LEO (Whispering) This is insane. It’s buggy. It’s broken.

KADE (Bellowing laughter) Look alive, fellas! Bitch Boy Leo forgot his spine again. Leo, where’s your lunch money? Or are you gonna eat the crumbs from my protein bar wrapper again?

The lamp reassembles itself, but the shade is now plaid. The cord is a licorice whip.

His name is SILAS CROW (18, gaunt, wearing a trench coat made of old CRT monitor screens). He also has a Stand. He calls it —a massive, ticking grandfather clock that can reverse anything by exactly 24 hours. He’s been using it to rig lottery tickets, win arguments, and relive the same perfect first date with a girl who doesn’t know she’s been stuck in Tuesday for three months.

Kade freezes. His mouth continues moving, but no sound comes out. Then, his expensive sneakers revert to the generic shoes he wore in 7th grade. His letterman jacket becomes a puffy, blue-striped winter coat from 8th grade. His physique softens. He is, frame by frame, un-making his own status.

The Stand’s glitched mouth opens. It speaks in two voices at once: a choir of angels and a broken modem.

His thumb taps the screen. A glitched, pixelated arrow appears. Then the screen flickers.

SILAS My Stand is perfect. It returns everything to a stable state. Yours is a broken mess.