- Katie Uschi
Katie Uschi hated how quiet Frankfurt had become.
Not silence—she could work with silence. Silence meant choice. What she hated was the controlled quiet, the way the city seemed to hold its breath even when nothing was happening. Cafes closed earlier now. Clubs turned their music down before midnight. People stopped shouting across streets, stopped arguing loudly on trains, stopped doing the small, messy things that reminded the world it was alive.
It felt rehearsed.
Katie kicked the door shut behind her and let the music bleed out into the stairwell before slamming it closed again. The bass thudded against the walls of her apartment, a low, insistent pulse that vibrated through her chest and up her spine. She didn’t bother checking the time. Someone would complain soon enough.
She turned the volume up another notch.
The room was small and lived-in, every surface carrying evidence of refusal. Posters overlapped on the walls—bands, protests, art installations that had been shut down after Miami. Clothes were draped over chairs, boots kicked into corners. An old record player sat beside a modern speaker setup, wires tangled deliberately, defiantly.
Katie grabbed her jacket from the back of the couch and shrugged it on, not bothering to zip it. She caught her reflection in the darkened window—short hair uneven from a self-inflicted trim, a faint bruise on her cheek she didn’t remember earning. She grinned at herself, sharp and unapologetic.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “They’ll love that.”
She stepped back into the stairwell, letting the door slam behind her again for good measure. The music cut off abruptly, swallowed by the thick concrete walls. The sudden quiet made her teeth itch.
There it is, she thought. That awful fucking feeling.
The street outside was damp from an earlier rain, pavement reflecting streetlights in smeared halos. Katie lit a cigarette despite the posted signs and took a long drag, exhaling slowly as she started down the block.
The city didn’t like when she did that.
She felt it immediately—a tightening in the air, subtle but unmistakable. The space around her grew resistant, like walking against a current that hadn’t existed a moment ago. The streetlight above flickered, buzzing softly in protest.
Katie smiled
“Oh, don’t you start now,” she said aloud.
The pressure increased.
Not force. Never force. Just suggestion. The unspoken expectation that she would comply, that she would move differently, quieter, smaller.
She didn’t.
Katie crossed the street against the signal, boots splashing through a shallow puddle. A car honked sharply, braking hard as it skidded to a stop. The driver shouted something she ignored, flipping him off without breaking stride.
The pressure snapped.
Not violently—rhythmically. The world lurched half a beat behind her movements, sound lagging, light stuttering as if struggling to keep time. The streetlight flared bright, then dimmed. The puddle beneath her boots rippled outward in perfect concentric circles, though nothing had touched it.
Katie laughed, loud and unrestrained.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s more like it.”
She walked faster.
With each step, the city’s resistance shifted—not tightening, but reacting. Distance shortened where she wanted it to. Obstacles seemed to hesitate before asserting themselves. The air around her vibrated faintly, carrying a low hum that synced with her heartbeat.
She turned down a side street plastered with outdated posters and graffiti, layers of messages overwriting one another. NO MORE QUIET. THIS ISN’T SAFETY. LET IT BREAK.
Katie traced her fingers along the wall as she passed, feeling the texture of peeling paper and spray paint beneath her skin. The hum intensified, sound thickening around her as though the street itself were listening.
A group of men loitered ahead, blocking the sidewalk. They turned as she approached, eyes scanning her with open appraisal. One of them smirked.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re going the wrong way.”
Katie stopped.
The hum coiled tighter.
“Am I?” she asked pleasantly.
The man stepped closer, grin widening “This isn’t—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
The space between them snapped.
Not collapsing inward like it did with others. Instead, it misaligned, the distance refusing to resolve correctly. He stumbled forward, momentum carrying him farther than expected, and slammed into the wall beside Katie with a startled grunt.
The others swore, backing up instinctively.
Katie leaned in close, smoke curling between them. “You were saying?”
The man stared at her, eyes wide, breath coming fast. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, shaking his head as if trying to clear it.
Katie stepped back.
The space realigned.
“Thought so,” she said, and walked past them without another glance.
Her pulse raced, adrenaline singing through her veins. The hum around her softened but it didn’t fade, lingering like an aftertaste. She exhaled a long stream of smoke, savoring the sensation.
This wasn’t about power.
It never had been.
It was about refusal.
Katie reached the end of the block and paused beneath a flickering sign advertising a bar that had been closed for months. The windows were boarded up, flyers stapled haphazardly over the wood. She leaned against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the damp concrete, knees pulled up.
The city pressed in.
Not aggressively. Curiously.
