Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System! - Chapter 590

Chapter 590: Cassandra’s Curse

The theater was mostly empty. Midnight screening, obscure foreign war film—Cassandra’s pick. The title was in Greek, some long-ass thing Parker wasn’t about to pronounce, but the visuals were clear: Troy was burning.

A scene unfolded in flickering gold and red. Soldiers hacking through flesh, gods playing their divine chess game above, all while Cassandra of Troy screamed herself hoarse. Don’t bring the horse inside. Don’t trust them. You’ll all die.

No one listened.

Cassandra, the real one—his Cassandra—leaned back in her seat, tossing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Y’know, for a movie about one of my past lives, this shit’s kinda dull.”

Parker smirked, arms crossed, stretching his legs out. “Yeah? What’d you expect? Hollywood to finally give your tragic ass a happy ending?”

Cassandra snorted. “Please. That’d ruin the whole aesthetic.”

She wasn’t wrong. The screen showed a city of fools marching to their doom, all because they ignored the one person who actually knew what was coming. And Cassandra? She just sat there, chewing popcorn, watching history repeat itself.

“Let me guess,” Parker said. “This is your way of reminding yourself that fate’s bullshit and people are predictable morons?”

She tossed another piece of popcorn, this time at his face. “Bingo. You know me too well.”

**

The flames on the screen reflected in her eyes—Troy’s destruction was old news, but it still hit different when you had the same fucking name.

“It’s weird,” she muttered, tapping her fingers against her soda cup. “No matter how much changes, some things just don’t. The names switch up, the weapons get shinier, but at the end of the day? People still walk right into disasters with their eyes wide open.”

Parker side-eyed her. “And you’re the only one who sees it coming.”

She let out a slow exhale. “Yeah.”

“Must be exhausting.”

“No shit.”

Silence stretched between them. Onscreen, Greek soldiers laughed as they dragged the Trojan horse through the gates. It was the same old story, and Cassandra hated it.

She tapped her nail against the cup again, this time more forcefully. “Sometimes, I think about just—not saying anything. Just… letting things happen. See if maybe, for once, I’m wrong.”

Parker tilted his head. “But you don’t.”

She stared at the screen, at her namesake—wild-eyed, desperate, screaming at deaf ears.

“No,” she admitted. “Because I never fucking am.”

A long battle scene played out. Blood, fire, gods looming in the background like shadow puppeteers.

Cassandra waved vaguely at the screen. “Back then, people thought prophecy was a big deal. Now? Nobody needs an oracle when they’ve got Google.”

Parker raised an eyebrow. “Right. Because Google’s totally gonna predict the next divine catastrophe.”

She smirked. “Don’t underestimate the algorithm, dude. Sometimes it beats my visions logic to the punch. At least here’s actual data behind it. Logic. Unlike my vision. You say something’s gonna happen, people ask for proof. And if you don’t have any? They call you crazy.”

“Do you ever get tired of trying to convince people?”

“Oh, constantly.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “The worst part? Sometimes they’re actually right to doubt me. Like, what if I’m not seeing the future? What if I’m just seeing a future, and they prove me wrong?”

Parker hummed. “That happen often? I mean… beating the future you foresaw?”

“Rarely. But when it does, it makes me wonder if I should even bother.”

He gave her a long look. “And yet, here you are. In another new life… young, full of life. Yet… still screaming into the void for their sakes. Luckily… I’ve got ya.”

She threw another piece of popcorn at him. “Fuck off.”

The movie dragged into its final stretch. Troy was falling. Women screaming. Smoke rising. Cassandra—the old one—was being dragged to her fate, eyes full of dread.

Cassandra shifted in her seat. “Every time I see something, it feels a part of me dies, y’know?”

Parker glanced over, waiting.

She exhaled sharply. “Like, it’s not just visions. It’s living through every goddamn nightmare before it even happens. Watching people suffer, knowing I might not be able to stop it.”

“Do you ever think about ignoring them?”

“More than you’d believe.”

“What stops you?”

She rolled her head against the seat, giving him a tired smile. “Maybe I like torturing myself. Or maybe I just don’t wanna see the world burn.”

He smirked. “Damn, you’re dramatic.”

She snorted. “Takes one to know one.”

Cassandra leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Apollo.”

Parker glanced at her. “What about him?”

She frowned. “Sometimes I wondered if he’s actually trying to make things right by giving me this curse, or if I’m just his fucking entertainment. Like, am I just another tragic play he’s watching from his godly balcony?”

Parker’s voice was low. “You think Apollo cares? That motherfucker ruined your entire bloodline, Cassie.”

She flinched but didn’t argue.

He kept going. “If he really wanted to help, why the fuck didn’t he before?”

She sucked in a breath. “Maybe he wasjust waiting for the right moment.”

Parker scoffed. “Or maybe you were waiting for something that’ll never happen and guess what? It never did.”

Silence. Heavy.

She chewed her lip. “I hoped if he could take it away…”

Parker leaned in. “If you suddenly stopped seeing the future when you wanted to, would you even have known who you are anymore?”

The question hit her like a punch to the ribs.

Her first instinct was yes. Of course, she’d have still remained Cassandra. Free. No more nightmares, no more screaming into a void, no more weight of knowing.

But the thought of waking up one day not knowing what comes next? Not knowing who lives or dies, who betrays or saves, who falls and who rises?

She didn’t answer.

And Parker? He didn’t press.

Parker leaned back into his seat, arms crossed, his stormy eyes locked on Cassandra as she sat there, quiet, chewing on her bottom lip. The glow from the screen flickered across her face, the epic war raging on in front of them—Greek ships crashing against Trojan shores, warriors dying for gods who didn’t give a single fuck about them.

It was all so familiar, wasn’t it? Another cycle, another war, another set of pawns thrown into the fire.

She scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s funny. We always act like we’re not them, but we are. I’m sitting here, watching this, and it’s basically a history lesson of my entire bloodline.”

Parker tilted his head. “Yeah, except none of those dumbasses had an option.”

She snorted. “And I do?”

“Yeah.” His voice was firm. Certain. “You can actually fucking walk away. Fully. No more Cassandra of Troy. No more champion bullshit. No more divine chess game.” He leaned in, voice dropping low. “You ever thought about what your life would be like if you just said ‘fuck it’ and left?”

She let out a short laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And do what? Get a normal job in your palace? Move with you to any place you want to?

“Yeah?” he said simply. “Or go travel on your own. Find something that’s just yours. Something that has nothing to do with them or me or this chaos and when you’re done… come back to me and I will protect you.”

Her face twisted, like she wanted to argue, but something inside her cracked. The idea of it… it wasn’t just tempting. It was terrifying.

“What about them?” Her voice was quieter now. “The others? The champions?”

Parker shrugged. “What about ’em?”

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “I act like I don’t care. I roll my eyes at their drama when they come to confront you, but they’re the only ones who actually get it. They’re the only ones who—” She hesitated, then admitted, “I don’t know. They make it… less lonely. And now you…”

He nodded, like he understood. “But do they believe you or care about your wellbeing and the curse taking a toll on you?”

Her throat tightened.

That question.

He wasn’t asking just to ask. He already knew the answer.

Sometimes, they did. Sometimes, they listened… a few of them at least like Isis, Cleo and now her brother and Ma’at (Evelyn). But sometimes, they doubted her, even when she was screaming at them to listen. Because that’s what happened when you knew the future—people either thought you were full of shit or they hated you for it.

“What happens when you see a vision where one of them has to die when they come for trouble?” Parker pressed. “What do you see yourself doing? Do you tell them? Do you try to change it? Or do you just… let it happen?”