Faultline Protocol

Ting.

The sound rang inside her head—sharp and sudden, like two glasses clinking together and reverberating through her skull. Before she could even process it, a vision flashed before her eyes.

A dog squatting on the sidewalk.

Right in her path.

“What the hell?” she muttered as reality snapped back into place. “I am not some dumbass idiot who would step on dog shit that carelessly.”

Frowning in mild annoyance, she shook off the strange image and continued walking, quickening her pace. She still had to make it to work before eight.

She could not remember exactly when it started. Sometimes, that stupid ting would echo in her head without warning, followed by a vivid glimpse of something—sometimes blurry, sometimes disturbingly clear.

Hallucination. Imagination. Stress. She had blamed everything except the one truth she hated most: every vision she saw eventually came true.

She barely had time to register the thought before her foot came down.

Splat.

Her expression froze.

Then she looked down slowly.

Brown. Wet. A horribly unmistakable dog shit.

Her stomach dropped.

“No. No, no, no—are you kidding me?!”

She hopped back with a sharp gasp, nearly losing her balance as the stench hit her nose. People passing by shot her confused looks as she lifted her shoe in horror, staring at the disgusting proof of her so-called vision.

Her eye twitched.

“Screw this stupid vision thing!” she groaned, already knowing the universe was not done messing with her.

This unfortunate human was Linn. Twenty-six, but often mistaken for eighteen, mainly because of her youthful face.

And her height did not help.

“Hey, kid!” a student shouted from behind.

“Who are you calling a kid?! I am twenty-six! I am five-two! Not totally short! What is your department?! I am reporting you to your dean!” she shot back angrily, flailing her hands.

Yes, she was a college professor, yet somehow always mistaken for a student.

Not that it was entirely bad—some perks came with it.

“Excuse me, I think there has been a mistake with the computation. The total amount is less than the actual price,” she said, showing her receipt to the cashier.

The cashier smiled. “We deducted your student discount, miss.”

She froze, her jaw dropping. Right. Of course, another student discount.

Well, at least she always got the discount. See? Not entirely bad, right?

But what about her relationship status? Was she single or taken?

“I told you many times to stay away from that guy because he would not do you any good! And now, look at you!” her friend scolded, shaking her head. Once again, Linn had proven herself a stupid, dumbass idiot when in love.

“You knew it would be difficult,” Linn mumbled, pouting and sniffling slightly. She was slightly inebriated. “He was hot, rich... and a daddy.”

That earned her a sharp smack on the head from her friend.

So, was Linn single or taken?

The answer: she was taken.

Taken advantage of.

Even before everything between her and that guy had gotten messy, a vision had already flashed before her eyes: the guy would betray her.

But naturally, she had ignored it, because why would she ever take something seriously that seemed like a stupid hallucination from a very spiteful universe?

Coincidence—at least, that was what she liked to think whenever her visions proved right.

Today, she was jolted awake by yet another vivid dream.

Yes, another one. If it was not a vision flashing before her eyes, it was a dream so clear it could pass for reality.

And in it, she lost her job because of the co-worker she hated the most.

She let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God it was just a dream. I thought it was real.”

Settling into her phone, she started replying to her friend’s messages, mainly venting about that infuriating co-worker who had offended her countless times, though Linn had always stayed silent to avoid unnecessary drama.

That witch is so annoying!

Hypocrite!

Stupid idiot!

I hate her!

Satisfied with her venting, she hit send, only to realize moments later that she had accidentally sent the messages to the co-worker herself instead of her friend.

And just like that... she lost her job.

Just as her dream had predicted.

“Help me find another job!” she whined, flopping onto the couch in her friend’s apartment.

“B!tch, that is what I am doing right now,” her friend replied, scrolling through his phone.

Linn groaned, staring at the ceiling. “No job means death.”

“Ask your parents for help.”

“Right, because it is easy to call them six feet underground.”

Her friend stared at her, and Linn met his gaze.

Silence.

Then both of them erupted into laughter.

“So, what about your siblings?” her friend asked once he caught his breath.

“Only child,” Linn answered.

“Relatives?”

“They disowned me.”

Her friend stared at her again, and Linn met his gaze again.

Silence.

Then laughter—again.

“Hahaha! B!tch, your life sucks!”

“Hahaha! I know, right? You suck too!”

“Of course I do—when my boyfriend demands it!”

That only made them laugh harder.

For the next few days, she kept hearing that familiar ting—visions flashing before her eyes, each one showing the same result: every single job application she submitted would be rejected.

