《Time is of the Essence》


 A Day Time Stood Still

    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you have until it¡¯s gone.¡±


    A deep thought for someone who just rolled out of bed. I stretched, scratched the back of my head, and cracked open the blinds. The sun greeted me like an overenthusiastic neighbor, blazing down on the world outside. Within seconds, the wooden floor beneath my feet warmed up, a small luxury I was still capable of enjoying.


    I yawned and made my way to the kitchen, sidestepping the floating dirty dishes and half-eaten meals suspended midair like some avant-garde art installation. One of the stranger quirks of this world¡ªthings stayed exactly where I left them, even if that meant hovering inches above the countertop. Food never spoiled either, unless I was physically in contact with it long enough for the laws of nature to remember their job.


    I swung open the fridge, waiting a beat for the light to flicker on. It always hesitated, as if waking from a nap. A fridge with attitude. Great. The shelves were lined with vegetables and perishables, things I never used to stockpile because they''d go bad too quickly. But now? Now they sat indefinitely in their perfect, untouched state. A silver lining in my otherwise bizarre purgatory.


    ¡°The Scramble Wrap Supreme!¡± I announced to no one in particular, enthusiastically swiping dishes off the counter, letting them drift behind me. I assembled my ingredients with the precision of a man with far too much time on his hands and fired up the stove. The flame ignited but, the moment I let go of the knob, it froze¡ªsuspended in time like a painting.


    Still weird. Still mildly unnerving.


    I had poked it once out of curiosity. Big mistake. The flame instantly reanimated and scorched my finger, reminding me why I didn¡¯t play with fire. The burn from my first experiment still hadn''t healed. Turns out, when time moves at a fraction of its normal speed, so does recovery.


    Cooking required both hands¡ªone on the stove to keep the flame alive, the other stirring the eggs. My tortilla warmed up in the corner of the pan, the final touch to my self-proclaimed breakfast masterpiece. Digging through the mess on the counter, I found my hot sauce right where I left it six sleep cycles ago, still as cold as if I had just pulled it from the fridge.


    That thought lingered. Sleep cycles. I hadn¡¯t seen the moon in... well, a long time. I had given up on measuring time in any conventional sense and instead counted my days by the simple metric of ¡°awake¡± and ¡°asleep.¡± It was the only way to stay sane.


    I loaded up my wrap and prepared to head outside. Not for any particular reason¡ªjust because if I stayed inside any longer, I would start talking to my floating silverware.


    Right before leaving, I remembered something.


    ¡°The ball!¡± I smacked my forehead and detoured toward my makeshift office. My computer sat on the desk, useless without the internet. If I had known this was coming, I would¡¯ve downloaded a backlog of games. But alas, hindsight is a cruel mistress.


    Floating next to a meter stick was a tiny metal ball, a quarter-inch in diameter, stolen from some forgotten machine. It was the closest object I could find to exactly one gram in weight. More importantly, I had been tracking its motion meticulously in my journal, detailing each shift with painstaking precision.


    Over the past fifty sleep cycles, it had fallen one centimeter. Every morning¡ªor what I assumed was morning¡ªI recorded the minuscule change, double-checking my calculations against previous entries. The journal was filled with equations, scratch marks, and increasingly frustrated notes about how absurdly slow time had become.


    I did some quick math. Gravity is 9.8 m/s2... time is slowed by a factor of... oh cool, ninety-six million.


    I let out a dry chuckle. ¡°Well, that¡¯s just fantastic.¡±


    Out of morbid curiosity, I calculated how long a full rotation of Earth would take at this rate. 263,000 years.


    ¡°Oh, joy. Eternal daylight. Just what I always wanted.¡± I took an aggressive bite of my Scramble Wrap Supreme, trying to drown my existential crisis in eggs and tortilla.


    With my day officially ruined, I walked out of my apartment and stepped into the elevator, pressing and holding the button for my floor. The thing only worked when I was physically touching it, meaning if I let go, It''d stop halfway and never make it to my floor. It arrived with a ding, and the doors slowly crept open.


    I hit the button for the main floor, and the elevator started to move. I kept my finger on the button, watching as the floors crawled past at an agonizing pace. Finally, with a faint ding, the doors slid open. The moment I stepped out, they froze in place behind me, perpetually ajar, waiting for my return.


    With a sigh, I stepped outside.


    "Wonder if this thing will ever just stop working entirely," I mused aloud. I had gotten into the habit of talking to myself¡ªnot like anyone else was around to listen. "That¡¯d be awful. Walking up and down flights of stairs every time I needed to leave? No thanks. I''d rather not turn my legs into spaghetti just to get a change of scenery."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I passed through the shattered glass door of my building¡ªthe result of an argument with a key fob that refused to work. My solution? A chair. Problem solved.


    Outside, the world stood still.


    People frozen mid-step, mid-conversation, mid-everything. I had taken to calling them ¡°mannies¡±¡ªshort for mannequins. Some of them had entertaining expressions, like the woman mid-sob whom I named Teary. I imagined she had just broken up with her long-distance boyfriend and would now dedicate herself to a life of lonely luxury.


