"Don't cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste," the lyrics echoed, now warped into a digital roar.
Elias stood before the heavy bag, but his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror wasn’t mirroring him. It was three seconds ahead. In the glass, the "other" Elias was already mid-swing, his movements blurred by a rhythmic, neon-blue static that pulsed to a beat only he could hear. Then, the drop hit. "Don't cut me down, throw me out, leave
"Let me down slowly," he whispered, but the bass swallowed the words. In the glass, the "other" Elias was already
He didn't want a soft landing. He wanted the burn. He pushed off the crumbling reality, soaring through the Parallel Universe, a lone figure silhouetted against a sky of pulsing waveforms. As the final kick-drum faded, the neon bled back into fluorescent white. He didn't want a soft landing
He moved with the Tevvez rhythm, a relentless, 150-BPM crusade against his own weakness. He saw her then—a version of the girl he’d lost, standing on a pillar made of static. She wasn't real; she was a memory rendered in high-definition heartbreak.
The air in the gym didn't just smell like sweat; it smelled like ozone and a glitch in reality.