She could feel it now—the way the environment adjusted around her, testing boundaries, probing for compliance. The Fractures here weren’t like the ones on the news. They weren’t catastrophic. They were personal, responsive to behavior rather than belief.
Katie flicked her cigarette into the gutter and watched it sizzle out.
“Not today,” she murmured.
Footsteps echoed down the street.
She looked up as two figures approached from the opposite direction—a woman with sharp eyes and a man who walked like the ground owed him something. They slowed when they saw her, both of them registering the hum in the air, the subtle distortion that clung to her presence.
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Katie straightened.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The woman studied her openly. “Depends,” she said. “Are you always like this, or is tonight special?”
Katie grinned. “Special, fuck does that mean? I just don’t like being told how I should be.”
The man’s gaze flicked to the ground near her feet, then back up. He didn’t look afraid. If anything, he looked… burdened.
“That explains the interference,” he said.
Katie raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound like a technical issue.”
The woman snorted. “You should hear him talk more often.”
Katie pushed herself to her feet, brushing off her jacket. The hum shifted, adjusting to her movement. The streetlight above them flickered once, then steadied.
“You two here to shut me up,” Katie said, “or just curious?”
The woman exchanged a glance with the man. “Curious,” she said. “And maybe a little relieved.”
Katie tilted her head. “Relieved of what?”
“That the city isn’t broken,” the man said quietly. “It’s… just arguing.”
Katie laughed, genuine and bright. “Yeah,” she said. “Sounds about right.”
She looked past them, down the street where the lights dimmed and the pressure thickened. Somewhere beneath it all, something vast and hollow listened, waiting.
Katie cracked her knuckles.
“Well,” she said, stepping forward. “If it’s arguing, I might as well join in.”
The hum surged, eager.
And for the first time all night, the city didn’t try to quiet her.
Some time passed.
Katie decided she liked them both for different reasons.
The woman—Mira—watched everything like she was cataloging evidence she didn’t intend to submit. Her attention moved in clean lines, never lingering too long, never giving away more than necessary. The man was different. He stood like he was carrying something heavy that no one else could see, shoulders squared not out of pride but obligation. The ground around him felt… cautious.
Katie rolled her shoulders, feeling the hum in the air respond. It didn’t spike. It hovered, curious.
“So,” she said, clapping her hands once. The sound echoed a fraction too long before snapping back into place. “You two stalking me, or is this one of those fate things?”
Mira snorted. “You give yourself a lot of credit.”
Katie grinned. “I deserve it.”
The man—Rommulas, she guessed, though he hadn’t said his name yet—shifted his weight. The pavement beneath his boots compressed slightly, like it was bracing for impact that never came.
“Your presence destabilizes localized compliance fields,” he said.
Katie blinked. Then she laughed, loud and unrestrained. “Jesus. I see what you mean now, Mira. Does he ever not talk like that?”
Mira winced. “He’s working on it.”
Rommulas inclined his head, not apologetic. “I’m not wrong.”
“No,” Katie said, stepping closer. The hum thickened, the air vibrating in time with her heartbeat. “You’re just so fucking boring.”
She circled him once, slow and deliberate. The space around them reacted in layers—her movement pulling rhythm into the environment, his presence adding weight, the two effects colliding without collapsing. Streetlights flickered uncertainly. A loose piece of paper skittered across the pavement, caught in a current that shouldn’t have existed.
Katie stopped in front of him.
“You feel it too,” she said. “The way the city keeps trying to tell you how to behave.”
Rommulas met her gaze. He didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“And you don’t like it?”
“No.”
“Good,” Katie said. “Then we’re already friends.”
Mira cleared her throat. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Katie shot her a look. “You gonna tell me I imagined all this?”
Mira hesitated. That answer was enough.
“Didn’t think so.”
They stood there for a moment, the three of them forming an unstable triangle in the middle of the street. The hum softened, then surged again as if testing the arrangement.
A car turned onto the block and slowed abruptly, headlights flaring. The driver frowned, tapping the brakes as the distance between curb and road warped just enough to be unsettling.
Katie waved cheerfully. The car sped up and vanished down the street.
“See?” Katie said. “City’s got opinions now, I just don’t agree with ‘em.”
Mira crossed her arms. “You’ve been doing this a while.”
“Long enough,” Katie replied. “Started as little shit. People getting uncomfortable when I didn’t play along. Streetlights buzzed when I talked back. Then one night I told a cop he couldn’t tell me where to stand, and the pavement buckled like it agreed with me.”
She shrugged. “Kind of snowballed from there.”