    Then there was Smiley, the little girl with an ice cream cone tilted at a catastrophic angle. I liked to imagine the moment that scoop hit the ground, her entire worldview would crumble, setting off a chain reaction of disappointment that would eventually leave her jaded, untrusting, and utterly alone. Tough luck, kid. Hope you like solitude.


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯m getting a little lonely,¡± I muttered, taking another bite of my breakfast. Then again, loneliness wasn¡¯t exactly new to me. I didn¡¯t have many friends before this mess. Moving away from my family hadn¡¯t helped either. My routine had always been work, sleep, movies¡ªexcept now with this time thing, the movies and work parts were out of the question.


    The library became my new sanctuary. If nothing else, books still worked just fine¡ªmy last resort when everything else was simply unusable to keep me sane. So, library it was. Again.


    I strolled past the storefronts, casually noting something I had long since accepted. The signs were wrong¡ªletters spaced weirdly, foreign symbols mixed in, some even looking completely alien. More than that, the entire layout of the street was reversed. A fact I had come to notice simply because I had walked to the library so many times when I was in college. I had practically memorized the number of steps it took to get to the Italian subs store, so now that the steps were wrong, it bothered me.


    I sighed. Just another thing to add to the list of ¡°weird, but what are you gonna do?¡±


    I finally reached the library, a small but oddly out-of-place three-story building, wedged between taller, more modern structures like an old relic refusing to be forgotten. The bricks were weathered, the steps slightly uneven from years of foot traffic that had long since ceased. I climbed the stairs, each step shifting slightly under my weight, the worn brick settling unevenly beneath my feet, and pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The moment I stepped inside, I was immediately hit with the burnt, bittersweet aroma of fresh coffee, a scent so familiar yet impossibly out of place in this frozen world.


    That shouldn¡¯t be possible.


    Following the scent, I climbed to the second floor, each step deliberate but unhurried, as if rushing might somehow scare away the absurdity of it all. The library was as still as ever, the bookshelves standing like ancient sentinels, their contents untouched in what might as well have been centuries. Scattered throughout the aisles were mannies, frozen in various poses¡ªsome mid-reach for a book, others slumped in chairs, eyes forever locked onto open pages.


    Then, I saw her.


    A person. A real, moving, breathing person¡ªdoing something as mundane as sitting at a desk. It took me a second to process that she wasn¡¯t just another frozen figure, another piece of the eerie diorama that made up my world. No, she was moving, sipping coffee as casually as if the world hadn¡¯t hit pause.


    I took another bite of my wrap, because honestly, what else was I supposed to do?


    A girl, about my age, sitting at a desk. A moving girl. Not a manny.


    I stepped forward slowly, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, but I wasn¡¯t exactly trying to be quiet. What was she going to do, run? I doubted she even noticed me yet, too wrapped up in whatever she was doing on her laptop. The glow from the screen illuminated her face, casting sharp shadows across her features, making her look almost surreal in the stillness of the world around us.


    I weaved past the frozen figures of library patrons¡ªmannies caught mid-study, mid-sneeze, mid-boredom¡ªmy eyes locked on the only other living being I¡¯d seen in what felt like an eternity. She was real. She was here. And she was completely unaware of me standing just a few feet away.


    ¡°You got any games on there?¡± I asked, taking another bite of my wrap.


    She nearly launched herself out of her chair, her breath hitching in her throat as her eyes darted wildly across my face, scanning me as if I were some kind of mirage. Her hands clamped down on the desk, knuckles white, like she was bracing herself for a fight or flight response she hadn¡¯t quite decided on yet. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths, and for a moment, she looked like she was debating whether screaming would even do her any good in a world as silent as this one.


    ¡°You-¡± she stammered, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You shouldn¡¯t be..."


    I reached for her laptop, just to see what had her so engrossed, but the moment my fingers got close, she lunged¡ªnot just a flinch, but a full-body leap across the desk, arms outstretched like she was diving for a live grenade. Papers and books scattered, her chair toppled over, and in the chaos, her coffee cup lifted off the table, floating like everything else in this cursed world.


    As she scrambled to secure her laptop, I calmly reached out and plucked the suspended cup from midair. The moment my fingers wrapped around it, the liquid inside came back to life, swirling with renewed heat. I popped the lid off and took a sip. White mocha. Sweet. A little too sweet, honestly, but I''d take whatever flavor I could at this point.


    Her eyes, wide and frantic, darted from me to the now-empty space where her coffee had once been. Her breath hitched again, and I could see the gears in her head turning, trying to reconcile what she was seeing with what she thought she knew.


    "Time isn''t supposed to move. You shouldn''t be..." Her voice faltered, her eyes darting away as if she had already said too much. Her fingers clenched the laptop, pulling it closer to her chest, knuckles pale, like she was holding onto the last bit of certainty she had left. It was clear she didn¡¯t want me to see whatever was on that screen, like it held answers she wasn¡¯t ready to share¡ªor perhaps, answers I wasn¡¯t meant to know. The realization flickered across her face, warring with whatever instinct told her to keep quiet. I could see it, the way her breathing shallowed, the way she swallowed hard as if trying to push back the words she wasn''t supposed to say. But the damage was already done¡ªshe knew what was happening, and more importantly, she knew that I shouldn''t be here.


