The SoulWatch: AfterMAGA (BL)

David was waiting for Johnny.

It was obvious.

He hugged his locker, heart pulsing in uneven beats as students flood past in a blur of sound and color. He checked the time compulsively, anticipation threading through every glance he stole down the hallway.

Abby stood beside him, leaning against the locker with her arms folded, watching him quietly.

"You know," she finally says, breaking through the tense silence, she urges, "you could just ask him how his hand's doing. It's not weird. It's normal. Human."

David hesitates, fingers drumming lightly against the metal of his locker. "I don't want to come off as desperate," he murmurs.

"Oh please," Abby sighed, rolling her eyes with affectionate exasperation. "Too late for that. Just go."

David took a shaky breath, steeling himself as he stepped forward into the bustling crowd. Almost immediately, he spotted Johnny—standing near Micah in pressed khakis and a white button-down with a FaithCoin pin on the collar, heads bent close together over something on Micah's phone. He looked like a junior pastor. He looked like his father.

David froze mid-step.

It wasn't just the closeness—it was the lean, the comfort, the casual way Johnny's shoulder stayed against Micah's, like it belonged there. Then came the thumb—an absent brush against Micah's wrist. David's chest went tight. Hot. Hollow.

Johnny glanced up, meeting David's eyes across the crowded hallway. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition—a spark—then it's gone, masked by a polite smile. David swallowed hard and pushed himself forward, each step feeling heavier.

"Hey," David forces the greeting out, voice surprisingly steady given how turbulent he feels inside. "Just wanted to see how your hand's healing."

Johnny glanced down, flexing his bandaged fingers slightly. "It's fine. No big deal." His tone is light, dismissive almost, and David feels another pang, a subtle rejection he wasn't expecting.

"Cool," David said weakly, feeling Abby's pointed gaze boring into his back from afar. He cleared his throat, forcing himself forward, needing something—anything—to extend this moment. "Hey, Johnny, have you heard anything from Noel? He hasn't been in class, his locker was empty the other day - people are getting worried."

Johnny's eyes tightened slightly, his posture subtly shifting into a stance David knows all too well—guarded, controlled. "Oh, Noel? He's fine. He's in some church rehabilitation program. It's voluntary, supposed to be good for him."

David's throat closed up. "Rehabilitation? For what?"

Johnny shrugged nonchalantly, a careful detachment in his voice. "I don't know exactly. Just heard he needed it. His SoulWatch had been flashing a lot of red - and a lot of solid red. The church is handling it. They take care of their own. Dad says..."

David stared at Johnny, willing him to break character, to let the mask slip. But this new Johnny didn't even blink.

Which is worse? David thought, his stomach twisting tighter. That you're lying to protect yourself, or that you actually believe what you're saying?

The Johnny he knew—the one who'd hugged him for a minute too long after a piano recital, who'd whispered doubts about his father's world—would never have called Pathlight "good for" anyone. But this Johnny spoke like the words had been downloaded directly into his brain.

Maybe they were.

David's fingers curled involuntarily, remembering the weight of Johnny's hand in his. That boy would have questioned everything. This one didn't even blink at the word "rehabilitation."

David studied Johnny's face, looking for a crack, a sign of doubt—anything. But Johnny's expression remained steady, unreadable. Micah nudged Johnny gently, even uncomfortably, pulling his attention away again. "We better move," Micah murmured, his hand briefly settling on Johnny's lower back in a gesture that feels too familiar, too close.

David stepped back, his heart aching fiercely. "Sure, yeah. I'll see you later."

As Johnny turned away, Micah flashed a glance back at David—brief, knowing, almost taunting—before the two of them melt into the crowd. David stood alone, jealousy and worry twisting inside him. David knew he was alone.

David held his breath. He couldn't put it off any longer. He slipped the USB into his father's old laptop - a relic from before the days of instant connectivity.

"Come on," he whispered, his voice barely audible, more a breath than a sound. The fan of the laptop whirled like a small, anxious animal.

The screen blazed against David's face, a stark glow that cut through the darkness. His eyes burned with a fierce blend of curiosity and apprehension.

Files began to load, their icons appearing one by one, each a fragment of a larger, unsettling puzzle.

The media player finally flickered to life, and David's heart leapt into his throat.

The first images flickered—blurred, half-formed, like a distored dream.

David leaned in closer, heart pounding, as the footage gradually sharpened into stark, chilling clarity. Rows of teenagers, all clad in identical blue jumpsuits, shuffled through an expansive, sterile warehouse with rigid, mechanical precision, their synchronized movements stripping them of any individuality.

Their faces were blank, eyes vacant and devoid of expression as they sorted methodically through boxes and crates, operating unfamiliar equipment in perfect, unfeeling unison. Harsh fluorescent lights bleached the scene of all color, reducing the teens to hollow shadows under constant, oppressive surveillance. Mounted security cameras tracked every step, their lenses gleaming darkly, footage jumping and freezing erratically—a disjointed rhythm eerily matching the irregular beat of David's racing heart.

A sickening dread crept up David's spine as he watched the grim procession continue endlessly across the screen, a nightmare of mechanical obedience.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "Who would do this to them? They're just kids, like me..." His voice cracked with anguish and revulsion.

