Chapter 3: The Voice Within.
Duskwatch woke before the sun did. A restless hum beneath the concrete waste. Grim lay in his tiny apartment, not asleep, just staring at the dim light entering through the cracks. His alarm rang, his phone read 6 AM, dust hovered above in the dry air. The bed beneath him creaked as he got up. A new day, but the same old weight on him.
The alarm continued to buzz, but it didn’t matter. Sleep had come in pieces like a puzzle, the pieces chased by shadows that lingered longer than they needed to.
Dreams. Memories. Perhaps the future. It didn’t matter.
The faucet spat out the cold water, Grim leaned over the cracked sink, letting the cold bite into his skin. The mirror fractured, splitting him into two images. He held his gaze at it, something stared back, something he didn’t recognize.
He put on his black leather jacket, then his gloves, and stepped out into Duskwatch’s streets.
The streets welcomed him with its usual damp atmosphere. The underground whispered in the corners, a world built on debts and betrayals. Grim navigated through the darkness without a thought. A folded envelope passing from his hands to another’s. No words exchanged.
But today, . The man’s hands hesitant, his eyes glancing at Grim’s before darting away. No words, an invisible force between them, clenching at Grim’s heart.
The thought clung to him like a cold blade, slowly piercing deeper.
The garage, his refuge. Dim lights and sparks filled the vast room, Grim sat at the back of it, A fluorescent tube of light in one of his hands, illuminating the skeletal frame of Blackthorn. Grease stained his hands, Tools clinked and scraped. The familiar rhythm of maintenance calming his nerves.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
But as he tightened a bolt, the engine hummed. It didn’t feel like his blackthorn. He traced through the frame, but nothing seemed off.
A whisper, an urge, almost commanding him. His hand jerked up, the wrench slipping from his grip. The clang spread throughout the room; it rang unusually loud.
Grim’s heart began to pound harder. He swallowed hard, resisting the devil’s voice in his head.
He returned to the bike, but the voice lingered.
Dusk bled into the city, but it never darkened, in fact it got brighter.
Grim rode through it like the wind, the hum of the streets should have been soothing, but it wasn’t.
The streets twisted, Grim felt the unfamiliarity in the familiar.
An urge, alien to him. It wasn’t him, .
His gloved hand gripped harder onto the throttle. The wind tearing past him, and then for a moment he felt the tension loosen. But then he saw the boy.
A child, not a day over twelve, crossed the dimly lit street. His head down, and oblivious.
The words flew through his head, not through his ear but from within the inside of his skull. A force commanding his fingers to twitch, the bike surged forward. The boy’s form blurred. A mere heartbeat had passed.
The tires screeched, skidding as the bike flew itself aside.
The boy never looked up. Just another passing shadow. The street once again in silence.
Grim sat frozen, the engine growled beneath him. His hands shook, his chest tightened. The street was but empty, yet the voice remained.
The engines roared from within the underground. The crowd cheered and leaned. The fire was shot.
The bikes, once lined up, now raced past each other, deciding the victor and loser before anything began.
And in the foremost, was Blackthorn and its loyal companion on top of it.
The crowd’s murmurs twisted. Words tangled and slipped through the dry air,
A voice passed through his head like a cold wind. Biting onto his skin, his hair standing at the edge.
A biker edged closer to him.
The voice commanded, an urge within him he never knew of erupted within him. Blackthorn roared, his hands tightened onto the handlebar.
The thought pulsed through him. Metal clashing with metal. Bone and flesh ground beneath wheels and heat.
The rider got closer. The urge grew stronger. The feeling of being a stranger to himself grew within. Grim held firmly.
And then the finish line came and went. First place. The crowd chanted his name, but the sound was muffled to him, like the distant waves that died out before meeting the shore. The exhilarating feeling of victory he used to have, no more there.
The bike growled a last time before it fell silent. Grim got up and leaned against the cold brick wall of the narrow alley. His breath rushed and trembled. The city loomed above, vast and indifferent.
The voice didn’t speak,
He flexed his fingers. The lingering terror mocked him from within.