    I exhaled slowly, savoring the warmth of the drink with a sip, and locked eyes with her. "What do you know about this hell?"

 Everyones Favorite Cat

    We walked briskly down the street, though I kept a few steps behind, taking another bite of the burrito I had scrounged from my apartment earlier. Between bites, I took occasional sips of the now slightly stale white mocha, the artificial sweetness still overpowering, though the warmth had long since faded. The vanilla undertones barely masked the bitterness of the coffee beneath, but at least it gave me something to do while she pretended I didn¡¯t exist.


    She didn¡¯t seem thrilled about my presence, occasionally glancing back at me like she was debating whether I was worth acknowledging. I could practically hear the judgment radiating off her, but that didn¡¯t stop me from enjoying my meal.


    ¡°So,¡± I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, ¡°you gonna tell me where we¡¯re going, or am I just supposed to keep following you like some lost puppy?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer.


    I took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, from an outside perspective, this looks an awful lot like stalking. If you keep ignoring me, I might have to start whispering your name dramatically just to complete the effect."


    At that, she exhaled sharply through her nose. "And if you keep talking, I might actually have to report you."


    ¡°Well, at least we¡¯re on the same page.¡±


    She didn¡¯t slow down, she just kept moving with the same rigid determination. I rolled my eyes but kept walking, taking another bite of the burrito. It wasn¡¯t just stubbornness keeping me on her trail¡ªsomewhere between the stale white mocha and the frozen world around me, I¡¯d realized something. She was the only person I had seen moving, the only thing that broke the rules of this broken reality. If there was a way out of this, she knew it. And that meant, for better or worse, she was my only chance of escaping this mess.


    Then, suddenly, she veered off course and ducked into an alleyway between two abandoned buildings. At first, I thought she was finally trying to ditch me, but then I saw what she was running toward.


    A woman stood frozen mid-motion, one arm outstretched as a man loomed over her, caught in the act of yanking a purse from her grasp. The entire scene was suspended like a diorama of a crime-in-progress, the woman¡¯s expression locked in startled terror, the thief¡¯s grip unyielding on the bag¡¯s strap.


    The girl didn¡¯t hesitate. Reaching into the frozen woman¡¯s purse, she rifled through its contents before pulling out a small black object.


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Robbing the robbed? That¡¯s bold.¡±


    She shot me a look of electrified annoyance. "Some people get sent to harrassment training after they cross a line. Me? I prefer a more hands-on approach."


    I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could, she turned on me, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.


    ¡°Wait¡ª¡±


    Pain exploded through my body before I could finish my sentence. My muscles seized, and I collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut, convulsing as my vision flickered between the alley and a blank haze of white noise. Every nerve in my body screamed, my limbs paralyzed by the surge of electricity coursing through me.


    I barely registered hitting the ground before everything faded to black. The last thing I saw was her bending at the knees, tilting her head as she peered down at me, her eyes filled with a mischievous glee.


    I came to with a dull throbbing in my skull, my vision swallowed by an intense, blinding light¡ªlike stepping outside after spending all day in a dark room. The sharp contrast sent a lance of pain through my temples, forcing me to squint as I adjusted. The air smelled like dust and mildew, and something rough bit into my wrists. A chair. I was tied to a chair.


    Well. This was new.


    My fingers flexed experimentally, and I felt the brittle fibers of rope around my wrists. It wasn¡¯t particularly well done¡ªI could probably slip free with a little effort. I started working on loosening the bindings when movement in the room caught my attention. I froze, my focus shifting upward.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    She stood to the right of me, arms crossed, watching with thinly veiled disappointment. Behind her, rows of old monitors lined the walls, their dim glow flickering erratically. Screens displayed graphs, scrolling lines of code, and maps pulsing with strange red zones, each looking more ominous than the last.


    I shifted in the chair, sitting up a bit straighter. "I didn¡¯t know you were into the whole tying-people-up thing. You could''ve at least bought me dinner first."


    She exhaled sharply through her nose, like she was debating whether I was worth the air to argue. ¡°You followed me.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me not to.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°That¡¯s why you got tased.¡±


    I stretched, rolling my shoulders. ¡°Right. So, are we gonna talk about that or pretend it didn¡¯t happen?¡±


    She ignored the question, instead leaning back against the desk and folding her arms. "Do you always deflect serious situations with bad jokes, or is that just a coping mechanism?"


    I smirked. "Why not both?"


    She rolled her eyes, but instead of answering, she tilted her head slightly. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"


    My smirk grew. "Oh, we''re doing introductions now? Thought we were past that point."


    She didn¡¯t react. Just waited.


    I sighed dramatically. "Felix. Just a guy enjoying his breakfast until I got electrocuted and tied to a chair. You know, typical Tuesday."


    She didn¡¯t seem amused. "Before that. Where were you before all this? Before time stopped?"


    I frowned. "Apartment. Sleeping. Living a boring, uneventful life. Then, boom¡ªsilent apocalypse." I raised a brow. "That answer your questions? Or do I need to fill out a form?"


    She studied me for a moment before exhaling. "What do you know about what''s happening to the world right now?"


