David's gaming setup dominated one corner of his room, the dual monitors casting a bluish glow that illuminated his face in the otherwise darkened space. The rest of the room had gradually disappeared under the typical teenage chaos of discarded clothes, school papers, and empty energy drink cans. Posters for various games and sci-fi movies covered most of the available wall space, giving the room a collage-like quality.

Tony arrived around eight-thirty, not long after David had gotten home from his shift at the grocery store. He brought a family-sized bag of chips and a six-pack of Mountain Dew, essentials for their planned gaming session.

"Are you sure the lighting is good enough?" David asked, studying his image preview on the monitor as he adjusted his webcam. "The shadows make me look like I have two black eyes."

Tony snorted, sprawling onto the beanbag chair he'd claimed as his own years ago. Its once-vibrant blue had faded to a dull navy, with several suspicious stains from previous gaming marathons. "No one cares what you look like. If you had cleavage like your sister, then yeah, we'd be worried about the lighting. But trust me, your potato face isn't why people watch your stream."

"Thanks for the confidence boost," David replied dryly. "Ready to jump into some Big Team Battle? I feel like destroying some randoms tonight."

"Let's do it," Tony said, setting up his Xbox Series X controller. "I just want to drive a Warthog and run people over. You can man the turret."

"Perfect team strategy," David nodded, opening his streaming software. "The stream rats are going to love that."

By nine, they had both logged into Halo Infinite and queued up together for Big Team Battle. David's stream was live, and he was already performing for his audience.

"What's up, stream rats?" David greeted, his voice noticeably more animated than his normal speaking tone. "We're back with more Halo Infinite tonight, and I've got my boy T-dog with me on cross-play. Our plan tonight is simple: vehicular manslaughter and copious amounts of teabagging."

"Don't forget the trash talking," Tony's voice came through David's headset and the stream. "I've been practicing my toxic gamer impressions."

"Oh, shots fired!" David laughed, responding to something in the chat. "GrappleMaster420 says we're gonna get wrecked. Challenge accepted, buddy!"

The match loaded, placing them both on the blue team in a sprawling map with vehicles, weapon caches, and multiple capture points. David immediately began narrating their gameplay with an energy that was miles from his usual reserved demeanor.

"Alright, stream rats, we're on Fragmentation again. Tony, meet me at the Warthog spawn. We're going full Dukes of Hazzard tonight."

"On my way," Tony replied, his Spartan sprinting across the map to rendezvous with David's character. "I see you—hold on, there's a sniper on that ridge."

"I see him—EAT THIS, CAMPER!" David shouted as his character launched a grenade that sent the enemy sniper flying off the ledge. "That's what we call a Millridge welcome package! Comes with complementary fall damage!"

The chat erupted with laughing emojis and comments about the kill. Tony reached the Warthog and jumped into the driver's seat while David took position on the turret.

"Floor it, my dude," David commanded. "Head for their flag. I'll mow down anyone who gets in our way."

"Someone in chat says we're suicide bombing," Tony noted as he drove the vehicle at full speed toward enemy lines.

"It's only suicide bombing if we die," David countered. "We're just tactically aggressive. VERY aggressive—HOLY CRAP, JUMP!"

Both of their characters leapt from the Warthog just before it exploded from enemy fire. David's Spartan immediately began returning fire, taking down two opponents in quick succession.

"Double kill!" David crowed. "DieselFist74 just donated five bucks! Thanks, man. He wants to know if I always play this aggressively... Only when I'm trying to impress all you beautiful people. The rest of the time I'm a tactical genius, which is why my K/D ratio is hot garbage."

As they continued playing, David maintained his high-energy commentary, seamlessly blending gameplay callouts with responses to his chat and banter with Tony. His viewer count steadily climbed, reaching sixty-three as they finished their third match.

"VaporWraith asks how I got so good with the Sniper Rifle," David read from the chat during a brief lobby break. "Bold of you to assume I'm good, my friend. What you're seeing is the product of thousands of hours wasted instead of doing homework. Don't be like me, kids. Stay in school. Unless you can get paid to play video games, then drop out immediately."

"He's lying," Tony added through the voice chat. "He's terrible with the Sniper Rifle. He just got lucky that match."

"Everyone, ignore the hater in the beanbag," David replied. "He's just jealous because his Spartan looks like it was designed by a colorblind toddler. Purple and yellow? Really, dude?"

Their fourth match was loading when David's bedroom door suddenly burst open, flooding the darkened room with hallway light. Janice stood in the doorway, wrapped in nothing but a towel, her wet hair dripping onto the carpet.

