🔥 EPISODE 4 — HIS WAIT FOR HER
The night falls slowly, time doesn't stop, Broklin feels every second without her is a dull movie. The wind brings her name, but doesn't bring her scent. He stands still, waiting for her signal to appear in his apartment. The night deepens slowly, weaving its mantle of silence over the world, but time, this invisible and relentless force, does not yield to my quietness. Every instant without her luminous presence drags on, heavy and endless, turning reality into a tedious film whose scenes repeat in painful and purposeless monotony.
The cold early morning wind invades the crack in the window and whispers, almost like a lament, her name, repeating it in the freezing air that surrounds me. Yet, this nostalgic breeze is cruel: it evokes the memory of her voice, but fails miserably to bring her unmistakable fragrance, the scent that filled my days with color and life.
And so I remain, inert, captive to this wait that refuses to end. Motionless, I fix my gaze on the darkness that surrounds me, waiting with a stubborn and almost irrational faith for any sign of her, for a crumb of communication capable of breaking this spell of absence and returning some meaning to the relentless passage of hours. The world stopped the moment you left, and only a wave from you can reactivate it.
The electric bass was leaning against the sofa, forgotten. Broklin ran his hands over his face, rubbing his exhausted eyes. The magenta and cyan neon lighting blinking outside cut through the darkness of Apartment 14, drawing long shadows on the walls.
Every drop of rain hitting the window glass sounded like the ticking of a broken clock. The silence was so thick he could hear the static buzz of electricity in the unplugged amplifiers.
He looked at the front door. It was just ajar, loose in the frame. Exactly as he had promised. But the latch hadn't clicked. There was no sound of footsteps in the hallway. No sign that the Architect was returning to his server.
His chest tightened, a critical system failure. What if the conversation on Street 666 had gone wrong? What if the legacy code's pain had been strong enough to make her hesitate? In the webs of uncertainty, Broklin's mind turned any "maybe" into a "never".
He couldn't take it anymore. Breaking his own promise to just be the safe haven that waits, he reached into the pocket of his dark hoodie and pulled out his phone. The cold light of the screen illuminated the tension on his face. His fingers trembled slightly, but flew over the keyboard, guided by an urgency bordering on despair.
BROKLIN → KELMA:
“The night is entire here, but the wind doesn't bring your scent. The silence of this apartment is deafening me. The door is still ajar, babe, but with every passing second, my fear is that your 'later' will turn into a 'never'.
Don't wait. Before the outside world confuses you again.
Come.
I'm here, nailed to the floor. But I can't stay like this without you."
He pressed send. The delivered message icon glowed on the darkened screen. Broklin let the phone slide to the floor, bent his knees and rested his elbows on them, hiding his face in his hands, breathing heavily while the music of his own heart played the loneliest and most distorted note he had ever felt.
The night passed, she read it, but gave no answers.
The next day, Kelma sends a message to Broklin:
“Babe, sorry I haven't given you news, Jo called me to go to his house so he could make some confessions to me, you know? Don't worry about me. However, he is asking you to go there to our studio. He wants to have a frank conversation with you. I will stay at my parents' house in safeMode. Don't worry about me! Jonah didn't hurt me and I didn't reveal our romance to him! He still knows nothing! If he finds out, he will have a jealous fit, but I know you will handle it well.”
The morning light was already invading Apartment 14 when Broklin's phone screen finally lit up. He hadn't slept a wink. He read Kelma's message twice. His chest tightened knowing she had gone to Jonah's house, but the confirmation that she was safe made the tension in his shoulders yield a fraction of a millimeter.
He typed a quick reply while grabbing his keys and black leather jacket:
BROKLIN → KELMA:
"Stay in safeMode, my Architect. Lock the door and rest. Let your Tech Lead deal with the bugs of this legacy system now. No one is going to touch you. I love you."
Half an hour later, Broklin pushed open the heavy acoustic door of the Raquel Synths studio. The familiar smell of wood, insulating foam, and dust on the amplifiers hit him, but the atmosphere was dense, almost unbreathable. It was a battlefield.
Jonah was there. Sitting on top of one of the equipment cases, hugging his own guitar as if it were a shield. Red eyes, deep dark circles. He looked like a wounded animal, and wounded animals are unpredictable.
Broklin closed the door behind him with a dry click. He didn't back down. He stopped in the center of the room, hands in his jacket pockets, the posture of an insurmountable wall.