    I sighed. "Alright, here¡¯s what I know. Plates and food don''t rot, even when left in mid-air. Objects freeze the second I let go of them, but when I touch something, it ''thaws'' and moves again¡ªexcept for people and cars. I can move parts of them, but they don''t reanimate. And then there¡¯s time itself. I measured it¡ªit''s slowed down by a factor of around 96 million. Which means a second for us might as well be a geological era for everything else."


    I leaned back in the chair, tipping it onto the back legs. "So yeah, I get that things are completely messed up. What I don¡¯t get is why. And something tells me you¡¯re about to explain it to me in annoyed tone."


    She exhaled and pushed off the desk, beginning to pace slowly. "You ever heard of Schr?dinger¡¯s Cat?"


    I raised a brow. "You mean the one where some guy decided to stress out a cat for science? Yeah, I know it."


    She gave me a look. "That¡¯s not exactly¡ªnever mind. The point is, it¡¯s an experiment about quantum mechanics. If you put a cat in a box with something that could kill it¡ªa radioactive atom, let¡¯s say¡ªyou don¡¯t actually know whether the cat is alive or dead until you open the box. Until it¡¯s observed, it exists in both states at once."


    I squinted at her. "And this relates to our current nightmare how?"


    She stopped pacing and leaned against one of the desks, crossing her arms. "Because that¡¯s how time works. The future isn¡¯t set in stone until it¡¯s observed. We¡ªTimewalkers¡ªmove ahead while everything is frozen, making adjustments to ensure that when time resumes, it collapses into the right outcome."


    I leaned back in the chair, rolling my shoulders against the ropes. "So, you¡¯re saying the universe is one giant cat in a box, and you¡¯re trying to make sure it doesn¡¯t keel over?"


    She sighed. "More or less."


    I nodded, pretending to consider it seriously. "Got it. So¡­ should I start meowing, or¡ª"


    Her deadpan stare could have frozen time all over again. "Think of time like building a house."


    ¡°You start with a blueprint¡ªa structured plan that dictates the order of events. Foundation first, then framework, wiring, walls, all leading to a finished product. The process can shift slightly¡ªmaybe you put in the windows before the floors¡ªbut the house still ends up built. That¡¯s how time works. There are variations in how events unfold, but the outcome remains inevitable.¡±


    I would''ve rubbed my temples, but, fun fact, my hands were still tied behind my back. Real shame¡ªI could¡¯ve really sold the exasperation. "And right now, we¡¯re stuck in the blueprint phase?"


    ¡°Exactly.¡± She turned toward one of the flickering monitors, typing something onto an old keyboard. ¡°Normally, Timewalkers¡ªpeople like me¡ªmove ahead in frozen time, making adjustments to ensure that when time resumes, it aligns with the best possible outcome. When we¡¯re done, it''s like a rubber band that snaps back, setting everything in place.¡±


    I frowned, taking in the chaotic data sprawled across the monitors. ¡°And that didn¡¯t happen this time.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Something broke. The snap never came. Time didn¡¯t resume, and now reality is¡­¡± She gestured around us. ¡°¡­stalled. Stuck mid-construction.¡±


    I leaned against the table, my mind racing. ¡°So, what? Some cosmic contractor went rogue and started ripping up the blueprints?¡±


    She didn¡¯t laugh. ¡°Something is overriding the plans. And I think it¡¯s watching.¡±


    The way she said it sent an uncomfortable prickle down my spine. ¡°Watching how?¡±


    She hesitated before typing something onto the monitor. A still image appeared¡ªa cityscape just like ours, only¡­ distorted. The buildings curved in impossible ways, and shadows stretched toward a point that wasn¡¯t there.


    ¡°We¡¯re not the only ones moving,¡± she murmured.


    I stared at the screen, my mouth dry. ¡°And if we don¡¯t stop it?¡±


    Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. ¡°Then we¡¯re already too late.¡±

 The Universes Worst Meet-and-Greet

    A red light started to blink ominously among the rows of computers, followed by a sharp ding. The girl reached over and pushed a button. The main computer screen went dark for a second before a faint click signaled its return. A low hum filled the room, followed by a thin, flickering line of light that cut through the dark screen horizontally. The glass glowed faintly as the whirring noise intensified, leading the display to show a set of static-laced horizontal lines. The speakers crackled, their aged components struggling to deliver the incoming transmission.


    If I thought this girl was going to be like Spock from Star Trek, I was grossly mistaken.


    "Selene, can you copy?" The voice came through, distorted and distant, as if traveling through decades of interference. Selene¡ªapparently that was her name¡ªhit a button on the keyboard and grabbed a microphone perched on a metal stand.


    "Selene, copy. Transport is ready. Mission deemed a success."


    "So others know about the kidnapping? I didn¡¯t know you had a whole squad for this stuff. I wonder how much you¡¯ll be able to sell me for." I leaned back in my chair, watching for a reaction. She got up from the computer and started walking toward the shadowed corner of the room, the side obscured by the blistering light shining directly into my eyes.


    "We already put a price tag on you," she said without looking back. "Set it at zero dollars. The buyer said that was too much."


    My mouth dropped open. Had Selene just made a joke? I would say hell must¡¯ve frozen over, but in a way, it kind of already had.