"The hot water's out again!" she fumed, marching straight toward David's desk where his computer was set up. "Dad said you were messing with the water heater earlier today when you were helping him with that shelf. I had to take a freezing shower and my hair conditioner—"

She froze mid-sentence, her eyes suddenly going wide as she realized two things simultaneously: David wasn't alone, and she was essentially naked except for the towel. Her gaze locked with Tony's, who was staring at her with a deer-in-headlights expression from the beanbag chair in the corner.

"TONY?" she shrieked, clutching the towel tighter and backing toward the door.

That's when David noticed the third disaster—his webcam was still streaming, and his sister had walked directly into frame, visible to all sixty-three viewers. The chat was exploding with activity.

"Oh my god," he muttered, frantically lunging for the stream controls.

"Are you STREAMING?" Janice's voice rose another octave as she noticed the setup. "Are you SERIOUS right now?"

"I was trying to tell you—" David began, fumbling with the software controls.

"You said you were just playing games with Tony!" She backed into the hallway, her face now flushed crimson with embarrassment and anger. "Not broadcasting to the entire INTERNET!"

"I am! I mean, I was—I'm also—just get out!" David finally managed to click the "End Stream" button, cutting the transmission.

The sudden silence in the room was broken only by the continuing sounds of their Halo match—gunfire and explosions as both their characters stood motionless in the game, easy targets for enemy players. On screen, David's Spartan was riddled with bullets and collapsed dramatically as Tony's character was taken out by a grenade.

"It's not funny," David muttered as Tony started laughing uncontrollably from the beanbag chair. "Sixty-three people just saw my sister in a towel. My channel's probably going to get banned."

"Worth it," Tony managed between wheezes, watching as their characters respawned. "The chat absolutely exploded. One guy donated twenty bucks!"

"Great," David groaned, running a hand through his hair. "That's exactly the kind of attention I was hoping for—my sister's towel malfunction."

Their characters were still in the game, and Tony picked up his controller. "We're still getting wrecked in the match. Want to keep playing or call it?"

"Just quit," David sighed. "I can't focus now."

They both exited the match, their team undoubtedly cursing the sudden departure of two players. Tony set his controller aside, still grinning. "Your sister is going to murder you for this."

"Me? What about you? You were just sitting there staring at her like a creep!"

"I was in shock!" Tony defended, raising his hands. "And I wasn't the one broadcasting it to the internet!"

A moment later, Janice reappeared in the doorway—still in her towel but now with significantly more murder in her eyes. "David Michael Lamb! You'd better delete that video right now or I swear I will destroy everything you love!"

"It's already gone!" he called back. "I ended the stream!"

"I want it DELETED. Completely. From. The. Internet." Each word was punctuated with a step toward him. "And why didn't you tell me Tony was here?!"

"I tried! You just burst in like—"

"Hey, Janice," Tony offered weakly, raising a hand in an awkward wave. "I, uh, didn't see anything, I swear."

"Oh my GOD!" Janice's face reddened further. "I'm going to tell Mom. I'm going to tell EVERYONE. You are DEAD."

She slammed the door with enough force to rattle David's gaming posters, leaving him and Tony in stunned silence for a moment.

"Your sister is going to murder you in your sleep," Tony finally said, still struggling to keep a straight face.

"Me? What about you? You were just sitting there staring at her like a creep!"

"I was in shock!" Tony defended, raising his hands. "And I wasn't the one broadcasting it to the internet!"

"It was an accident," David groaned, checking if the stream had actually ended. "And we're definitely getting banned. Twitch is super strict about that kind of content."

Tony glanced at his phone. "Speaking of getting banned, it's almost ten. My mom's going to kill me if I'm not home soon. She's been crazy strict about curfew since those people went missing."

"Do you want to try to get one more match in?" David asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nah, better not risk it," Tony replied, standing up and stretching. "My mom has been texting me every fifteen minutes. She's convinced I'm going to be the next person to disappear."

"Fair enough," David said. "Probably for the best anyway. I'm not sure I can focus on the game after... that."

Tony started gathering his things, shoving the remaining chips into his backpack. "This was totally worth breaking curfew for, though. I wouldn't have missed that towel incident for anything."

"Thanks," David replied dryly. "That's incredibly helpful."

"Text me when your sister calms down enough that you're no longer in mortal danger," Tony said, heading for the door. "And hey, look at the bright side—now you have something more stressful than talking to Francine to worry about."

