Earlier that day I had a terrible feeling, a sort of prescient warning, telling me not to leave my box. For reasons I still don't understand, I ignored my feelings and left the safety of my box to go to main street for my weekly supply of acrylae.
I looked up at the architectural monstrosity that loomed and towered above me. The chrome and glass that made up the tower's skin vibrated as it received the pounding of the siren's soundwaves and tried to blind me with intense light that reflected from the city and from the clouds. The clouds that smeared the rust-coloured sky above the tower moved indifferently, pushed on by winds that were gathering speed. Flashes of bright light lit up various areas of the clouds.
I had seen this before. Years and years ago, back in the monsoon of '34. I knew they had come back. Probably for my secret.
I had to find a box. Any box. I had to get underground. Underground and safe, away from the menace that hunted what I possessed.