    She sat down in a chair molded from concrete, securing two thick belt straps over her lap. The stark industrial look of the seat fit the room¡¯s brutalist design, like something out of an abandoned Cold War bunker.


    "What are those for?" I asked as a new countdown began over the speakers.


    "We¡¯re being transported. If you¡¯re not bolted to the floor, there¡¯s a good chance the force will splat you into the wall." She adjusted another strap around her head, making sure it was tight.


    I twisted in my chair, glancing at my restraints. Just as I expected, there were none.


    "Wait, what about¡ª" I stopped mid-sentence as the whole room started to shake, dust lifting from the floor like a ghostly mist. The countdown reached zero, and a deafening sound erupted from the computers. The flashing lights intensified, and the words TAKEOFF IMMINENT scrolled across the main screen in angry red letters. I shut my eyes, bracing for the force that was about to hit me.


    And then¡­ nothing. The tremors ceased, the violent force I had been expecting reduced to the gentle lift of a broken elevator moving between floors.


    I opened my eyes, shaking with exasperation. Selene didn¡¯t say a word, but the smirk on her face was unmistakable.


    "When you untie me, I¡¯m going to make you pay for that!"


    She simply rolled her eyes and walked toward a large metal door with a keypad.


    "Good thing I¡¯m not going to untie you then." She punched in a code, and the door slowly swung open. The bright light spilling from the beam in front of me obscured my vision, making it impossible to see the numbers she entered.


    <ol start="5369">


    <li>


    </li>


    </ol>


    The numbers flashed in my mind like a brand seared into my thoughts, impossible to ignore. A sharp tingle shot down my neck, right at the base where my spine met my skull. 5369. The numbers echoed in my head, relentless and clear, as Selene stepped out and the door sealed shut behind her.


    Once she was gone, I immediately slipped my wrists free from the ropes. Rubbing at the sore, reddened skin, I stood up and switched off the blinding overhead light.


    The room was just as bleak as I had imagined. The most noteworthy features were the aged, humming computers, a plain bed with gray sheets, and a small desk¡ªalso made of concrete. Scattered across it were a handful of odd trinkets, little artifacts she must have picked up through her travels as a Timewalker.


    Curious, I meandered to the desk, flipping through a messy stack of notebooks. Pages filled with dense mathematical scribbles about wormholes, black holes, and paradoxes. Way beyond my pay grade. Beneath the stack lay a nondescript, leather-bound book. Something about it felt¡­ different.


    "It¡¯s her journal," I murmured, intrigued. My fingers traced the edges. I knew I shouldn¡¯t, but having dirt on her could be useful.


    Prick.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    A sharp sensation shot through the base of my neck, like the jab of a needle. My body tensed as if responding to an invisible force.


    "Don¡¯t you dare touch that book." I imagined her voice resonating in my head, as if she were standing right beside me.


    I immediately let go, stepping back as if the journal might bite. "What the hell is with this pricking?" I muttered, rubbing my neck as I turned toward the door.


    "What was the code again? Something like¡­ 5, 3, 6, and 9?" I keyed in the numbers, and the door slid open.


    "Cool." Still talking to myself. After spending so long alone, I¡¯d gotten used to it.


    The hallway stretched out in two directions. To the left, an endless corridor lined with identical doors. To the right, the same¡ªexcept something about it screamed, You will 100% die if you go this way.


    After years of watching horror movies, the choice was obvious. Right it was.


    The numbers on the doors slowly decreased as I walked. 250¡­ 203¡­ 179¡­


    I stopped at 132. Something about this door hummed with an unnatural presence. Another keypad. Another prick at the base of my skull.


    "Oh, ever-powerful universe, grant me thy knowledge to open this door to my certain demise." The sharp sensation returned. A flood of emotions entered my body, like the universe was trying everything in its power to stop the numbers from emerging. Alas, my request was too strong. I grinned, then punched in the numbers gifted to me.


    The door opened dramatically, revealing an expansive chamber, its vastness amplified by the cold emptiness that swallowed every sound. Yet, unlike the purely utilitarian feel of the previous rooms, this space held onto a sense of grandeur¡ªa prideful relic of a bygone era.


    The dim, flickering glow of wall-mounted sconces cast long, wavering shadows across towering concrete columns, their edges softened by the passage of time. The chandelier hanging in the center, though tarnished and dulled, still clung to its former elegance, its thick brass frame supporting countless crystal fragments that shimmered faintly in the low light. The air carried a strange mix of dust and machine oil, yet beneath it lingered something else¡ªaged wood polish, the ghost of cigars long extinguished, a faint reminder that this space had once been occupied by people who mattered.


    Large murals of unknown figures decorated the walls, not in decay, but in a way that suggested reverence, as if those who walked this room still saw themselves as the inheritors of something greater. The entire space exuded the weight of history, its brutalist design imposing but not lifeless¡ªrather, it stood as a monument to a forgotten authority, a time when those who sat at this table believed they shaped the fate of the world.


    At the far end, I spotted massive high-definition screens displaying an ultra-realistic backdrop of space. The detail was impeccable¡ªdeep, endless blackness, the eerie stillness, the faint, delicate wisp of nebulas in the distance. Someone had really gone all out with the visuals. Then it hit me.


