward. Behind them, the entity stalked closer.

“No one told us this place was alive! We should’ve brought weapons!” Remy yelled.

Distracted, they plunged into a crater—and landed in a pit of writhing corpses. Limbs twitched. Eyes stared. All dead. All moving.

Among them, a bat—Remy seized it instinctively.

The entity descended into the crater. Remy swung, striking it hard. It retreated.

Ramona activated the RT10A again. “Connection to Main Server: Failed.”

“Let’s find the target and get out of here,” Remy muttered, following the radar’s beeping.

They climbed out and approached a woman with auburn hair tied in a bun, assembling a crude ladder using corpse-clothes and scrap metal.

She startled at the tablet’s beep. “Hello! Thank God—humans!” she exclaimed. “I’m Elizabeth.”

They shook hands. Remy’s eyes latched onto the necklace around her throat: a choker of interwoven gold thorns, centred by a hexagonal sapphire, swirling with iridescent inclusions.

“That’s it,” Ramona thought.
“Mission accomplished,” Remy echoed silently.

“You’re hurt,” Ramona said gently.

“Yeah, ankle’s busted. Been playing cat-and-mouse with Valkoinen—the white entity. It owns this place.”

“You named it?” Remy asked.

“It hunts humans—and its own kind. I assume that’s how you got pulled in?”

“We went to sleep… woke up here,” Ramona half-lied.

“You two a couple or something?” Elizabeth asked.

“YES,” Remy blurted. “Been through hell together.”

Elizabeth smiled cryptically. “Then you’re lucky—you’re not alone for what’s coming.”

They helped her finish the towering ladder. When asked about it, she pointed toward a glitch—like torn code—19 feet above.

“That’s the way out,” she said.

They set the ladder in place. Ramona climbed first, reached the top.

“It’s stable! Come up!” she called.

“Okie dokie!” Elizabeth chirped.

But as she touched the ladder—CRACK. She reeled back, clutching her head. Remy stood over her, bat in hand. Blood spilled from her temple.

Without a word, he kicked her, tore the pendant from her neck, and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Remy! What the hell are you doing?!” Ramona screamed from above.

“Following orders. Retrieve the pendant. What stays in MAD, stays in MAD.”

Elizabeth staggered upright, blood streaming down her face, and began climbing—slowly, driven by sheer will.

“Get back down, or I’ll crack your skull!” Remy warned.

“Please… I need to see my sister again,” Elizabeth whispered.

Remy shoved the ladder. She plummeted. The ladder fell with her. Screams echoed. Elizabeth clawed at the lava-like floor, her hands melting to bone.

As she reached the rim, Remy tried to kick her—but she clung to his boot. Ramona, shaking, raised the bat and struck. Elizabeth fell back into the pit.

Then everything went still.

A massive serpent—its form indistinguishable from the terrain—opened an eye.

Remy and Ramona froze.

It began to rise.

They fled. Leapt through the glitch. It sealed behind them.

The serpent, now calm, lowered its head and returned to slumber.

Down below, Elizabeth lay breathing, sobbing, broken—but alive.

An unseen figure watched.

***

“Well done,” said a woman seated in a dim office, the choker glinting in her hand. Her face was shrouded in shadow.

“Nah, wasn’t too hard,” Remy said, smug. Ramona shifted uncomfortably.

“Of course. Enjoy your reward. I look forward to our continued collaboration. Dismissed.”

They left.

The woman pressed a button. The screen faded to black, Elizabeth’s final moments paused in silence.

“A pity,” she murmured. “Even after all that, she still had the strength… just to go home.”

***

“Ohhh?!” Alice’s eyes lit up, a smile of sudden clarity spreading across her face as pieces of a puzzle clicked into place. Her voice sliced through the silence, snapping Remy and Ramona from their reverie. The others stared at her, puzzled.

Before anyone could voice their confusion, Alice began explaining. “Eva, you might be onto something. Tell me—what’s unique about Central Park?”

As she made a sharp left turn, Eva blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Nothing unusual. Just NIX Polytechnic, Training Grounds, NIX Bistros… and the Scenic Park. It’s where students hang out, picnic, study.”

“NIX built a school in Central Park?” Ramona asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bart answered for Eva. “Yes. NIX Corporation likes embedding its facilities in preserved spaces—parkland, historic landmarks. It’s part of their mission: fusing nature with future infrastructure. Central Park, Rockefeller Center—it’s all intentional.”

“That reminds me,” Bart added suddenly, anxiety creeping into his voice. “Alice… the tower that collapsed—please tell me it wasn’t the 53W53 MoMA Expansion.”

Alice glanced in the rear-view mirror, her face unreadable. “Oops,” she replied, feigning innocence.

Bart’s eyes bulged. “What?! Why?! I invested in that museum!”

“I was being chased. I had no choice.” She paused, then added flatly, “Besides, Bart… you have terrible taste in art.”