"Always finding the silver lining," David muttered. "I'll walk you out."

They made their way downstairs quietly, passing David's parents' room where the TV could be heard playing the evening news. At the front door, Tony gave David a mock salute.

"One more thing," he said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "Make sure your door is locked when you go to sleep tonight. I wasn't kidding about the murder thing."

With that, Tony slipped out into the night, leaving David alone with his thoughts and the impending wrath of his sister. He headed back upstairs, narrowly avoiding another encounter with Janice who was just closing the bathroom door at the other end of the hall.

Back in his room, David flopped onto his bed with a sigh. The abrupt end to their gaming session had left an unexpected vacuum in the space where Tony's constant chatter had been. He checked his phone and found several notifications from streaming followers, most containing the laughing emoji. This was going to haunt him for a long time.

His phone buzzed with a text from Tony: "Made it home. Mom was waiting up, looking pissed. Totally worth it though. BEST STREAM EVER."

David leaned back on his bed and sighed heavily. This was definitely going to come back to haunt him. Janice never forgot anything.

Another text from Tony appeared: "She's probably planning her revenge already. Last time my sister was mad at me, she put salt in my orange juice every morning for a week."

"Janice wouldn't be that subtle," David texted back. "She'd probably just announce it at Thanksgiving dinner in front of our grandparents."

He set his phone down for a moment, replaying the evening's embarrassment in his mind before inevitably circling back to thoughts of tomorrow's town meeting.

A moment later, another text came in, this time from Morgan: "Melissa didn't come home again tonight. Parents freaking out. Cops still say they can't do anything."

David frowned, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten. That was the second night in a row Melissa had disappeared. With everything else happening in Millridge, it seemed increasingly concerning.

"Did they say why they can't do anything?" he texted back.

Morgan's response came quickly: "She's 18. Technically an adult who can do what she wants. Plus she keeps coming back eventually."

"But with those other disappearances..."

"Exactly. Dad's going to the town meeting tomorrow to raise hell about it."

David considered this development. "I'll be there after work. Maybe we can talk to Melissa ourselves if we see her at school?"

"If she shows up. Been skipping a lot of classes too."

David set his phone aside, troubled by the growing number of strange events in Millridge. Between the disappearances, Melissa's behavior, and that eerie red light in the park, everything felt slightly off-kilter lately. Like the world had shifted a few degrees but only a few people were noticing.

He picked up his phone again as another text from Tony came through: "Mom just gave me the lecture about curfew. Told her I was helping you with Physics homework. She actually bought it."

David typed back: "Glad one of us is in the clear. Janice is actually plotting my murder."

The response came quickly: "Worth it. Best stream ever. 10/10 would risk death again."

"Morgan says Melissa's missing again tonight," David texted, changing the subject.

"That's 2 nights in a row. Starting to get beyond weird."

"Yeah. Going to try to talk to her at school tomorrow."

Tony's reply: "Good luck with that. And with Francine. And with not getting murdered by your sister. Night!"

With a sigh, David got up to brush his teeth. In the bathroom mirror, he studied his reflection critically—the same face he'd seen countless times before, but tonight it seemed to belong to someone standing at a crossroads. Part of him was still the same David who'd rather hide behind a gaming avatar than face real-world social situations, but another part was becoming increasingly aware that something strange was happening in Millridge, something that couldn't be ignored or avoided by retreating into virtual worlds.

When he returned to his room, his eyes fell on his abandoned Physics textbook. If he was going to be awake anyway, he might as well be productive. The angular momentum problems wouldn't solve themselves, and unlike the mysteries of Millridge or the complexities of talking to Francine Holderman, at least these problems had clear, definable solutions.

He worked steadily for about an hour, filling pages with calculations and diagrams, his mind occasionally wandering to tomorrow's possibilities. By the time he finally closed his textbook, his eyes were heavy with exhaustion. He set his alarm, turned off his desk lamp, and crawled into bed.

Sleep came quickly, but it wasn't peaceful.

David found himself running through the familiar terrain of Fragmentation, but it didn't feel like a game anymore. He could feel the weight of his Spartan armor, hear his own breath inside the helmet, smell the acrid scent of gunpowder and scorched metal. Everything was in first-person perspective, just like in Halo, but with a hyperrealistic intensity that no game could match.

"Tony, where are you?" he called into his helmet comm. "I'm at the rendezvous point."

"On my way," Tony's voice crackled through the radio. "Got the Warthog. Morgan's with me. Jason's covering our six."