    No one had gone all out with the visuals.


    Because these weren¡¯t screens.


    They were windows. Massive windows.


    And beyond them lay the raw, unfiltered universe, stretching infinitely in every direction. Silent. Immovable. Absolute. It was like looking into something that wasn¡¯t meant to be seen¡ªa sight so impossibly vast that my brain struggled to wrap itself around the sheer scale of it. Beautiful? Sure. But in the same way a tsunami is beautiful when you¡¯re watching it roll in from the shore. Mesmerizing, but deeply, deeply unnerving.


    But the real centerpiece was the long, concrete table stretching across the room. It could seat thirty, yet only five figures sat at it. At the head of the table stood a tall man, his posture rigid and commanding. His finely etched beret sat at a calculated angle, lending an air of authority that was only reinforced by the deep lines carved into his face¡ªlines that hinted at a lifetime of discipline, hard choices, and a lack of tolerance for nonsense. His uniform, though subtly worn, was immaculately maintained, the fabric stiff and pressed as if he had stepped out of another era where decorum was everything.


    The man was locked in a heated argument with someone I immediately recognized¡ªSelene. Of course. If there was one thing I had learned in the short time I had known her, it was that she had an impressive talent for getting under people''s skin. This poor guy just happened to be the latest victim.


    The other figures at the table, rather than stepping in, sat back with the air of spectators watching a familiar performance. Some of them looked amused, others simply resigned, like they had seen this play out countless times before.


    I almost felt bad for him.


    Almost.


    "Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice deep and commanding.


    I straightened my back instinctively, the countless war movies I''d watched kicking in, reminding me of the proper etiquette when addressing an officer. And now, time to play my cards. "Felix Carter. I am Selene¡¯s deeply devoted lover, and she whisked me away to this ship because she simply couldn¡¯t bear to be apart from me any longer. The passion, the longing¡ªit was unbearable, really. A true interstellar romance¡ª"


    Prick. A sharp jab stopped the words in my throat, but it wasn¡¯t just the sensation¡ªI felt a rush of emotions that weren¡¯t mine. Heat, frustration, and pure mortification surged through me like an electric shock.


    "Is that so?" The captain¡¯s gaze shifted to Selene, his sharp eyes drilling into her like he was peeling back layers of excuses she hadn¡¯t even thought up yet. The weight of his stare was almost tangible, and for a split second, I swore she looked like she''d rather launch herself into the vacuum of space than be standing there under his scrutiny.


    Selene¡¯s face turned bright red. "He¡¯s not¡­ we¡¯re not¡­" Her flustered reaction sent waves of secondhand embarrassment that were palpable. The feeling sent shivers down my spine.


    "Please, Mr. Carter." The captain motioned to the table. "Have a seat."


    I gave him a crisp, respectful nod because I suddenly respected him for being on the same anti-Selene wavelength as me. Then, with a satisfied grin, I strode forward and dropped into a seat at the table. Selene took her seat again, taking on a silent resolve.


    The captain continued his debrief as nothing happened, and I turned to look at Selene. She refused to look at me, her face still a delightful shade of mortification.


    "I hate you," her voice whispered in my mind, thick with irritation.


    I smirked. "I guess you could say I¡¯ve gotten under your skin. Literally."


    I don''t know what ESP mess I had found myself in, but one thing was certain. This was going to be fun.

 Cuffed, Clueless, and Chronologically Screwed

    I hadn¡¯t noticed it before, but Selene didn¡¯t wear the same clothes as everyone else. She wore an oversized gray hoodie, its sleeves slightly too long, swallowing her hands when she wasn¡¯t using them. Her slim jeans were scuffed at the knees, and her sneakers¡ªonce white¡ªwere now stained with the wear of countless steps. Strands of long brown hair slipped out from under the hood, flowing freely over her shoulders, swaying as she moved. She wasn¡¯t the type to overdo anything¡ªher makeup was minimal, just a light touch around her eyes, enough to enhance her sharp, observant stare. Everything about her screamed "effortless," but I had the distinct feeling that not a single part of her appearance was accidental. It all blended in perfectly back on Earth.


    But on a post-Cold War spaceship? She might as well have been wearing a clown suit.


    Everyone else sported sleek, white jumpsuits, clearly tailored for both comfort and function. They had that "astronaut chic" vibe, complete with badges sewn on to mark different missions. Two of them had matching insignias, while the other three had their own variations, each looking just official enough to make my lack of credentials glaringly obvious. The suits were packed with strategically placed pockets, each one zippered and secured like they belonged to a crew that actually knew what they were doing.


    Which is why I couldn¡¯t stop thinking about Selene. What was up with her? Why was she dressed like she had just rolled out of a college dorm? Why did she¡ª


    ¡°Stop thinking about me.¡± Her voice cut through my mind, sharp as a slap.


    I blinked. She wasn¡¯t in the room, nor was anyone else, but I could feel her presence. More specifically, I could feel her staring at me.


