The clock of the system gnawed at the back of my mind.
11h 21m 08s
11h 21m 07s
The numbers fell like drops of acid. Even when I wasn't looking at the screen, I felt the countdown carved into me, hammering from behind my eyes. It was as if someone had placed a metronome inside my skull, ticking louder with each heartbeat.
I couldn't breathe inside the apartment anymore.
Grabbing my jacket, I stumbled into the evening air. The rain had stopped, but the city still glistened with wet streets. Neon signs flickered against the puddles, their reflections jagged, distorted. For a moment, I thought it was just the water. Then I noticed something else—
The lights blinked in rhythm with the burning mark on my forehead.
Pulse. Glow. Pulse. Glow.
It was like the city itself had shackled its heartbeat to mine.
Halfway down the block, I realized people were staring. Maybe they weren't—but their gazes felt heavy, dragging across my skin. My chest tightened. Every step became harder, like walking into a storm no one else could see.
And then reality buckled.
A streetcar screeched at the end of the avenue. It should have braked at the crossing. It didn't. A man carrying groceries tripped, scattering bags across the pavement. A waiter in a nearby café dropped a tray of glasses that shattered against the floor.
All at once. All wrong.
The world wasn't falling apart—it was falling on me.
Warning: User in active debt.
Risk of Intermediate Penalty: HIGH.
Symptom: Probability Drain.
The words hovered in the air, white against the night.
I froze. My pulse raced. Probability drain? What did that even mean?
The answer came instantly. A billboard sign tore loose in the wind, tumbling like a guillotine blade. A dog darted into the street, howling, pulling its leash free. The streetcar screamed as it bore down, unstoppable.
The city itself was collapsing into accident, all of it funneled toward me.
The air ripped apart.
Like a sheet of paper torn down the middle, reality split. From that seam stepped a man.
Tall. Sharp lines in his face and sharper in his eyes. His hair was dark, combed back, still glistening from rain. A black coat swayed behind him though no wind touched it.
And across his forehead, I saw it—a mark like mine. Only his was shattered. The gear etched into his skin was fractured, its runes incomplete, as though something had splintered it beyond repair.
He raised his hand casually.
The billboard froze midfall. The waiter's body steadied before hitting the floor. Even the streetcar halted, a beast trapped inches from slaughter.
Time bent to him.
I gasped.
He smirked. "Breathe."
His voice was low, steady, carrying the weight of iron. "You've got Collectors sniffing your debt. When the system smells fear, it gets creative with probability."
I staggered back. "Who—who are you?"
"Name's Kairos." He tapped his fractured mark. Sparks ran through the crack, jagged and ugly. "Before you ask—no, I'm not your savior. And no, I'm not here to kill you. I'm just the guy who knows how not to die in this mess."
The world lurched back into motion as he lowered his hand. The billboard slammed harmlessly onto the pavement, inches away. The glasses shattered properly this time. The streetcar rumbled past, the driver muttering curses at unseen traffic lights.
No one around seemed to notice anything had happened. Only me. Only us.
"You froze everything," I whispered.
He didn't even look at me. "Yeah." His eyes swept over my mark like a jeweler appraising a rare stone. "Yours is too loud for a rookie. What'd you pay?"
My throat clenched. "A memory."
"Ha." His grin didn't reach his eyes. "The Market has a sense of humor. Strips your anchor, gives you a registration. First lesson—every payment pulls a beam out of your structure. It keeps you balanced by breaking you."
The system flashed again:
Status: Active Debt.
Risk: HIGH.
Source: Probability Drain (Broker's presence within 24h).
Recommendation: Sign Warning Contract or execute mitigation transaction.
"Collectors?" I asked, still shaking.
Kairos exhaled, and smoke curled in the air though I hadn't seen him light anything. "They're the Market's collection agents. Not people. Just—manifestations. They crawl out of probability itself. Car crashes, broken stairs, random bullets. They make the unlikely… likely. If your balance dips too far, they come."
The sign flickered in front of us:
Suggested Action: Sign Warning Contract.
My chest clenched. "A contract? Another one?"
Kairos flicked his wrist. A card of gold appeared in his palm, inscribed with burning runes.
"Warning Contract," he explained. "Think of it like an umbrella. Shields you from penalties for a while. Cheap, relatively speaking. Costs you something small—your second surname, the taste of your favorite dessert, the name of a street you loved."
"I'm not giving away anything else," I hissed.
He stared at me with something between pity and contempt. "You already did. That's why you're breathing. Negotiating here isn't choosing whether to lose. It's choosing what to lose before the Market decides for you."
