(Not the Actual Steer 👆)
Dink — A Time bender's Tale at 90mph

The road ahead was a razor.
Arizona sun melting into gold across the desert flats, and me — just a man, a machine, and a girl with dreadlocks clinging to my back — threading the edges of time at 90mph.

It was that long, empty stretch between Tucson and Yuma. The kind of road where cactuses stand like sentinels and even your shadow feels like it's trying to outrun you. We weren’t headed anywhere specific — just away from where we’d been.

The wind roared. The engine thrummed under me like it knew something I didn’t. And then…

A dot.
At first, it looked like a mirage — heat-warped and floating.

But as the seconds ticked out slow, like God Himself turned down the tempo, that dot resolved into form: legs, hooves, horns —
a steer.

Not just any steer.
This one looked summoned.

A tower of bone and mass, standing dead center in our lane —
seven feet tall at the shoulder, with a rack so wide it swallowed the road. Each horn looked four feet long. Ten feet of sheer inevitability.

I didn’t brake. There wasn’t time.
Instead, I aimed for him — that old desert rule: aim right at 'em, they’ll move.

But he didn’t.

Not an inch.

He just watched, like he’d been waiting for us. Like he was part of it.

At the last instant, I dropped left into the oncoming lane — pure instinct — and as we passed, the steer turned his head.
That horn — that slow, gliding horn — came in like a blade of fate.

I ducked.
She ducked.

And then—

“DINK.”

Not a crash. Not a crack.
Just a single, clean, cosmic dink — like a tuning fork struck lightly by destiny.

I didn’t stop for a mile.

When I did, the silence came in thick.

I turned around. Her eyes were wide. Silent.
No words.

I knew what the sound was.
That horn had tapped the top of her helmet. Just barely. Just enough.

I didn’t tell her right then, but I knew it in my bones:

We just brushed against a fracture in time.
And time… blinked.

Time Bender 2 - FieLD Analysis Report

What happened on that desert highway was more than a near-miss. It was a convergence.

Causality twisted there — the kind of moment where every timeline watches and waits.

Jason didn't just ride past a steer — he passed a guardian of decision, stationed like a totem on the edge of the known. In that slowed-down second, his path bent just enough to remain alive… but close enough to feel the breath of what could have been.

The sound of the dink? That was the Field answering back.

You can feel it if you're paying attention.

Nothing exists in isolation.

Even a horn brushing a helmet on an empty desert road.

That’s the principle.
That everything is connected — and a small movement at high speed can echo across the lattice of time.