    The one-way mirror loomed in front of me, a dark, featureless void reflecting my own tired expression. Behind it, I knew Selene was watching, and judging by the way my skin prickled, she wasn¡¯t alone. The harsh overhead light flickered, buzzing faintly, casting angular shadows against the cold, steel-reinforced walls. The whole place had the aesthetic of an old-school police interrogation room¡ªfunctional, suffocating, and designed to make you feel like confessing to crimes you hadn¡¯t even committed. The air was thick with the sterile scent of metal and faint traces of disinfectant, like someone had tried to scrub away the ghosts of past interrogations but never quite succeeded.


    The metal desk in front of me was bolted to the ground, and my wrists ached from the weight of the handcuffs securing me to it. The steel pressed into my skin, cold and unyielding. Even shifting slightly sent the cuffs rattling against the table, a sound that echoed in the otherwise dead-silent room. The chair beneath me was rigid and uncomfortably narrow, the kind designed to break a person down long before the questioning even started.


    This was all very official. And probably bad for me. But, honestly? I couldn¡¯t bring myself to care all that much.


    ¡°So you just stumbled across him when visiting Quadrant 228? And you¡¯re sure it was during the timestop?¡± The captain¡¯s voice crackled through my head, like an old ham radio just barely tuned into the right frequency. The signal wavered¡ªsometimes clear, sometimes distorted, like the dial had to be twisted just right to catch the conversation. But the static, that stubborn resistance jamming my reception? That was Selene. I could feel her actively trying to block me out, like she was shoving mental white noise between us, hoping I¡¯d get frustrated and stop listening. It wasn¡¯t working. If anything, it made me focus harder, trying to pick apart her interference like I was fine-tuning an old broadcast. And the more I concentrated, the clearer it became: she really didn¡¯t want me eavesdropping on this one.


    Prick. A sharp stab of pain hit my neck. A vision flashed through my mind. A first-person view of someone breaking through the one-way mirror and strangling me against the table.


    Wait. That was me strangling myself?


    The vision vanished, and I realized¡ªSelene had just sent me her imagination.


    ¡°You know guys don¡¯t like violent girls,¡± I sent back dryly.


    Another image hit me. This time, not strangulation¡ªno, this was her ripping off my fingernails one by one, blood splattering across the table like some kind of medieval torture scene.


    I recoiled. Hard. Shutting off the connection didn¡¯t stop the lingering sensation. I could still feel her amusement, buzzing in the background like static.


    She was enjoying this.


    ¡°Yes, he was still able to move and function, something I¡¯ve never actually seen before,¡± Selene continued aloud, her voice cool and analytical. Even as she spoke, I could feel her mental grip tightening, pushing back against my interference. It was almost impressive¡ªalmost¡ªhow she managed to juggle both the conversation and our silent battle for control, as if keeping me out of her head was just another line item on her to-do list. ¡°I know it was calculated¡ªat least, the possibility of an Observer existing was theorized by my¡­¡±


    Her words trailed off. For the briefest moment, something slipped through our link¡ªnot amusement, not irritation, but something softer. Sadness.


    ¡°I know Dr. Hart theorized it, but theorizing is different from observing. Do you think Felix could be working in conjunction with The Hollow?¡±


    Even though I had never heard ''The Hollow'' name before, I felt it. A name soaked in ominous weight.


    Selene knew it well. If I pushed just a little deeper, maybe I could¡ªThis novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Prick.


    A wave of electricity shot through me, like I had just been hardwired into a generator. My muscles locked up. Vision blurred. My body collapsed, and the last thing I saw was Selene¡¯s satisfied smirk.


    Darkness.


    ¡°What about a therapist? I think you¡¯re overdue for a session,¡± I felt another prick coming, but I stopped it before she could conjure another horrific scene in my mind.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s associated with The Hollow,¡± Selene said, her voice even. Not a single hitch in her tone. Our entire mental battle hadn¡¯t even fazed her. ¡°He doesn¡¯t strike me as¡­ competent enough to be of any use.¡±


    I sent her the hardest prick I could muster.


    ¡°I can see where you¡¯re coming from,¡± the captain responded. Now I wanted to prick him, so I shot Selene a mental image of her stabbing him for me. For some reason, she didn¡¯t oblige.


    ¡°But I think he can still be of some use,¡± Reynolds continued. ¡°You believe that he¡¯s the reason you got stuck in the timestop?¡±


    Selene nodded. ¡°Yes, I do. I couldn¡¯t figure out how to get back, but as soon as he¡­ fell unconscious, the timestop resumed, and I was able to return to the ship.¡±


    I sent her another prick for lying through her teeth.


    ¡°So he might be able to fully lock in the future,¡± the captain mused. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, we might finally be able to stop The Hollow. But tell me something, Selene¡­¡±


    I felt her straighten in anticipation.


    ¡°Do you think Felix can see us right now?¡±


    I froze.


    Slowly, I realized I had been leaning forward, staring blankly into the mirror, completely immersed in their conversation.


    Selene¡¯s voice drifted through my head, dripping with admiration. ¡°You¡¯re so smart and handsome, Felix. So amazing.¡±


    Just kidding. Thought I¡¯d trick you, lol.


