Cat and the Time Travelling Vespa — Part 3

The future wasn’t how Cat imagined it.

She and Mikey had landed in a version of London wrapped in chrome and silence. The Thames was hidden behind monorails and razor-wire. Drones zipped overhead like angry wasps. Billboards changed with every blink — faces, slogans, instructions. Everything was sleek. Clinical. Soulless. Dystopian.

And worst of all?

No music.

No bassline in the streets. No stomp from clubs. Just the distant hum of electric nothing.

They hid the Vespa in an abandoned tube station, now flooded with flickering neon and graffiti that pulsed with static. Mikey called it the Last Stop — the only place left unclaimed by them.

The Underground.

This future was their doing.

Time pirates on electric scooters, dressed in matte black with mirrored visors and synthetic leathers. They weren’t just riding history — they were erasing it. Every jump they made rewrote scenes: replaced soul with silence, rewrote vinyl with algorithm. And now they were hunting Cat’s Vespa — the last relic that refused to conform.

“Why us?” Cat muttered, staring at the Vespa as its mirrors glowed faintly.

“Because we remember,” Mikey said. “They want thought control and memory is rebellion. ”

They made a plan.