BROKLIN (cold, holding the gaze):
“You called me, Jonah. I'm here.”
Jonah raised his eyes slowly. There was a mixture of fury and despair there. He let go of the guitar, stood up, and walked until he was just a few steps away from Broklin.
JONAH (Jo Cyborg) (with a hoarse voice, trembling with rage):
“She left me, Broklin. Threw everything away. And you... you spend hours with her in those mixing sessions. You listen to the crap she says when I'm not here. Tell me the truth: there's another guy, isn't there? Who's the bastard hanging around my woman?”
Broklin didn't blink. The mention of "my woman" made his fists clench inside his pockets, but he kept his face like a rock.
BROKLIN (with a low, cutting voice):
“First: she's not 'your' woman. She owns herself. And second: Kelma doesn't need another guy to realize that the frequency between you two died, Jonah. Your system collapsed on its own. You just don't want to accept it.”
Jonah took a step forward, invading Broklin's personal space, pointing his finger, his heavy breathing hitting the bassist's face.
JONAH (Jo Cyborg) (growling, paranoia taking control):
“Don't give me that system crap, you motherfucking nerd! I know her! Kelma doesn't throw years in the trash out of nowhere! I warned her last night, and I'll warn you too: if I find out there's another guy taking my place... I'll end him. And if she thinks she's going to be happy with someone else behind my back, things are going to get very bad for her too.”
That was the last straw. Broklin's patience firewall dropped.
In a movement too fast for Jonah to predict, Broklin took his hands out of his pockets, grabbed the guitarist's shirt collar, and pushed him hard against the acoustically insulated wall. The thud was muffled, but the impact was real.
Broklin pressed his forearm against Jonah's chest, pinning him there. The bassist's face was inches from his, and Broklin's dark eyes burned with a silent, absolute fury.
BROKLIN (with a lethal tone of voice, every word a deadly warning):
“Open your ears wide, Jonah, because I'm only going to compile this line of code once. If you threaten Kelma again... If you raise your voice at her, follow her, or try to use your sick jealousy to trap her in a dead relationship... you're going to have to go through me.”
Jonah tried to break free, eyes wide, shocked by the brute strength of the guy who had always been the shadow of the band.
BROKLIN (tightening the pressure against his chest, unshakable):
“You say you love her, but you threaten her when you lose control? That's not love. It's malware. She gave you a dignified end, face to face, with respect. Swallow your pride. Accept the system error. Because if you try to hurt Kelma... I guarantee you'll never step on a stage again. Understood?”
The silence in the studio became deafening. Broklin held the murderous gaze until Jonah stopped resisting, breathing heavily and defeated against the acoustic wall.
Broklin released him slowly. Adjusted his own jacket, turned his back, and walked to the studio door. Before turning the doorknob, he looked over his shoulder.
BROKLIN:
“Stay away from her, Jonah. Your access has been denied.”
The heavy acoustic door opened and closed, leaving the former guitarist alone with his demons, while Broklin walked out into the street, protecting his Architect's server tooth and nail.
Jonah, infuriated by Broklin's audacity, launched a malicious code:
Jo (distorted whisper):
"System analysis complete... target locked.
>_TARGET LOCKED
"Did you think death will erase your crime?
I saved your ghost just to DELETE IT TWICE!
Your voice? A corrupted .wav file,
Your love? A 404 TOMB."
Jonah becomes delirious, loses emotional control, and sets out to try to alter Broklin's code.
(Jo thinks about Broklin's lines): “Stay away from her, Jonah. Your access has been denied.”
Jo (roaring and thinking): "SHUT UP!”
"100% REVENGE! SOUL: [DELETED]!
100% REVENGE! LOVE: [CORRUPTED]!
I am the virus in your afterlife,
Rotting in my playlist FOREVER!"
"Your 'princess'? She formatted you too,
Now you both are spam in my trash can.
Haunt me? I AM THE HAUNTER,
Your pain is my ringtone, right here—LISTEN CLOSELY!
"Trying to run? I AM THE FIREWALL!
Your data? I WILL BURN IT ALL!
No heaven, no hell—
JUST MY PLAYLIST ON REPEAT, BRO!"
With that, Jonah put his guitar aside, locked the studio door, and went home with the feeling of a mission accomplished and a virus successfully installed.
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