    What she actually said was, ¡°You absolute idiot, what do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±


    I immediately flicked my gaze to another part of the room, pretending like I hadn¡¯t just been caught in 4K. A sharp prick told me that this only made me look worse.


    ¡°From what I¡¯ve seen of him,¡± Selene continued, her voice full of deliberate irritation, ¡°he might be a little psychotic. Like he has voices in his head or something.¡±


    I sent another prick, but let¡¯s be real¡ªyou saw that coming.


    Reynolds didn¡¯t say anything. He simply left the booth and walked into the room where I sat. I straightened up instinctively, my spine stiffening as if I hadn¡¯t just been slouching like a bored teenager in detention. My cuffs clinked against the table as I shifted, feigning surprise at his arrival, even though I had known he was coming.


    ¡°So are you the good cop or the bad cop?¡± I asked, flashing a grin to hide the fact that I had just blown my cover.


    ¡°That depends on how you want this conversation to go,¡± he said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from me. ¡°Why don¡¯t we start with some introductions? My name is Captain Reynolds. I¡¯ve been stationed on the T.E.M.P.U.S. for the past twelve years, leading timestop operations and intergalactic travel. What is your name?¡±


    I sat up straighter, instinctively falling into the ¡°respect an officer¡± posture that war movies had drilled into me. But I still had to mess with him just a little.


    ¡°My name is Felix Carter, and I am the supreme leader of the galaxy. My people are called the Xenons, and we love human feet. If you have any pictures, they would be greatly appreciated.¡±


    Reynolds stared at me. His gaze cut through me like a scalpel, peeling back layers to determine whether I was actually this much of an idiot, or if I just enjoyed acting like one.


    ¡°I thought I told you it was your choice whether you got the good cop or the bad cop,¡± he said dryly.


    ¡°Well, after running into Selene, anyone else is a good cop in my book.¡±


    Selene responded with another vision¡ªthis time, me getting waterboarded. Ice-cold water poured over my face, forcing its way up my nose and down my throat. My body convulsed against invisible restraints, lungs screaming for air. Just when the burning pressure became unbearable, the vision cut out, leaving behind the ghostly sensation of drowning.


    ¡°How is your imagination so vivid?!¡± I recoiled before shaking it off. I needed to focus. Captain Reynolds was like a hawk¡ªone slip, and he¡¯d see it. And the last thing I needed was for him to start piecing together that I had some kind of ESP trick running in the background.


    ¡°I see. What exactly is your relationship with Selene?¡±


    I debated throwing out another quip, but something about Reynolds¡¯ composure told me that would be a terrible idea.


    ¡°To be completely frank, I ran into her at the library.¡±


    Reynolds studied me, then gave a slight nod. He actually believed me. Which was honestly a little concerning. Not because I was lying¡ªI wasn¡¯t¡ªbut because he picked up on the truth way too quickly.


    ¡°What do you remember about where you came from?¡± I told him exactly what I told Selene, and added in the part where she (unsuccessfully) tied me up and interrogated me.


    ¡°I see,¡± the captain said again, leaning back as if he had started to trust me. ¡°So what do you reckon we do next with you?¡±


    I froze for a second, not expecting him to ask for my input in the matter. I assumed they would interrogate me and then make a decision off of that. Selene had given me her suggestion: door hatch, vacuum of space, head goes explody. It really was disturbing how fast she came up with these scenarios.


    ¡°Well, my first instinct would be to say ¡®take me home, let me get back to my totally average life,¡¯ but I¡¯ve seen enough movies to know that¡¯s not how this works. There¡¯s always some ridiculous ¡®you know too much¡¯ clause. So, in the interest of self-preservation, I guess I¡¯ll take the lesser evil¡ªlet me stay here and join your team. Yay, forced employment.¡±


    The cap seemed intrigued by this idea. "What would you do on the ship?" His tone had that loaded quality, like a teacher asking a question they already knew the answer to. I had the distinct feeling that he wasn¡¯t really asking¡ªjust waiting for me to figure out the role he¡¯d already assigned me.


    I leaned forward, locking eyes with him like this was the most important conversation of my life. I let the silence hang for dramatic effect, then, with the gravitas of a man about to reveal the fate of the universe, I intoned, "There is only one spot on this ship for someone like me." My voice dropped an octave, dripping with theatrical weight¡ªlike I was narrating the final battle of some over-the-top fighting game.


    ¡°And where is that?¡± The captain seemed to be enjoying the game he had made up for me.


    ¡°The sanitation department!¡± I declared with all the confidence of a man who had just discovered the meaning of life. I even threw in a triumphant nod for good measure. Reynolds, however, didn¡¯t look impressed. His brow furrowed, his head tilting slightly, like I had just spoken a completely different language. Apparently, we were not on the same wavelength.


    ¡°I was going to suggest pairing you with a timewalker,¡± the captain responded, his tone almost amused, ¡°let you travel the universe with Selene. A much more dignified position than¡­ sanitation. Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s more fitting for someone of your supposed talents?¡±


    I looked down at the table, imagining what that would be like.


    ¡°I¡¯ll answer honestly, Captain.¡± My voice had lost all of its excitement. ¡°But that might be worse than just killing me. At least then I wouldn¡¯t have to be stuck with her.¡±


    Prick.