Rommulas watched her carefully. “You don’t direct it.”
“Nope.”
“You don’t suppress it.”
“Nope.”
“You don’t apologize for it.”
Katie’s smile sharpened. “Absolutely not.”
The hum responded to that—rising, resonant, almost pleased.
Mira sighed. “You realize that makes you a problem.”
Katie leaned closer. “Only if you’re trying to keep things quiet.”
Mira held her gaze. “We’re trying to keep things from getting worse.”
Katie’s smile faded, just a fraction. “That’s what everyone says right before they decide who gets to suffer quietly.”
The words hung in the air, heavy.
Rommulas felt the weight shift—not increase, but settle. The ground beneath them accepted the statement without protest, like a truth it had already accounted for.
Mira looked away first.
“Come with us,” she said.
Katie raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? No pitch?”
“You don’t need one,” Mira replied, “you already know something’s wrong.”
Katie considered them—really looked this time. Mira’s tension, coiled and ready. Rommulas’s stillness, weighted but deliberate. Neither of them tried to minimize her. Neither of them asked her to be quieter.
That counted for a lot.
“Fine,” Katie said. “But I’m not following rules I didn’t agree to.”
Mira smiled thinly. “We don’t have rules.”
“That’s a lie,” Katie said cheerfully. “Everyone has rules. Yours just aren’t written down yet.”
They started walking.
The city reacted immediately.
Not violently. Not dramatically. But the hum thickened, sound bending slightly around their movement. The space ahead of them felt less rigid, intersections loosening as if uncertain how to direct three different kinds of refusal at once.
Katie felt alive.
They headed toward the river again, this time along a route Mira chose—streets with fewer cameras, fewer signs, fewer attempts at control. The closer they got, the heavier the air became, pressure building in layers that made Katie’s skin prickle.
She slowed.
“Oh,” she said. “That’s new.”
Rommulas stopped beside her. “The weight intensifies near unresolved damage.”
Katie squinted at him. “You ever talk like a person?”
“I’m trying,” he said.
Mira smirked. “He means the city remembers trauma. And whatever did this is still close.”
Katie’s pulse quickened. “Good.”
Mira shot her a look. “That wasn’t meant as encouragement.”
Katie shrugged “Everything’s encouragement if you’re bored enough.”
They reached a point where the street dipped slightly, pavement slanting at an angle that made no architectural sense. The hum here was louder, deeper, threaded with something hollow that made Katie’s chest tighten.
She stepped forward.
The city pushed back.
Not like before—not resistance, but warning. The air thickened, sound lagging, the space ahead compressing as if bracing.
Katie grinned.
“Hey,” Mira said sharply. “Careful.”
Katie didn’t stop.
The hum surged, rhythm snapping into something harsher, more insistent. The streetlight above them shattered with a sharp crack, glass raining down in glittering arcs that froze midair for a heartbeat before clattering to the ground.
Rommulas inhaled sharply.
The weight slammed down—not on Katie, but around her. The city leaned back, space widening abruptly as if giving her room to exist on her own terms.
Katie laughed, breathless. “Okay. That’s new.”
Mira stared at the broken light, then at Katie. “You didn’t force it.”
“No,” Katie said, eyes bright. “I just didn’t listen.”
The hollow presence beneath the city stirred.
Rommulas felt it clearly now—vast, patient, attentive. Not reacting to Katie’s defiance the way it reacted to Isaac Roan’s certainty. Not recoiling or escalating. Observing.
“He’s nearby,” Rommulas said quietly.
Mira stiffened. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Katie tilted her head. “He?”
Rommulas met her gaze. “Isaac Roan. He killed the man I was once inside of—”
Mira cut him off, “I told you not to say it like that.”
Rommulas didn’t respond, instead he continued. “He believes he can control the world. He wants everything to agree with him.”
Katie’s smile vanished completely. “Yeah,” she said. “I hate guys like that.”
The hum shifted, sharp and eager, as if in agreement.
Mira exhaled slowly. “Then you should know—going up against him isn’t about winning.”
Katie reached for a cigarette. “Good. I’m terrible at playing nice.”
They stood at the edge of the slanted street, the city holding its breath around them. The broken streetlight sparked weakly, then went dark. Somewhere deeper beneath the pavement, something vast and hollow listened.
Rommulas felt the weight settle more firmly now—not as burden, but alignment.
Mira adjusted her jacket, eyes fixed on the distorted stretch of road ahead. “Once we step past this point,” she said, “things stop pretending.”
Katie took the first step.