Refusing to step inside the apartment building just yet, she leaned against the main gate. With a defeated sigh, she stared up at the evening sky. Luck had not smiled at her once in the past few days of job hunting.

She let out a humorless chuckle, convincing—well, gaslighting—herself that everything would work out tomorrow, or the day after, or maybe next week. Still, a small, nagging voice in the back of her head wondered if she would ever catch a break.

And then it came—the familiar sound that always signaled another vision.

Ting.

She froze, her senses dulling as the world around her faded. Clear images flooded her mind, sharp and vivid, like a screen unfolding behind her eyes.

Men. A door being forced open. Shouting. Panic.

Blood streaking the hallway tiles—too much, too fast.

Someone slamming a roommate into the wall, crimson splattering across the paint. Faces twisted with violence.

Another pair of hands yanking a roommate backward, their scream cutting off mid-air.

Another roommate slipped on the floor, palms coming up red as she tried to crawl away.

It was not distant. It was not blurred. It was a crime waiting to happen—twenty-four hours from now.

She gasped and snapped out of the trance, her heart pounding as if she had just run for her life. She pressed a hand against her temple and shook her head.

“What the hell was that?” she muttered, forcing a shaky laugh. “I really need rest.”

She tried to brush it off as stress, exhaustion, or her imagination spiraling out of control. But as the evening stretched on, the images refused to leave her mind.

Every time she closed her eyes, the same scenes were replaying—too detailed, too coherent, too real. It did not feel like one of her usual meaningless flashes.

It felt like a warning.

She had never fully trusted her visions, even when they proved themselves right. Her logical brain always found a way to explain them away—coincidence, probability, subconscious pattern recognition, anything but something supernatural.

But this one felt different. Heavier. Urgent. Dangerously real.

And no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, a quiet, crawling dread settled in her chest.

Something bad was coming.

Restless, she slipped out of bed and surveyed their dimly lit shared room. It was past midnight. Her roommates slept soundly, unaware of the dread tightening around her chest.

No—she could not tell them about the vision. She barely believed those images herself; how could she expect anyone else to? At best, they would laugh it off. At worst, she would panic them over something that might not even be real.

Her eyes moved slowly around the room, every shadow suddenly suspicious. If the crime was meant to happen tomorrow, then there was a chance that the people behind it were already nearby. Watching. Waiting.

The thought sent a chill down her spine.

Hidden cameras? She dismissed the idea almost instantly. There was not enough time to gather equipment, and even if there were—she swallowed—she was broke. Not “budgeting carefully” broke. Completely broke.

Her jaw clenched.

Then another idea took shape.

The next day, she found herself forcing brightness into her voice. “Girls! Guess who won a raffle and got a free overnight stay—room for eight—at Hotel Eterna? Let’s go!”

It was a lie. A flimsy one.

In truth, she had just spent the very last of her money—not on comfort, not on herself, but on their safety. Just in case the vision came true.

Never mind the cameras. Getting them out of the building mattered more. Just. In. Case.

“Sh!t,” Linn muttered under her breath, resisting the urge to slam her laptop shut.

Across the room, her roommates paused the movie, faces lit by the television glow. “Are you okay, Linn?”

She forced a laugh. “Yeah. Lost a game. Do not mind me.”

She then lowered her gaze back to the screen, but her jaw was tight.

The video call had dropped.

Both of the phones she had hidden in the apartment acting as makeshift CCTVs—the one outside facing the entrance and the other tucked discreetly inside—had gone offline at the same time.

Of course, internet failures really had impeccable timing.

Her pulse began to climb. She refreshed the call again. Nothing. No signal.

Should she contact the landlord? No. If the vision was real, dragging someone else into it would only widen the danger.

“I left something in the apartment,” she said suddenly, standing and grabbing her bag. “I’ll be back. You guys stay here, okay?”

A few of the girls frowned. Others kept their attention to the movie. “Are you sure? We can go with you—”

“No!” The sharpness in her voice startled everyone, including herself.

There was silence.

She then inhaled, her tone softening as she broke the silence, “There is no need. I will just grab it and come back. You guys relax.”

The girls exchanged uncertain glances.

“Plus, it is getting late,” she added, holding their eyes one by one. “Please. Do not go outside. Just stay here. Promise me?” Her voice was gentler now—almost pleading.

Silence stretched between them again before they nodded. “Yes, we promise.”

Linn gave them a small smile. Then she turned away before they could see the fear written all over her face.