The world had changed. Again.
The Hargreeves siblings found themselves scattered — lost in time, stranded across the decades in Dallas, 1963. A city of bright lights and darker shadows. A time that seemed both foreign and painfully familiar.
Zero stood alone, the pull of time fraying at his edges. He could feel the fractures—little splinters of futures breaking free, running wild. Here, the timelines tangled worse than ever, and even his unique connection to time's flow strained against the chaos.
(Every thread is a scream, every second a splinter. The world isn't just ending anymore. It's unraveling — piece by piece, moment by moment.)
He arrived in Dallas as the dust settled. The familiar hum of the city, the rush of life around him, but beneath it, something twisted—a faint pulse of dread that prickled at his skin.
The others were here, somewhere. Each displaced, each trapped by their own battles.
First, he found Luther—still struggling to reconcile who he was, trapped in a body that felt more like a prison than a gift. Luther's anguish was raw, a storm locked behind his eyes.
"I'm not the man I was meant to be," Luther said bitterly, his voice cracking. "Not here. Not like this."
Zero nodded. (I've seen those moments. The self-doubt. The rage. The desperate search for meaning in a broken mirror.)
Diego was next—sharp, lethal, but haunted. The shadows under his eyes ran deep, a soldier always watching for the next fight. Yet even he was out of place, a warrior misplaced in a battlefield that made no sense.
Then Allison. She carried her daughter but wore exhaustion like armor. The cost of the timeline weighed on her, heavy and unforgiving.
Zero moved silently among them, a ghost tethered by time but unseen by most. They treated him like always—as the outsider, the forgotten sibling. Except for Vanya.
Vanya was a question mark wrapped in tension. Her power simmered under the surface, unstable and wild. The trauma of the previous timeline haunted her, and the fear in her eyes was a mirror to Zero's own isolation.
He watched her from the shadows as she practiced her violin, notes floating like fragile prayers.
(Vanya's fear is a crack in the timeline. If it breaks, everything else shatters.)
The family's reunion was fragile — a puzzle of mistrust, pain, and fading memories.
Zero wanted to reach out. To connect. To warn.
But the past was a maze, and he was a ghost lost within it.
The Handler had followed them across time — a specter of control and cruelty. She prowled the city like a hunter, her intentions clear: to capture Five and enforce the Commission's will.
Zero saw her from afar, watching the threads she pulled, the timelines she bent to her whim. She was a reminder that the war over time was far from over.
He moved quickly, tracking Five's scattered movements, trying to guide him without revealing too much.
(Five trusts no one but himself. And maybe me. If I'm lucky.)
Together, they worked in the shadows, piecing together clues — fragments of a future none wanted to face.
The assassination of President Kennedy was looming. A pivot point in history with ripples reaching far beyond.
Zero's powers tingled with urgency.
(This moment is a nexus. A choice. And the consequences could tear the fabric of time apart.)
Meanwhile, Klaus was spiraling — haunted by visions, lost in grief and chaos. He drifted through the city, a man chasing ghosts that only he could see. Zero found him once, sitting on a rooftop, staring at the stars.
"You're chasing echoes," Zero said softly.
Klaus laughed bitterly. "Maybe. But some echoes don't fade."
Zero studied him. (Klaus is a conduit — more connected to the timeline's fractures than anyone else.)
He wanted to help, to steady him. But the path to salvation was tangled.
Days passed in a blur of conflict and fleeting moments. The siblings fought external enemies and their own inner demons. The timeline's pressure mounted.
Zero's unique power allowed him glimpses others could not see — futures branching in every direction, each more dangerous than the last.
He spent hours on his private planet, reaching out into the void, trying to hold the threads together.
But every time he tried to pull one strand, another snapped.
One night, the family gathered reluctantly in a small apartment. The tension was electric.
Zero finally spoke, voice low but firm.
"There's something we need to understand," he said. "The apocalypse isn't just a moment. It's a force. And it's tied to all of us — to Vanya's power, to the choices we make."
Luther scoffed. "We've heard that before."
Zero looked around. "Maybe you've heard it. But I've lived it — seen every version of it. And this time, if we don't work together, there won't be a next time."
Vanya met his gaze. For the first time, there was a flicker of trust.
"Then what do we do?" she asked.
Zero swallowed. (Finally. The question that could save us all.)
"We fight. We protect each other. And we rewrite the future."
But the future was never simple.
Hazel and Cha-Cha were closing in. The Handler was tightening her grip.
The Commission was relentless.
Zero felt the noose tightening around his throat.
(Time was running out. And this time, the stakes were higher than ever.)
He clenched his fists.
(For the first time, I'm not just a ghost in the machine. I'm the spark that could light the way.)