Kristina sat in her dimly lit apartment on the 10th floor, staring out of the large glass window. The city was alive with chaos below—helicopters hovered in the air, searchlights scanned the streets, and police agents coordinated their movements. The once-familiar hum of the city was drowned by the sharp commands and the unmistakable tension that filled the air.
Her mind raced as she thought of Steven. She had seen his transformation with her own eyes, had watched in horror and awe as he unleashed something otherworldly. Now, she was unsure if he was even alive or if he was still on the run. The image of him—angry, in pain, and out of control—was burned into her memory.
Kristina paced the room, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. She had called Jim earlier, but he hadn't answered. She considered calling the police, but what would she say? That her boyfriend might be the terrifying creature they were all hunting? No, she couldn't do that.
Instead, she sat back down, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Below, the streets looked like a war zone. For a moment, she entertained the thought of heading down there herself, but what could she do?
The thoughts spiraled, her worry bubbling into frustration.
"Steven, you idiot," she muttered to herself. "Why didn't you tell me everything? Why did you take all this on alone?"
She grabbed her phone and scrolled through her messages. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over Steven's name. Finally, she typed:
"Steven, wherever you are, please be okay. I'm worried about you. Call me, just… please."
She hit send and stared at the screen, willing it to light up with his reply. The silence was deafening.
The weight of the situation pressed on her as she turned away from the window. She flicked on the TV, hoping for answers. Every channel seemed to be covering the same story: "City in Chaos: FBI Hunts for Unknown Phenomenon."
Images of burning streets and terrified citizens flashed on the screen, followed by grainy footage of a flaming motorcycle cutting through the night. Her stomach twisted.
"What am I supposed to do?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
She rubbed her temples and leaned back on the couch, the exhaustion from the day catching up with her. But sleep wouldn't come. Every sound from the street below made her jump, her paranoia growing by the minute.
Finally, she stood up, determination replacing her fear.
"If the cops can't find him, then I will," she said to herself.
She grabbed her jacket and keys, heading toward the door. But as her hand reached for the knob, she hesitated.
Her logical side screamed at her: What are you going to do? Put yourself in danger?
But her heart refused to listen. She couldn't just sit there, helpless. She had to do something.
Kristina walked back to her desk and pulled out a notebook. She began scribbling down everything she knew about Steven's recent behavior—his absences, the strange sightings, the hints he had dropped about the "monster" inside him.
She underlined one word: Blackout.
That name had stuck with her since Steven had mentioned it. Whoever—or whatever—that was, it seemed to be at the center of everything.
Kristina's hand trembled as she wrote. She didn't have all the answers, but one thing was clear: she couldn't abandon Steven. No matter how dangerous it got, she needed to find him and help him.
As the hours dragged on, Kristina sat by the window again, her notebook clutched tightly in her hands. She watched as the FBI began to move out of the area, their search seemingly leading them elsewhere.
The city quieted down, but her heart did not. Somewhere out there, Steven was fighting a battle she couldn't even begin to understand.
She whispered to the empty room, "Please, Steven. Just come back to me."
***
The desert air was thick with tension as Alejandra Jones stood
in her tent, the flickering light of a lone lantern casting shadows across her toned figure. She zipped up her black leather jacket halfway, her tight pants clung to her body like a second skin, every movement revealing the confidence in her stride.
Her piercing gaze caught the reflection of her face in the mirror. She ran her hand through her hair, her expression hardening. Something dark stirred within her, a burning force she had learned to control but never fully tame.
She stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against her exposed skin. The faint sound of a distant engine echoed in the silence, sending a chill down her spine. She tilted her head, listening intently, her senses sharper than ever.
With a smirk, she muttered to herself, "So... Blackout has finally arrived."
She took a few steps forward, her boots crunching against the gravel beneath her. Her body language was calm, but her aura radiated power. Her jacket fluttered slightly in the breeze, teasing the flames that threatened to ignite from within her.
As she reached the edge of the hill, she stopped. The moon above cast a crimson glow on the barren landscape, the ominous sign of a night meant for vengeance. Alejandra's smirk widened, her fingers brushing against the zipper of her jacket. She tilted her head back, allowing the fire inside her to rise.
Her voice dropped to a near growl as she declared, "Time to settle the score."
