Flashpoint

"Mr. Trask!", — his interlocutor was indignant, — "America is a safe country. I am sure that your stories about a group of people with unusual abilities are just fiction. Civilians are not in danger."

She tried to tell Mr. Trask that he was invited to the live broadcast not to promote his ideas here, but to give a concrete answer to whether the so-called hooligans under the nickname "mutants" were really able to get through the cameras by simply hacking them. Melt the safe door with an ordinary bomb. Well, knock out all the people in the building with the help of a pre-prepared soporific gas.

"Believe me. Sooner or later you will believe my words. But when you realize that I was right, it may be very late!", — he cut off the connection. There were only beeps.

Then Peter didn't listen to what was being said from the TV screen. He was reminded of the mutants again. Every time he stumbles upon any conspiratorial facts about them, he repeatedly dives into that day, several years ago. When memories from a past life came to his mind, about himself.

Trying to get these disturbing thoughts out of your head is probably the best solution. But how to do this if you are literally being poked in the face with facts that you may not be a real person, but just a character in some movie of dubious quality.

—Mutants,— Peter said thoughtfully. With his right hand, he reached out to his face, starting to scratch his cheekbone, "Is it true? Do they exist?

"Metal," Isabella whispered softly, hearing her son's question, "I knew a man who could control metal. — finally looking into Peter's eyes, it sounded louder from her.

Peter was not reassured by this answer. On the contrary, it made him worry even more. Maybe it's all just a joke, and everything that is happening at the moment is unreal? But then it turns out that he himself is unreal…

With anxious thoughts never leaving his head, he continued his meal in absolute silence. And accompanied by the same silence, he helped clean up the kitchen and went to bed.

He had a lot to think about. Even though his conclusions will lead him to nothing and will be forgotten for tomorrow, as it has been many times before today.

*

Night. Peter looks around in fear. His legs won't obey him. They refused to obey him, he was chained to the place where he was standing. People were running away around him in panic, fear was read in their eyes and movements. Some of them stumbled, but with ridiculous, jerky movements they immediately got up and continued to run, like prey from a hunter.

People's faces were covered in soot and frozen blood. Many people's clothes were no less dirty, and torn in many places. Peter couldn't tell if they were running from someone, or from the fire that was blurring the young man's entire vision. Flames were everywhere. Wherever he looked, there was fire all around, setting fire to pieces of buildings lying in piles on the same burning road.

— Eeeee! Peter shouted.

None of the people running past him reacted in any way. They continued to run. He nervously clutched his leg, trying to lift it, to make it move, but it did not obey, like a statue, sticking to the ground.

— Somebody! There was already a hint of pleading and desperation in his voice. — Help me! Please!

The fire from the fire was slowly but surely getting closer to him. There were fewer and fewer people around. Five meters, four meters, three meters. He had already begun to feel how much heat was coming from such a large amount of fire.

When the radius between him and the fire was already less than a meter, he heard a crash and a crack, as if something glass was breaking. Everything happening around him began to dissolve and darken. The unusually bright colors of the fire rushing into the sky began to fade, almost instantly disappearing. It was just a dream.

Peter jumped off the bed with a ragged, sharp breath, and fell to the floor. My heart was beating incredibly fast. This has never happened to him before. It seemed to him that a little more and his heart would jump out of his chest. His ears were blocked, he could not hear what was going on outside his room. All that could be heard was his frightened breathing.

Half a minute dragged on for him for an unusually long time, like an eternity. He calmed down. It was just a nightmare… But why was it so realistic?

He was finally back in the real world. He was lying on the floor, trying to calm down. But when he got away from a little shock, he thought he heard a crack again. And not alone. The sounds came from the living room. A herd of goosebumps ran over his skin. There was a feeling as if all the things in his house were being destroyed.

— Nooo! — Isabella's frightened and desperate cry was heard all over the house.

Peter's blood froze in his veins. He jumped up, instantly turning from a lying position to a standing one, and rushed headlong to the door of the room. His heart was pounding with fear again. What's going on there?! Has someone got into the house?!

— Stop it! His mother's screams only got stronger.

He reached the door, and, leaving the room, immediately rushed to the living room. The sounds of destruction and fighting only got stronger. He found himself on the threshold at the entrance to the living room, but did not have time to run into it. The picture swam sharply. Everything he saw: the hallway of the house, the carpets, the entrance to the living room. All this abruptly disappeared. He found himself on the street. On the side of the road.

Stop. He knows this place. This can't be happening! Why did he end up a few blocks west of his house?! It's just impossible! He needs to hurry home. Faster! He'll figure out how he got here later.

Suddenly, Peter's head was very dizzy. His vision began to fail him, everything that came under his gaze began to double, or even triple. My stomach was twisted with pain, the contents of my stomach were tearing out.

He took a step, then another. At the third step, his legs began to fail, he could not keep his balance. I had to squat down. He was very ill.

Thinking about what was happening in the house only made him more worried. He squatted like that for maybe a few minutes, afraid for what might happen to his mom. He wondered again why he was here. He was at home, almost near the source of the brawl… Then less than a second had passed... and now he was standing here, in a terrible position.

When a few minutes had passed, he felt better. Getting up from his crouches, he took an uncertain step. My stomach almost didn't hurt, my leg rested firmly on the ground, everything stopped twofold.

A step, and another step, his legs began to quickly replace each other, he accelerated and was already running towards the house. It is only a few blocks away from its destination. Peter was extremely excited. At the moment, he only cared about his goal, and fear.

Running across the road, he did not pay attention to the car rushing towards him. She was flying towards him so fast that the chances of not being shot down were zero. Peter panicked.

Adrenaline hit his head, and suddenly, something strange started happening to the car... or did it start happening to him? The world began to flicker a little. The darkest night began to take on a little color. A seven-year-old boy stops in mute shock and looks at how a moment earlier, at great speed, the car flying in his direction became so slow that it began to seem to Peter to have slowed down.

He watched the car, which nevertheless slowly, almost imperceptibly approached him for about ten seconds. When he came to himself, he walked a few meters away. His head began to ache, so much so that it risked exploding.

Peter felt something warm touch his lip. Putting his hand there, he felt something liquid that smeared on his face and fingers. The hand turned red. His nose was bleeding!

After taking a few more steps, he just fell to the ground. Peter lost consciousness.