David checked his assault rifle—fully loaded—and scanned the ridge for enemy snipers. This was familiar. This was just like their match earlier.

Tony's Warthog roared up the hill, kicking up dust as it skidded to a stop beside him. Morgan was in the passenger seat, while Tony was behind the wheel. There was no sign of Jason.

"Where's Jason?" David asked as he climbed onto the turret.

Tony and Morgan exchanged confused glances. "Who?"

"Jason. You just said he was covering you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tony replied. "Let's move. We need to capture the flag before the timer runs out."

Something felt wrong, but David couldn't place it. He swiveled the turret, scanning for hostiles as Tony gunned the engine. The Warthog bounced over rough terrain, heading toward the enemy base.

"There's something weird going on," Morgan said suddenly. "I keep feeling like we're being watched."

David felt it too—a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. He turned the turret and nearly fell off the Warthog in shock.

Melissa Altura stood on a rocky outcropping, watching them pass. She wasn't wearing Spartan armor like the rest of them—just her normal clothes, the same dark, gothic style she always wore at school. Her gaze followed them with unsettling intensity, her head turning unnaturally as they drove past.

"Did you see that?" David shouted. "Melissa's here!"

"Who?" Tony asked, not slowing down.

"Melissa! Morgan's sister! She was right there, watching us!"

"I don't have a sister," Morgan said, his voice eerily calm.

Before David could respond, plasma fire erupted from behind a rock formation. Tony swerved, but too late—a direct hit sent the Warthog flipping through the air. David was thrown clear, landing hard on his back.

When he got to his feet, the Warthog was a burning wreck. There was no sign of Tony.

"Tony!" he called. "Morgan!"

Morgan staggered up from behind a boulder, his armor scorched. "Tony's gone," he said flatly, as if commenting on the weather. "Just... gone."

"What do you mean gone? He can't be gone!"

"People keep disappearing," Morgan replied, checking his battle rifle. "First Jason, now Tony. Haven't you noticed?"

David felt a chill that had nothing to do with the game environment. "We need to find them."

"We need to complete the mission," Morgan corrected, pointing toward the enemy base. "The flag won't capture itself."

They moved forward cautiously, taking cover behind rocks and trees. As they crested a hill, David spotted Melissa again, standing perfectly still in the middle of an open field. She shouldn't have been there—she would be an easy target for snipers—but she seemed unconcerned, her face expressionless as she watched them approach.

"Morgan, look—" David began, but when he turned, Morgan was gone. No sound, no warning. Just... gone.

"Morgan!" he called, panic rising in his throat. "MORGAN!"

His only answer was the distant sound of gunfire.

David sprinted toward Melissa, his assault rifle raised. "What's happening?" he demanded. "Where are they going? What did you do with them?"

Melissa tilted her head slightly, studying him with cold, calculating eyes. "They're where they need to be," she said, her voice eerily calm. "Where they all need to be. Where you'll be too, soon enough."

"What does that mean?" David's hands were shaking on his rifle. "Tell me!"

Instead of answering, Melissa smiled—a smile that never reached her eyes. "The convergence is coming," she said. "Can't you feel it? The veil is thinning."

She turned and walked away, her movements too smooth, too precise to be human.

"Wait!" David called, trying to follow, but his legs wouldn't move. He looked down and saw that his feet were sinking into the ground, as if the solid earth had turned to quicksand.

"Help!" he shouted, but there was no one left to hear him.

As he sank deeper, he caught one last glimpse of Melissa, standing on a distant ridge. She wasn't alone anymore. A figure stood beside her—a woman with striking red hair, watching him with an unnaturally intense gaze. It was the same look the old woman in the car had given him—as if she were seeing something beyond him, something only she could perceive.

The ground swallowed him up to his chest, then his neck. As darkness closed in around him, he heard Melissa's voice one last time:

"Temporal limitations are meaningless in the great design."

David jolted awake, gasping for breath, his heart hammering in his chest. His room was dark and quiet, the only sound his own ragged breathing. The dream had been so vivid, so real.

He fumbled for his phone on the nightstand and checked the time: 3:17 AM. Hours still before he needed to get up for school.

As he lay back down, trying to calm his racing heart, a text notification lit up his screen. It was from Morgan:

"She just came home. Acting even weirder. Said something about 'temporal limitations' and 'the great design.' Dad tried to ground her. She just laughed."

David stared at the message, a chill running down his spine. The exact words from his dream.

He didn't get back to sleep that night.

Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it, whatever the town meeting might reveal—about the disappearances, about Millridge, and perhaps even about himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End Chapter!

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