Her skull erupted into flames, the fiery blaze roaring to life. The heat warped the air around her as her transformation completed. The jacket, once a symbol of her humanity, was now a mere accessory to the demonic energy coursing through her.
The camera panned out, showing the flames reflecting in her eyes. The world around her seemed to tremble as the Rider was unleashed once more.
The screen cut to black.
***
Steven groaned as his eyes fluttered open. His body ached, his ribs felt like they were caving in, and every movement sent waves of pain through him. He looked around, disoriented, finding himself in a barren landscape under the dim light of dawn. The eerie silence was broken only by the distant hum of his motorcycle.
The bike stood in front of him, its black frame gleaming in the faint light. The headlight flickered erratically before settling into a steady glow, almost as if it were staring at him. Steven squinted, the brightness piercing through his fatigue.
"What...what do you want?" he muttered, coughing. He struggled to sit up, leaning heavily on his arms.
The bike roared suddenly, its engine revving like an impatient heartbeat. The sound echoed across the desolate area, making Steven flinch. He glanced at it, frowning. "You're alive, aren't you? But you can't talk. Great, just my luck—stuck with a bike that wants me to guess what it's thinking."
The headlight flashed again, this time brighter, like a silent command. Before Steven could react, the bike sped off, tearing through the empty land. He watched it disappear into the distance, leaving a trail of dust and fire.
"What the hell..." Steven muttered, forcing himself to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he stumbled after the bike, driven by a strange compulsion.
He followed the scorched trail left by the tires until he reached a vast, rocky area. The bike had crashed into a massive boulder, its frame steaming but unharmed. Exhausted, Steven collapsed onto a large rock nearby, his chest heaving.
As he sat there, he noticed a faint glow emanating from his right hand. He raised it slowly, his eyes widening in shock. The fiery outline of a skull flickered to life in his palm, the flames dancing erratically.
"What...what is this?" Steven asked aloud, his voice trembling.
The burning skull stared at him, its hollow eyes radiating heat. Then it spoke, its voice deep and commanding. "The powers you hold are not just for vengeance, Steven Henderson. They are a curse and a gift. You hold the penance stare, the chain of damnation, and the fire of judgment. Yet, you are weak...you do not know how to wield them."
Steven glared at the skull, his frustration boiling over. "Weak? You think I don't know that? I don't even know what the hell I am anymore! I'm losing control...I can't even stand without feeling like I'm dying!"
The skull's flames intensified. "You are immortal, Steven. Pain is your companion, not your end. Your soul cannot die, and yet you act as if you are still mortal. Accept the truth. Embrace what you are."
Steven clenched his fists, the flames in his hand growing hotter. "Embrace it? I didn't ask for this! I didn't want any of this!"
His voice cracked, and he slumped back, his head falling into his hands. The burning skull hovered closer, its heat pulsing against his skin.
"Your suffering fuels your strength. Stop fighting it, and learn to control it. Only then can you face what lies ahead."
Steven stared at the skull, his resolve faltering. "What if I don't want to? What if I just...stop?"
The skull's flames dimmed momentarily, as if contemplating his words. But before it could respond, the air around Steven grew heavier. A second skull appeared, its flames brighter and more intense. This one was distinctly feminine, with slender, elegant features.
She floated toward Steven, her voice smooth but commanding. "You cannot stop, Steven. Not now. Not when the world needs you."
Steven looked up at her, his exhaustion evident. "And who are you supposed to be? Another piece of my cursed imagination?"
The feminine skull extended a fiery hand toward him. "Call me a guide, if you must. But I am here to remind you that you are not alone. Take my hand, Steven. Let me show you the strength you possess."
Hesitant, Steven reached out, their fiery hands meeting in a burst of light. Energy surged through him, reigniting the fire within. His pain lessened, and for the first time, he felt a strange sense of clarity.
The feminine skull's voice softened. "Rise, Rider. The fight is far from over."
Steven stood slowly, the flames in his hand steady and controlled. He looked at the skulls, a new determination in his eyes. "Fine. If this is what I am, then I'll use it. But don't expect me to like it."
The feminine skull chuckled softly before fading into the air. The original burning skull lingered for a moment longer, its flames flaring.
"Your path is set, Steven. Now ride."
Steven turned to his bike, its engine roaring back to life. He mounted it, gripping the handlebars tightly. The fire in his chest burned brighter as he sped off into the horizon, ready to face whatever awaited him next.