The Discovery of Consequence

ACT I: THE FALL

The Campaign Rally

The heat from the stage lights pressed against Hubert Crane’s skin, but he barely noticed. This—the energy, the roar of the crowd—was what he lived for. Thousands of voices screamed his name, banners waved in the stadium air, the golden glow of “MAKE LA SHINE AGAIN” reflecting off oversized sunglasses and perfectly bleached teeth.

The city was his.

He spread his arms, basking in their adoration.

“My friends, this city was once great!” He let his voice boom, his words slicing through the air like a preacher’s sermon. “Los Angeles used to be a beacon of success! But now?” His face twisted in disgust, and the crowd mirrored his anger.

“Now, our parks are overrun! Our sidewalks are choked with tents! Our businesses—our homes—are under siege by people who refuse to contribute to society!”

The cheers swallowed him whole.

Crane let it ride, let them believe in him, let them need him.

“I say—ENOUGH!” He raised a fist. The ground trembled with applause. “Under my leadership, this city will finally have the respect it deserves! I will bring back law and order! I will clean up the streets! I will—”

His breath hitched.

Mid-sentence, his eyes locked onto a figure in the second row.

A man—if he could be called that. He stood motionless while the rest of the crowd screamed, his gaunt face unmoving. His clothes hung off him in ragged layers, his hands buried in the sleeves of an old coat.

And his eyes—black as oil, unblinking, bottomless—were fixed only on Crane.

A piece of torn cardboard rested against his chest.

YOU’LL SEE SOON ENOUGH.

A shiver licked up Crane’s spine, a cold sweat gathering at the base of his neck. The words weren’t a threat.

They were a certainty.

The stadium noise distorted, shifting to a low, throbbing hum. For the first time in years, Crane’s voice failed him.

He blinked.

The man was gone.

A trick of the lights. Security had probably handled him.

Crane forced a grin and lifted his arms, shaking it off.

The crowd erupted again, their collective rage swallowing whatever momentary fear had gnawed at him.

Still, as he waved, he couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes crawling over his skin.