“Alice! That building held the works of gifted outcasts! You can’t just demolish it without permission!” Bart cried, slumping in his seat, stricken. His shock was so visceral that Alice momentarily faltered, concern flickering across her face.

She quickly pointed forward. “Look—never mind that. I was right. Central Park’s untouched.”

Everyone looked ahead. The SUV approached the E 72nd St. entrance, and the tension in the vehicle shifted—still cautious, but no longer paralysing.

Lush greenery unfolded before them, untouched by glitches or temporal anomalies. Towering trees swayed gently in the breeze, serene and out of place compared to the surrounding chaos. The park was normal—a preserved pocket of time.

“This is incredible,” Bart murmured. “If Central Park’s unaffected, it might be a point of stability… a temporal anchor.”

Eva leaned forward, intrigued. “Could it be the key to fixing everything?”

Alice nodded. “It’s possible. We need to investigate.”

She parked in front of the Central Park Information Kiosk. Light from the setting sun filtered through the canopy above, casting a golden sheen over the SUV’s hood. She left the engine off and the key in the ignition.

“I’ll go check things out. You can stay here if you want,” she said, her tone flat.

“I’d like to stretch my legs,” Eva said softly, a note of nostalgia in her voice.

“Fine. Bart, help her to the nearest hillside.”

“On it. I’ll take my Gizmo—see if I can get a temporal read. Maybe even run some samples.” Bart’s tone brightened with renewed purpose.

He supported Eva gently, letting her lean on his shoulder as they stepped out.

“Let’s move. Remy and Ramona aren’t exactly coping well—best to give them space.” Alice glanced back at the pair, eyes locked to their phones. “Also, one of you check the news. There might be something new—maybe even a last message.”

Remy and Ramona didn’t respond.

Alice leaned toward Bart, whispering something into his ear. He blinked in surprise, then nodded with a shrug.

As Alice turned and walked deeper into the park, Bart helped Eva toward the hill.

Moments later, two notifications pinged.

Remy and Ramona looked at their screens.

Sender: Unknown
Do you know what is happening?
Yes
Everything?
Everything
What do you propose we do now?
Bring them to JFK Airport
What for?
You don’t need to know all the details. My offer still stands. I’ll give you a bonus—as much as you want. No conditions. Just complete the assignments and you’ll be rewarded.
How do we convince them? We can’t just say we’re going to JFK without a reason.
Don’t worry. It’s already in the emergency broadcasts. Show it to them. It’ll work. Trust me.

Their phones buzzed again with an alert.

The glow from their screens faded. Remy and Ramona looked up, tension etched into their features.

“Hey, Remy…” Ramona began. “Does Alice look… familiar to you?”

Remy shook his head. “Don’t start. Alice and Elizabeth don’t even look alike. And that was seven years ago. Let it go.”

Ramona frowned. “Maybe. But did you see her face after you yelled at her?”

“What about it?” His voice tensed.

“She wasn’t looking at the road—she was looking right at us. Eyes wide. Smiling so hard it looked painful. And in those eyes... she remembered. She remembered everything.”

Remy swallowed hard, jaw tightening. Then he exhaled.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, opening the car door.

Ramona followed, reluctantly. As they walked in the direction Alice and the others had gone, she asked, “Remy... how did Alice know there would be something in the news? And that it might be the last message?”

Remy didn’t respond. His silence said everything.

They kept walking—each step heavier than the last.

***

Alice glanced at the statue and read the inscription.
"How ironic," she thought, exhaling quietly. "Well, that’s what people call karma."

Schrödinger’s laughter echoed in her mind—a hollow, theatrical cackle that made her glare into the ether.

A soft mewl drew her attention downward.

“A stray?” she murmured, crouching low to avoid frightening it.

The kitten, pure white with mismatched eyes—one green, one blue—stared back at her. One foreleg was injured, its breathing shallow, its body on the verge of collapse. Without resistance, it curled into her cupped hands and immediately fell asleep.

“He must’ve run for miles to get here,” Alice observed. “Escaping the chaos, only to be wounded at the sanctuary’s threshold. He doesn’t have long.”

Schrödinger's voice returned, flat and scornful.
"Then let him die. Heal him, coddle him—play god, as you always do. They are insignificant."

Alice’s eyes hardened.
"No. I don’t cheat death—I prevent it. That’s the purpose of healing. And between us, Schrödinger, I’d argue you are more insignificant than this kitten."

The temperature dropped between them, a silent psychic standoff. His fury met the glacial intensity of her resolve.

Alice extended her hand toward the spectral feline form of Schrödinger, now watching the kitten's laboured breaths.

“Get in,” she said calmly. “Possess the kitten. You’ll be free from me. And I from you. You can do what you want. No permissions. Just one condition—”

Schrödinger raised an eyebrow.