The ground trembled. A nearby flagpole snapped, tilting toward me like a spear.
Kairos flicked his finger. The pole hung suspended in the air. His smirk turned razor-sharp.
"Probability drain," he said. "This is what happens when your clock runs too low. Welcome to the circus."
I swallowed hard.
"Why help me?"
"Because you're useful," he said flatly. "That mark of yours doesn't read like the others. It's new. Different. And difference means possibility."
The golden card in his hand ignited, projecting text between us.
Warning Contract (Model K-Δ)
Party A: Kairos [ID: Redacted]
Party B: Luna Méndez [ID: Active]
Object: Suspend intermediate penalties for 72h.
Cost (Party B): Minor detail (childhood street name) + Temporary navigation rights.
Guarantee: Party A cannot execute transactions on Party B's behalf.
Breach: If Party B ignores an emergency directive, debt doubles.
Accept / Reject.
Time to decide: 02:00.
01:59… 01:58…
"Two minutes," Kairos said, sliding the card back into the air. "Sign, or keep dodging falling pianos. Your choice."
"Temporary navigation rights?" I asked.
"Means I can steer you a little," he said. "Close doors, block Collectors, reroute risks. I can't touch your transactions—contract forbids it. If I try, it'll crack me further." He tapped his fractured mark. Sparks spat. "Believe me, I don't need more fractures."
My mouth was dry. "And the 'minor detail'?"
"The Market wants your bike street." His eyes narrowed. "Where you first learned to ride. It'll erase the name, not the event. You'll remember the memory—but without a place to anchor it."
My stomach dropped. "That's mine."
He shrugged. "Then keep your name, and let the Collectors tear you apart. Those are the rules."
The screen blinked:
Imminent Adverse Event in 05m: Intersection Ahead.
"Event?" I whispered.
"Crosswalk," Kairos said calmly. "Oil slick, distracted driver, light malfunction. You're fated to be there. Don't bother running. The rails already laid."
My hands shook.
"Why's your mark broken?" I asked, stalling.
His smile vanished. "Because I signed the wrong contract. A Master Contract. To save someone. I lived, but not whole. Don't repeat my mistake."
The countdown plummeted.
00:29… 00:28…
The air buzzed like hornets in a steel pipe. Shadows warped, stretching toward me. Three silhouettes stepped forward—men in gray suits without faces, eyes replaced by glowing slits, hands ticking like clock-hands. Where they walked, puddles gaped like mouths.
Collectors.
Kairos's jaw tightened. "Class II. Bank escorts. If you sign, I can wall them off. If you don't…" His coat rustled as he flexed his hand. "…then run, and maybe one of us lives."
00:09.
The ground quivered. The mark on my forehead pulsed, urging, demanding.
I stared at his outstretched hand, at the burning card, at the shadows closing in.
Every instinct screamed to run.
But I knew running would lead me straight into that intersection, straight into the rails laid out for me.
"I'll sign," I choked.
The card burst in golden fire.
A circle of runes flared beneath my feet. My mark dimmed from feverish red to steady gold.
Warning Contract (K-Δ): Activated.
Probability Shield: +72h.
Cost Deducted: Street name erased.
Navigation Rights: Kairos (Level 1).
The memory of the street slipped away instantly. I still recalled my father holding the bike, my scraped knees, the laughter—but the name of the place dissolved like sugar in water.
It hurt, but it didn't destroy me.
Kairos nodded once. "Good. Now—wall of silence."
He slammed his hands together. Twin rings of runes erupted from his fractured mark, spinning upward to form a translucent dome.
The Collectors struck, their bodies warping against the barrier. Sparks flew where their clock-hands touched. They twisted, gnashing against the wall.
For three minutes, we were safe.
Kairos turned to me, eyes sharp. "Tell me—did the Broker speak to you yet?"
The mark on my forehead burned hotter.
"Yes," I whispered. "He said every deal is a trap."
Kairos smirked. "And he didn't tell you the other half. Every trap is also a door—if you know where to push."
He extended his fractured hand toward me. Sparks danced along his mark.
"Your seal can push harder than anyone's I've seen. With it, we can bend clauses. Rewrite penalties. Maybe even—" His eyes gleamed. "—break the Market."
The Collectors shrieked against the barrier. The dome cracked.
"Three minutes are up," Kairos said, calm as ever. "So—what's it going to be, Luna? Stay prey? Or learn to hunt?"
The barrier split. The shadows poured in.
And with his hand inches from mine, I had to choose whether to trust him—or be devoured whole.