Outsider (Male oc x Class of 09)

Route 3 - Part 2

As I sit here, attempting to tap into my power once more, it feels like breaking free from an invisible straitjacket. It's always a struggle, like trying to hold onto smoke with bare hands. Gotta move fast before that phantom chain tightens its grip again.

I slip into meditation, the familiar ritual to escape this flesh prison, to explore the realms beyond. My consciousness drifts away, leaving behind a sorry sight—the physical vessel I begrudgingly inhabit. Scars crisscross my arms, my neck wrapped in bandages like a mummy's accessory, and my hair? Well, let's just say it hasn't seen a comb in days. If appearances could convict, I'd be on death row by now. A disturbed teen? More like the poster child for troubled youth. I bet folks would cross the street just to avoid me, thinking I'm some kind of serial killer in training.

But hey, gotta admit, I rock the emo aesthetic. A badass with a side of brooding darkness, if you will. Lost in my self-evaluation, I'm rudely yanked back to reality as I sense the invisible chains tightening their grip on my astral form. Damn it, focus!

With renewed urgency, I reach out with my metaphysical senses, probing the vastness of existence for anomalies. Every living being becomes an open book, their thoughts, emotions, and desires laid bare before me. It's a dizzying cacophony, like trying to pick out a single whisper in a roaring crowd. But I persist, determined to find what I seek.

Time slips away, the chains threatening to drag me back into the confines of my body. Just a little longer, I urge myself, my search nearly complete. Then, without warning, the chains lurch forward, slamming me back into my physical form with a force that nearly sends me tumbling. Quick reflexes save me from a humiliating spill, and I curse under my breath at the abrupt end to my astral excursion.

"That was new," I muttered, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Interacting with my physical body on such a tangible level—now that was a first. Being forcefully yanked back into it, however, was all too familiar.

The good news? No anomaly detected. Looks like I'm not the culprit behind these damn time loops. The bad news? Well, there's still no explanation for why they're happening. But hey, at least I've stumbled onto something interesting. Turns out, I'm stuck in a freaking visual novel. If I inadvertently wipe out the main character's world, it's practically genocide. Okay, maybe not literally, but it's amusing to entertain the idea.

So, what's causing these time loops? External interference, perhaps? If that's the case, I might've just painted a giant target on my back by poking around. No doubt whoever's tinkering with time here won't ignore the sudden surge of foreign energy, even if it was just a blip on their radar. Or maybe, considering the whole visual novel shtick, it's some gamer hitting the reset button and exploring different story routes. If that's the case, maybe I should track down the protagonist and... well, let's just say I have a few ideas involving murder.

On the bright side, Dagger and Crimson should've sensed my aura spiking, albeit briefly. That should be enough to pique their curiosity and send them my way.

With that in mind, it's probably best to skedaddle before anyone catches sight of me. I edge closer to the precipice and let gravity do its thing, landing gracefully on the street below. Passersby jump at my sudden appearance, some stumbling in their surprise. I offer a half-hearted apology before making a beeline for the subway. The stunt I just pulled has left me drained, and the thought of trekking back to town on foot is about as appealing as a root canal.

Ticket in hand, I board the train and seek refuge in an empty car at the rear, far away from the chatter and snores of my fellow passengers.

[Time skip]

I open my eyes as I sense someone approaching the wagon I'm currently occupying.

???: "...bagged a good one tonight!"

???: "Hurry up before the drugs wear off!"

The creak of the wagon door signals their entry. Two middle-aged men stumble in, carrying a girl in her early twenties. She's barely conscious, drifting in and out of awareness, weakly struggling against their grasp. The men freeze in surprise at the sight of me, clearly not expecting company.

I take in the scene, noting the glint of metal—a knife and a handgun—clutched in their pockets. It's no wonder bystanders turned a blind eye. Who'd risk their neck for a stranger, especially with lethal weapons in play? If I were anyone else, I'd probably do the same. Survival instincts trump heroics every time. But still, it's a bitter truth. Lives hanging in the balance, just collateral in the grand scheme.

???: "Hey kid, beat it!" one of them barks, motioning for me to scram while waving his gun in my direction.

I remain rooted to the spot, my expression unreadable as I started scanning the surroundings. They interpret it as fear, scanning for an escape route. I take the opportunity to assess my surroundings, searching for any hidden surveillance. Surprisingly, I find none—or they're concealed beyond my reach. With a silent nod to myself, I know I have free rein.

As the men lay the girl on an empty seat, her feeble resistance tugs at my conscience. I move with purpose, silent as the shadows, creeping up behind the one wielding the gun.

In a swift motion, I slice open his throat. Blood gushes forth, painting the scene in crimson. The girl watches in a daze, horror etched in her eyes, too weak to protest. The other man turns, but it's too late. He meets the same fate, his life draining away in a pool of red.

Their bodies slump to the ground, lifeless. I drag them aside, out of sight, and turn my attention to the girl. She's stained with blood, a fragile doll in need of rescue. Gently, I cleanse her wounds, erasing the evidence of their brutality.

Returning to my seat, I wait in silence as the train rattles on toward its destination.

[Time skip]

The train grinds to a halt, and the shrill wail of sirens pierces the air. Peering out the window, I spot police cars swarming the station like ants to a feast. Glancing at the signs, I realize I'm still a considerable distance from the safety of town. With a silent curse, I slip away, leaving the chaos behind.

I made my way to the forest, navigating through the unfamiliar terrain, my senses on high alert. I ascend to the highest point I can find, scanning the landscape for any semblance of familiarity. But the land remains foreign.

I trudge along the desolate road, the night swallowing me whole. Finally, a light from a gas station on the horizon. Inside, I interrogate the weary-eyed attendants for directions, their responses terse and unhelpful. Armed with vague instructions, I embark on a grueling twenty-hour odyssey.

The road stretches endlessly before me, a ribbon of asphalt snaking through the wilderness. Shadows dance on the periphery of my vision, whispering secrets of the night.

As dawn breaks on the horizon, I catch a glimpse of civilization in the distance—a familiar silhouette against the morning haze. 

Finally, I arrive at the outskirts of town. I navigate the maze of trees with ease, each turn a step closer to my haven. At last, I reach the hidden entrance to my bunker.

Collapsing onto my bed, I exhale a weary sigh, the weight of my journey finally lifting from my shoulders.

I wonder what happened in school while I was gone...