The camera panned over the teens' wrists, lingering on the sleek SoulWatch devices locked around them, blinking in perfect synchronicity. These weren't like school SoulWatches—thicker, medical-grade, with multicolored lights that never stopped pulsing.

The footage stuttered and froze momentarily on a face David recognized. The image as grainy, but the features were unmistakable. The boy's eyes are vacant, his expression as blank as the others. The video dissolves into digital static, and David's breath catches in his throat.

"Noel..." David whispered, his voice barely audible. The sight was a punch to the gut. He reached out, his fingers brushing the screen as if he could somehow touch Noel, offer him comfort. But the image was cold, unyielding, a stark reminder of the reality it represented.

The camera lingered on Noel for another moment as he sorted components. His lips were perfectly still as he worked. The boy who used to hum unconsciously—always humming, even in the library—now moved in absolute silence.

David's throat constricted. Even when Noel tried to be quiet, melody had leaked out of him like light under a door. Now there was nothing. They'd stolen his song.

His eyes found his mother's prayer beads hanging from the bedpost, still and silent in the laptop's glow. She'd believed in compassion above all else. But watching Noel's empty face on the screen, David felt something harder taking root.

Nausea rolled through him. Then rage. Then something fiercer—something that didn't just burn but focused. Determination.

He was done being afraid.

David found Abby in the shelter's back room, surrounded by a squirming pile of kittens. She looked up from filling their water bowls, and her smile faded instantly.

"What happened?" she asked, reading his face.

"I need to show you something." He pulled the USB from his pocket, hands still shaking.

Abby dried her hands on her jeans. "David, you're scaring me."

He moved past her to the cluttered desk, pushing aside leashes and half-empty kibble bags to make room for his father's laptop. The familiar chaos of the shelter felt surreal after what he'd just witnessed.

"I found something," he said, voice barely above a whisper. He held up the USB drive. "Evidence."

Abby's eyes narrowed as she watched the grainy footage, her initial skepticism writ in the set of her jaw. "This could be anything... AI?" she murmured, voice tinged with dismissal. "Another conspiracy theory, some kid's prank—"

"It's not fake." David fast-forwarded to Noel's face. "Look."

The image froze on Noel Castillo's vacant expression. Abby's breath caught as she leaned closer, recognizing their friend despite the empty eyes.

"Wait." Abby grabbed his wrist. "PATHLIGHT_PHASE3. My cousin reviewed this grant application for city funding. It's real, David. It's a GFC program."

The mewling kittens seemed suddenly far away. Even surrounded by life, David felt the cold reach of that warehouse.

"This is big," Abby whispered. "If Giant Faith Church is involved... they're covering it up."

"They're creating it." David's jaw clenched. "We need to see the old rehearsal wing. Where Noel practiced."

Abby hesitated, fingers tapping the laptop's edge. "That's risky. We can't just—"

"We have to," David insisted, voice low but unyielding. "We can't ignore this."

Abby met his gaze, her eyes shining with a fierce determination that mirrored his own. "You're right. But we need proof, something more than just this footage. We need to find out what's really going on at Pathlight."

David pulled the envelope from his pocket—the one he'd been carrying since the rendezvous in the rose garden at Witherhorn Grove.

"There's more," he said, unfolding the single sheet of paper inside.

The map was hand-drawn in what looked like ballpoint pen—harsh lines pressed deep into the paper like someone drawing in desperation. The edges were soft from folding, and in one corner, a dark stain that might have been coffee. Or tears.

Abby leaned in as he spread it across the desk.

"That's Pathlight," she murmured, tracing the clustered rectangles. Security cameras. Blind spots. Emergency exits. Someone had risked a lot to get this down.

But in the upper margin, her eyes caught something else—a smaller inset, almost an afterthought. It read:

INTAKE / GFC — Room 3C

"This isn't Pathlight," Abby said slowly.

David nodded. "It's the intake suite under the main sanctuary at the church. Where they take kids before they're processed. Where they took Noel, right after the choir."

"So the same person mapped both?"

"Or someone wanted us to see the link," David said. "Same program. Different buildings."

Abby's jaw tensed. "Same system."

"Same people," David finished.

David stood frozen beside the desk, staring at the footage's final frame—Noel's vacant eyes paused in digital limbo. The cursor blinked over him like a countdown.

"We have to go," he said.

Abby looked up. "Go where?"

"Giant Faith. The old rehearsal wing." He could barely keep the urgency out of his voice. "It's the only place we know Noel was taken before he disappeared. The footage. The map. It all lines up."

Abby hesitated, arms folded tightly across her chest. "David... I believe you. I do. But we can't just storm in there without a plan. They've closed off access to most of the old halls. It's not like they're running open rehearsals anymore."

"I'm not suggesting we storm." He reached into the inside pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a small, worn brass key. "I never gave this back."

She blinked. "Is that—?"

"Basement access. From when they still used the space for youth orchestra. They gave us keys so we could load instruments from the back dock."

Abby raised an eyebrow. "And you just... kept it?"

