The Last Signal

The 2AM shift was always quiet. That was the only reason I took it. Quiet meant less people. Less noise. Less chance that someone would hear me scream when my head felt like it was going to split open. Less chance that my powers would slip out and hurt someone. I’ve been working at "QuickStop" on Tomas Morato for 8 months now. Longest I’ve stayed in one job. The manager, Manong Ben, didn’t ask questions. He just needed someone for graveyard. And I needed cash and a place to hide. Hiding. That’s what I’ve been doing for 3 years. Since I was 18 and my Signal woke up. I was on a jeepney going to work. Rush hour. 50 people crammed in. And suddenly I could hear all of them. Their thoughts. Their conversations from 2 days ago. A baby crying 3 blocks away. A man cheating on his wife. A woman planning to jump off a bridge. I collapsed. Screaming. Lightning shot out of my hands and blew the jeepney’s radio. After that, I learned. Headphones. Night shift. Empty places. It was working. Until tonight. I was restocking energy drinks when the lights in Virel City died. Not brownout. Not a flicker. Blackout. The whole block went dark in one second. The fridge hummed to a stop. The security camera in the corner blinked red, then died. The radio behind the counter cut to static. The fluorescent lights above buzzed once and gave up. The customer in front of me, a guy in a gray hoodie buying cigarettes, cursed under his breath. "The power's out again," he muttered. "It's always like this. I can't even sleep properly at night. Even the store is having problems." But I knew better. Because I heard it. Not with my ears. With my *Echo*. My Signal kicked in without permission. It always did when something big happened. When someone died. A gunshot. From 4 blocks away. From 3 minutes ago. Echoing in my head like it happened right here in aisle 3. The sound was so clear I could hear the shell casing hit the pavement. Tink. A man screaming. "Don't-- please-- I have a family-- I have kids--" Static. Like someone put their hand over his mouth. And then... silence. The kind of silence that was worse than noise. The kind of silence that meant someone wasn't breathing anymore. It felt like someone pressed mute on the whole city. Like the world held its breath. My hands started sparking. Little blue arcs jumping between my fingers. 'Storm Call' acting up again. Every time I used Echo, it triggered my lightning. It was like my powers were linked. Curse. A package deal I never asked for. The sparks reflected in the glass freezer door. Blue on my pale skin. My heart was hammering. "Ma'am? Are you okay?" the customer asked. He was staring at my hands. His eyes were wide. "Your hands are smoking." I shoved them deep in my apron pockets. Prayed the sparks would stop. "Static," I said quickly. Voice flat. Bored. Like I say it 10 times a day. "From the jacket. Winter na kasi. Dry air." "Right," he said. He didn't believe me. I could see it in his face. He grabbed his cigarettes and practically ran out. The bell above the door dinged. Too loud in the sudden quiet. Good. Less witnesses. I locked the door and flipped the sign to "CLOSED". Old habit. Bureau policy: if there's a blackout, hide. If there are Signalers involved, hide faster. If there are dead, hide fastest. I’ve been hiding for 3 years. Moving every 6 months. New city. New name. New job. I went to the back and grabbed my bag from under the counter. Just in case. Inside: 2,000 pesos, a change of clothes, and a burner phone I haven’t used in 6 months. I never thought I’d need it again. I bought it after my last close call in Cebu. The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then stayed on. But the feeling didn’t go away. That itch at the back of my neck. Danger. My Signal was warning me. And I’ve learned to listen. That’s when the bell above the door dinged again. I didn't hear him come in. Which was bad. My Sound Echo should've picked him up 1 block away. At least. Unless he was blocking it. Unless he knew how to move silently. A man. Tall. Around 6'1. Wet from rain. Black coat. Water dripping to the floor and making a puddle around his boots. And a metal baton in his hand that wasn't there a second ago. It just... formed. From the cash register. The metal bent and twisted like clay, like it was alive. Like the register was melting and reforming. Ryker Vega. Bureau Agent. Level 3 Clearance. Age 26. Signal: Forge. I knew his file. Everyone in the Signal community knew his file. We had a group chat on Telegram. "The Forge." He could make weapons out of anything metal. He caught 12 Signalers last year alone. No one escaped him. "You," he said. Voice low. Calm. Too calm. Eyes locked on my hands. On the faint sparks I couldn't hide. "You’re coming with me." I leaned on the counter. Tried to look bored. Tried to make my heart stop pounding. "For what? Overcharging for coffee? Because I can show you the receipt." "You heard it too, didn’t you?" He stepped closer. 3 meters. 2 meters. I could smell rain and metal and something else. Gunpowder. "The shot. You’re a Signaler." My heart jumped. But my face stayed blank. I’ve had practice. Years of practice. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Liar." He said it so sure. Like he could see it written on my face. Like he could see the fear in my eyes. Maybe he could. Forge users could sense metal. And I had a metal piercing on my eyebrow. And keys in my pocket. And the cash register behind me. And the knife under the counter. The lights flickered back on. And with them, 3 more agents at the door. Black suits. Earpieces. Guns drawn. Trapped. My mind raced. Options. Always options. My mentor, Lola Cora, taught me that. "A Signaler without an exit plan is a dead Signaler." Option 1: Surrender. Spend my life in a Bureau cell. They "rehabilitate" Signalers there. By removing their Signal. By making you normal. By making you empty. I’ve seen what happens to them after. Walking ghosts. Option 2: Run. I chose option 2. I slammed my hand on the counter. CRACK Lightning shot up from my palm. White and loud. Hit the ceiling. The sprinkler system exploded. Water everywhere. Steam. The lights blew. Glass shattered. Screams. Chaos. In the 3 seconds of confusion, I ran. Back door. I kicked it open. The metal screamed. Alley. Rain hitting my face like needles. Cold. It felt good. My Echo was going crazy. Too much noise. Car engines 5 blocks away. A dog barking. Someone crying in an apartment above. A couple fighting. A baby wailing. I focused. Filtered. Breathed. In. Out. Like Lola Cora taught me. "You’re not the noise, Galiana. You’re the listener. Find the one sound that matters." Footsteps behind me. Heavy. Fast. Only one set. The others must be securing the store. "Stop running!" Ryker yelled. "We just want to talk!" "Yeah? In handcuffs?" I shouted back. Didn't slow down. Jumped over a puddle. My shoes were soaked. I turned into another alley. Dead end. s**t. s**t. Brick walls on 3 sides. Dumpster. Fire escape but too high. I pressed my back to the wet brick wall. Breathed. Used Far Sight. The world zoomed. Rooftop. 200 meters. Northwest. A sniper. Black suit. Bureau logo on the sleeve. Aiming. Right at Ryker’s head as he turned the corner into the alley. He didn't see it. He was looking at me. Yelling at me. I didn't think. I jumped. "DOWN!" I tackled him to the ground. The bullet hit the brick wall behind us. PANG. Brick dust and sparks in our hair. The sound was deafening. My ears rang. We landed hard. Him on bottom. Me on top. Rain in both our eyes. My knee was on his chest. His hands were on my arms, but not grabbing. Just... holding. Like he was checking if I was okay. For a second, neither of us moved. The only sound was the rain and our breathing. His was steady. Mine wasn't. "You just saved me," he said. Confused. Like he couldn't compute it. Like the math in his head didn't add up. "Why?" "Don't get used to it," I snapped. Got off him. "That was for me. You were blocking my exit." He stood up too. Water dripping from his coat. He looked at me. Really looked. Like he was seeing me for the first time. Not as a target. As a person. As Galiana. Then he did something I didn't expect. He stepped aside. Put his hands up. Away from his weapon. "Run," he whispered. So only I could hear. "Before the others get here. But Galiana... The Static did that shooting. And they’re coming for you next." Galiana. He knew my name. My real name. Not the fake one on my work ID. Not "Anna". He reached into his pocket and tossed me a burner phone. Old model. Cracked screen. "When you’re ready to stop running alone." Footsteps. The other agents. Coming from the main street. Shouting. Ryker turned and shouted: "Lost her! East side! Go!" And I ran. I ran for 10 blocks. I didn't stop. I vaulted fences. I cut through buildings. I used Far Sight to check corners before I turned them. I didn't stop until I was in a 24hr internet cafe. Dripping and shaking. The clerk didn't even look at me. Just pointed to the cubicles. I locked myself in one and looked at the phone. 1 message already. From unknown number: `Check the news. 9:03PM. Virel Power Plant. -R` My hands were still shaking. From adrenaline. From lightning. From fear. I turned on the TV in the corner. Volume low. Breaking news: POWER PLANT EXPLOSION. 1 CONFIRMED DEAD. CAUSE UNDER INVESTIGATION. The camera panned to the body bag being loaded into an ambulance. Rain on the lens. And on the wrist, sticking out... A Bureau badge. Number 447. The man in my Echo. He was dead. And I was the only one who heard him die. I remembered his voice. "I have a family." "I have kids." My phone buzzed again. `They will blame you. Signalers always take the fall. Come to me. Or run forever. -R` I stared at the screen for a long time. The rain outside was getting harder. Hitting the windows. Running was easy. I’ve been doing it for 3 years. Moving cities. Changing jobs. Never staying. Never friends. Never home. But someone had to pay for that man. Someone had to know he screamed. Someone had to know he had a family. And I was the only one who heard his last words. I thought about the Bureau cell. About them cutting my Signal out. About being silent forever. About being normal. Then I thought about The Static. Whoever they were. Killing people. Framing people like me. Making us the monsters. I typed back with shaking fingers. `Where?` The reply was instant. `Old train station. Platform 7. Midnight. Come alone.` I looked at the clock on the wall. 11:40PM. 20 minutes. I pocketed the phone. Stood up. My legs were still shaky but my hands weren't sparking anymore. They were steady. I looked at my reflection in the dark TV screen. Wet hair. Tired eyes. Scared. But I was done running. For tonight.