“The first thing you eat from whoever feeds you, you must protect and guide them—out of gratitude. A non-zero-sum game.”

Schrödinger laughed at the absurdity. “Make me.”

Alice smiled—genuinely, softly. “With pleasure.”

In an instant, Schrödinger's world twisted violently. Central Park vanished, replaced by a synaptic void—an infinite prism of light and thought, folding and exploding like neurons firing in hyperspace.

He was overwhelmed.

Everything and nothing struck him at once. Information—raw, alive, viral—tore through his mind like a storm of fractal codes. He was being unsolved and solved at once, like a Rubik's Cube built by madness.

“Nexus...” he gasped, stunned.

"Schrödinger, possess the kitten. Obey my decree!" Alice's voice commanded.

Blackness swallowed him. Then: cold. pain. hunger. A new body. Real sensations.

He felt something soft wrap around him—a blanket.

“Poor thing… he must be starving,” said a gentle voice.

Tiny paws curled reflexively around something. A note was removed from beneath him and read aloud.

The mention of her name made his veins boil.

"She planned this. Played me like a fool. She’s stronger than I remembered."

His stomach growled. A holographic Gizmo flickered to life nearby. A bento box materialised from inventory. A lid opened. Steam and scent wafted.

“Here you go,” the woman said kindly, placing the food in front of him.

He sniffed. Then bit. The taste hit like lightning.

“Edamame?” he blinked. “You fed me soybeans?!”
“Who the hell feeds a cat edamame?!” he screamed internally.

The woman chuckled. “Glad I had some left. I nearly ate them all before the Apophis deployment.”

He opened his eyes for the first time. The woman smiled warmly at him.

“You’ve got mismatched eyes,” she said. “But… cats don’t usually have horns.”

“That’s because only I do,” Schrödinger replied flatly.

“You can talk?” Eva whispered, startled.

“You’re oddly calm,” he noted.

“Only on the outside,” she admitted with a nervous smile. “Want more? There’s two left.”

“Who saves two beans?” he thought, unimpressed. But he nodded and finished them.

Bart’s voice cut in. “Yo, Eva—what’s that on your lap?”

“Alice gave him to us,” Eva said. “He’s injured. But he can talk!”

Bart leaned in, raising an eyebrow. Schrödinger meowed softly in response.

Chuckling, Bart began treating the kitten’s leg.

“I think only you can understand me,” Schrödinger said quietly.

Eva blinked. “Maybe it’s… an Interstice side-effect?” she suggested.

Bart bandaged the kitten carefully. Something tugged at the back of Schrödinger’s mind. Alice’s voice echoed:

"The first thing you eat from whoever feeds you… you will protect, guide, care for. A non-zero-sum game."

He looked at Eva—now watching cherry blossoms fall in the wind—and realised what Alice had done.

“CURSE YOU, ALICE!” Schrödinger raged silently. “You planned this!”

Alice smirked. It had gone precisely as planned.

With hands behind her back, she returned to the statue where an elderly man stood waiting. He held a kiseru pipe, smoke curling lazily into the air. His monocle glinted in the fading light. His white-grey hair was slicked back over a pronounced widow’s peak, and his Victorian attire sat crisply upon his tall frame.

“Ah, Alice,” he said. “It is finally good to see you again.”

“Likewise. I hope I’m not tardy.”

“Tardy? You were egregiously overdue, my dear. But now… you are precisely on time.”

She smiled faintly. “To what do I owe the summons, Aristotle?”

A long silence. Then:

“It’s time,” he said softly. “Time for me to go.”

Alice faltered, looking ahead instead of at him. “I see. Time flies.”

“I am the last of your Sefirot. The rest have retired—as shall I. You will be alone now, our Infinity.”

He bowed his head. “Forgive me. I cannot help you solve this world.”

“You’ve all done more than enough. You gave me strength when I had none. Strength to dream—even when locked inside that box.”

She embraced him, and he reciprocated with gentle finality.

“Don’t minimise what you did,” Aristotle said. “You gave us purpose. You gave us imagination. A gift we didn’t even know we lacked.”

As they walked, passing the lakeside restaurant near Pilgrim Hills, he paused.

“May I offer you a gift—my final act as your Wisdom?”

“You may.”

He reached into the air and pulled forth a top hat—black, elegant, pristine. He handed it to her. Inside lay bundles of lustrous white silk cocoons.

Alice blinked, intrigued. “Psyche’s Silk?”

Aristotle nodded. “It grows from the Beginning, ends at the End, and reconnects at the Revives of the Nexuscape. I’ve gathered these through eternity.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do with it yet,” she mused, accepting the hat. “But I’ll find a tailor upon my Narrative.”

Aristotle smiled one last time. “Fairfarren, Alice.”

And then he vanished into the wind.

Alice opened her Gizmo and placed the hat into her inventory. Without another word, she turned and walked away—back toward her companions.