"I meant to return it. I just... didn't." He glanced down at the key resting in his palm. It looked unremarkable—blunt-edged, faintly tarnished—but it pulsed with possibility.

She studied his face. "You really think it'll still work?"

"It's a long shot. But if it doesn't... we walk. No breaking and entering."

Abby gave a short breath that might've been a laugh. "You've been hanging out with Micah too much."

David pocketed the key and nodded toward the door. "Can you drive?"

"Always," she said, and gathered the laptop, tucking the map carefully inside her bag.

"But if we get arrested, I'm telling the judge it was your tortured eyes. Very persuasive."

They left the shelter without another word. The hallway lights clicked off behind them one by one as the timer system shut down. Shiloh lifted her head in her kennel but didn't bark—only watched them go with unblinking eyes.

The streets of Stricton slid past in smears of amber and blue. Streetlights flickered like they were trying to stay awake. Abby's car hummed through intersections, past dark storefronts, past groups of cadets and kids in ministry shirts loitering on corners, laughing too loudly.

Neither of them spoke. David pressed his temple to the window, letting the glass cool the rising heat in his chest. The USB still sat like a weight in his pocket, but now it wasn't the only thing. The map. The key. The question of what they were about to walk into.

"We're not just doing this for Noel, are we?" Abby said softly, eyes still on the road.

David blinked. "What do you mean?"

She glanced over at him. "You've been unraveling since the photo showed up. Since Johnny changed. I see it. This is about him too."

David didn't answer right away. "I think they did something to both of them. Johnny. Noel. Everyone who disappeared into that church and came back wrong."

Abby nodded slowly. "Then let's find out how."

They parked in the loading zone behind Giant Faith's west wing. A line of trash bins created the illusion of order.

Abby shifted beside him. "This feels like a bad idea."

"Yeah," David said. "But it's the only one we've got."

The first door didn't budge. Neither did the second. The third groaned a little but stayed locked. At the fourth—tucked beside the old freight lift near the faded GFC Youth logo—the key slid in with a soft click.

They both held their breath.

The lock turned.

David pushed the door open. The smell of dust greeted them—like something preserved too long in glass.

They slipped inside, letting the door shut behind them.

The old hallway stretched out like a memory. Sheet music posters still clung to the walls, curling at the edges. A line of lockers sat dented and forgotten. The tile underfoot felt too clean. Like someone wanted the space to seem untouched, but hadn't been able to erase the ghosts completely.

When they reached the entrance to the rehearsal wing, David stopped short.

A sleek security door blocked the hallway—no knobs, no keypad, no visible opening. Just a vertical black panel that pulsed with red light. Next to it, a framed photo of the youth choir hung, bright and cheerful, frozen in a moment of false joy.

David stepped forward and scanned the rows of faces. Front row, second from left—that's where Noel always stood. His spot between Marcus and Trinity was obvious now, their shoulders awkwardly angled to close a gap that shouldn't exist.

"This was taken last Sunday," David murmured. "Noel's final performance."

Abby leaned closer, then jerked back. "David. Look at the spacing."

He saw it then—the unnatural compression where someone had digitally squeezed the rows together. Marcus's elbow bent at an impossible angle. Trinity's choir robe bled into dead space. They hadn't just removed Noel; they'd sutured the photo closed around his absence.

"They didn't even do a good job," Abby whispered. "Like they wanted us to notice."

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of heels echoed through the corridor. Abby stiffened beside him.

A figure emerged from the far end—a woman in a crimson blazer and heels, clipboard in one hand, something unreadable in her eyes.

Jez.

She didn't slow until she was just feet away from them. "Well, well," she said, eyes glinting. "What brings the two of you to this side of paradise?"

David froze. Abby stepped in, voice measured. "We were just looking for rehearsal schedules. For the community ensemble."

Jez's smile didn't touch her eyes. "You'll find no music down this wing anymore," she said, tipping her chin at the sealed door. "Only silence. But sometimes, silence is safer."

Then she did something unexpected.

She stared at David just a moment too long, then turned and walked past them—graceful, effortless. The security door registered her presence and slid open with a hiss.

"You all shouldn't be here," she said as she vanished.

David stared at the door long after Jez was gone. A soft whir followed by a click made his stomach twist—it wasn't just the door locking again. It was the system logging their presence.

"She didn't stop us," Abby said, almost to herself. "But she saw us. Tracked us. Probably flagged the entry."

David nodded slowly. "We were expected."

He reached for the map in her bag, but stopped himself.

They turned back to the photo. Noel's absence now screamed from the warped space between his friends.

The realization chilled him. Noel hadn't just been taken—he was being erased. His body, his face, his memory—sanded down until only the clean lines of church perfection remained.

"They're not just hiding him," David said. "They're erasing him. Making everyone forget he ever existed."

Abby's fingers tightened on his arm. "Not everyone."

"No more surprises," he said. "If we go forward, we have to assume everything is monitored now. Every word, every step."

Abby looked around, then whispered, "Then maybe it's time we start acting like we're playing their game."

David didn't smile, but something in him steadied. "Let's give them a performance."

They turned and walked back the way they came—this time not as intruders, but as bait already in motion.