-ˋˏ ༻༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻༺ ˎˊ-
Marcus wasn't a greedy man.
He never asked much from the world—just the basics, really. A decent meal, a roof that didn't leak, a sexy woman to keep him company, and a gaming setup with enough specs to make life worth living.
That was all he needed.
Not riches.
Just comfort.
Maybe that's why he'd been stuck working security at KronosTech for the last three years—a massive fortress of glass and steel filled with people who acted like gods because they could fucking code. The company had influence, money, and some of the most advanced tech on the planet. And Marcus? He was the guy with a badge and a gun who made sure no one wandered where they shouldn't.
Not anymore, though.
Tomorrow, he was quitting.
He'd already signed a new contract—technical assistant at a smaller company. Fewer rules, better pay. Fewer rich people pretending to save the world. It wasn't glamorous, but it felt like a step up.
A fresh start.
For now, though, he was stuck in the last circle of corporate hell: the CEO's end-of-quarter conference.
He stood by the wall of the company's main auditorium, his uniform stiff and his shoulders aching, as Adrian Vale—founder, visionary, and self-proclaimed 'genius'—spoke on stage. The man looked like he'd stepped out of a luxury magazine: perfect hair, perfect suit, perfect confidence. His voice carried through the massive glass hall, smooth with rehearsed confidence that came from too many mirror pep talks.
"…with the Aletheia Core extracted from the meteorite, we've reached the final stage of the Temporal Manipulation Project," Vale stated, gesturing toward the large sphere behind him. "This will mark the beginning of humanity's next great era. The dawn of time mastery."
Marcus exhaled through his nose as a polite round of applause spread across the room.
He adjusted the strap of his rifle, eyes flicking toward the so-called "time machine." It sat in the center of the stage like a metallic heart—smooth, dark, and pulsing faintly with blue veins of light. Thick cables snaked out from it, feeding into glass chambers filled with a glowing, misty substance. The air around the machine rippled subtly, warping like heat on asphalt.
It didn't look like something that should exist.
Still, he wasn't impressed. KronosTech had been experimenting with weird machines for years. Artificial gravity. Energy condensers. Neural amplifiers.
None of it changed the world the way Vale promised it would.
Marcus stifled a laugh.
'Man, I can't wait to be out of this place.' He thought to himself.
Reggie, the guard stationed a few meters away, caught Marcus's eye and mouthed, Kill me. Marcus had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing.
He mouthed back, Don't tempt me, then glanced up at the clock.
6:47 p.m.
The conference started at five which meant he had endured two hours of this crap. Two hours of corporate jargon mixed with pseudo-science.
He sighed and turned his gaze back to the stage just in time to see Vale's assistant—a short woman in a red suit—steps up to whisper something to him. His expression flickers for a moment, just a flash of irritation before the smile returned. Then he nodded and looked around the room.
"Time has always been humanity's greatest prison," he said, voice rising. "But what if it could be bent? What if yesterday, today, and tomorrow were threads we could pull at will? The Aletheia Core holds the key to that future."
The man paused for dramatic effect, and the spotlight bathed his face in cold white light.
"Tonight," the CEO declared, "we make history—not by talking about the impossible, but by showing it." He smiled. "This won't be just a presentation; it will be a demonstration."
That got everyone's attention.
The quiet murmuring in the crowd faded. Even Marcus straightened. Demonstration? That hadn't been mentioned in the briefing, and it definitely wasn't in the schedule. He'd read the event memo. Twice!
Reggie cursed under his breath, "Fuck. Just when I thought he was finally done."
A cluster of lab-coated scientists hurried onto the stage, their faces tense. They spread out around the machine, activating floating holo-screens. Numbers flickered midair—temperature readings, energy levels, spatial metrics Marcus didn't pretend to understand.
"Activating temporal stabilization field," one of them called out.
The lights dimmed.
The hall turned a deep ocean blue as the cables feeding the Aletheia Core pulsed brighter. A low hum filled the room, the kind that buzzed against Marcus's ribs. He felt static crawling up his arms.
"Behold," Vale announced, "the first artificial rift in the fabric of time."
The hum deepened into a throbbing vibration. The Core began to spin, layers of metal rotating in opposite directions until they blurred. A column of white light shot upward, stabbing through the ceiling's reinforced glass. Papers flew. The crowd gasped.
Marcus flinched as his earpiece erupted with static.
"Jesus Christ…" Reggie whispered, gripping his sidearm.
"Stay calm," Marcus instructed, even though his voice wasn't steady either.
The floor trembled under them. The lights blinking once—then twice.
Vale's voice cut through the noise: "We're stabilizing the flow! Don't shut it down!"
But the scientists weren't listening. Panic had already taken hold.
"Core's overheating!" someone shouted. "Flux levels are off the charts!"
Then the machine screamed, and the air tore apart.
BOOM.
The explosion was like a shockwave. Lights burst, and glass shattered. Marcus was thrown backward, slamming into the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. He hissed, ears ringing, as the world dissolved into smoke and sirens. The taste of metal filled his mouth; heat searing his skin.
"Power down! Shut it off!"
Vale's voice cut through again, ragged, furious. "No! If you interrupt the flow, the field will—"
The rest of his sentence vanished in a burst of static.
Then came the silence.
Marcus blinked through the haze. The smoke hung still, unmoving, like the air itself had frozen. Sparks from shattered cables floated mid-fall, unmoving, frozen in place.
His pulse thundered in his ears as he rose slowly, boots crunching over broken glass. The entire auditorium looked… suspended.
Like a photograph brought to life.
Bodies hung mid-motion—executives shielding their faces, scientists frozen mid-sprint. Even Reggie was caught mid-flinch, mouth open, eyes wide.
Marcus turned toward the stage.
The Aletheia Core still pulsed faintly, light blinking like a heartbeat about to die. Around it, space looked warped, bent—like someone had torn the world and hadn't bothered to stitch it back properly.
He took a shaky breath.
"What the hell…"
He stepped forward, and the air rippled around him. The hum of the Core deepened again, soft but alive, like it was responding.
For a second, something moved inside the light—something vaguely human but stretched and distorted, like a reflection seen through shattered glass.
Marcus froze, his heart stuttering as he reached for his gun, but before he could get hold of it, the light pulsed again—and everything went black.
When he opened his eyes again, the hall was gone.
The lights. The stage. The people.
Everything…
All of it—gone.
He blinked, trying to breathe.
His badge was still on his chest. His gun was still strapped to his side. But the world around him felt wrong as if time—if that's what this was—had fractured.
And the first thought that crossed his mind—pathetically enough— wasn't where am I? or what happened?
It was…
I really should've quit yesterday.