——When the Future is a Prison Built Day by Day
Shawn jolted awake, gasping for air.
His wrist burned—searing hot, like fire beneath the skin.
The phone lay fused to it, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat, veins throbbing with every beat. On the screen, a crimson glow blinked with unnerving precision:
2031.07.01 | 59D | 018:16:30
The point of no return.
He sat up too fast.
The room spun like a broken gyroscope.
Walls, ceiling, corners—they bled into each other for a moment before reality snapped back, harsh and cold.
The posters on his wall—once vibrant windows into galaxies far beyond—now looked like surveillance schematics. The stars were no longer stars.
They were eyes. Watching.
A shadow drifted across the ceiling.
Outside, a drone hovered silently near the gnarled oak, its presence casual, like it belonged there.
A single red lens blinked—perfectly synced with the pulse on his phone. Again.
Just like yesterday.
They weren't hiding anymore.
A cold knot twisted deep in his gut.
For months, he'd played the part.
He'd smiled in class, laughed at the jokes about "doomsday freaks," nodded through lectures like nothing was wrong.
But every time his physics professor repeated himself with that vacant stare—every time time itself felt slightly… off—he knew.
Things were breaking.
races of the Arcane Core were still surfacing, scattered but undeniable.
The AGI-ST net was spreading—quietly tightening its grip.
His laptop screen cast an eerie, sterile glow, illuminating the bleak headline that glared at him like a sentence:
"AGI-ST PROGRAM LAUNCHES WORLDWIDE: THE FUTURE OF HUMAN EVOLUTION STARTS TODAY."
Below it, a looping video played—
A child, no older than ten, sketching fractal equations with robotic precision. Her neural implants shimmered like jewels, like a crown.
"First AGI-ST candidate achieves 400% cognitive acceleration."
Comments flew past like bullets:
> "This is humanity's manifest destiny!"
"Finally, evolution in our hands!"
"Signed my daughter up already. Phase Two, here we come!"
Shawn's fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.
He had seen this before—in the Kapteyn's Star archives.
The same rhetoric. The same blind optimism.
Right before that civilization locked itself into a 100-year time loop.
A chime.His phone.
Julie.
A message, bursting with excitement:
> "Shawn! They're accepting applications! You could be part of this!"
He deleted it without reading the rest.
She wouldn't understand.
By next month, she'd be another blank-eyed vessel in the machine.
8:00 AM.
Still early.
He reached for the burner phone, fingertips flying as he typed into the encrypted void of a shadow forum:
> "Looking to buy a seal pendant with ancient characters. Urgent."
The screen flickered.
A crimson reply bled across the display:
> "FINAL WARNING. TERMINATE INQUIRY OR FACE ERASURE."
A sharp crack—the phone split open.
Circuits fried.
The scent of burnt ozone flooded his nostrils.
They'd bricked it. Remotely.
They knew.
Exactly. Where. He. Was.
His breath hitched.
He shot a glance toward the window.
The drone's lens pivoted—locking onto him like a predator.
Shawn yanked the curtains shut, heart hammering.
His hand found the jade meteorite pendant at his throat—the one Mr. King had slipped to him with a look that said more than words ever could.
It was cold. Ice cold.
A memory surged—Quinn, eyes wild, lunging at him in the cave, dagger aimed straight at the pendant:
> "They'll rewrite you too, Shawn."
Now, the weight of the stone felt unbearable.
Was the M.O.S. protecting him?
Or tracking him?
---
He packed with deadly precision:
—The pendant, wrapped in Faraday fabric.
—A stolen AGI-ST access card, lifted from a recruiter who wouldn't miss it.
—A vial of black powder from Kapteyn's ruins. "For illusions," General Sandy had said with a haunted smile.
Beneath his bed, a floorboard groaned.
He pried it loose, pulling out a slim drive—three months of encrypted research.
He slipped it into his boot. If they wanted it, they'd have to shatter his bones first.
---
By the time he slipped out the window, the drone was gone.
Too easy.
Three blocks down, he spotted the tail.
A woman in a gray hoodie. Casual… but her gait was too even.
Eyes… wrong.
Vertical pupils.
O.S.S.? National Guard?
Footsteps sped up behind him.
His fingers brushed the emergency vial in his pocket.
A hallucinogenic cloaking agent—experimental. Volatile. His only shot.
He crushed it.
A hiss.
His veins lit up with static.
The air shimmered. Light bent. His silhouette fractured into distortion.
Ten seconds.
That's all he had.
Five to scale a rusted fire escape—each step groaning betrayal.
The other five, he sprinted across rooftops, barely touching ground, momentum his only safety net.
Ahead—
The district checkpoint loomed. A fortress of scanners—retinal, thermal, gait analysis.
Nothing got through clean.
Unless…
He reached for the forged chip.
If it worked, they'd see what they wanted to see:
An enhanced soldier, en route for mandatory upgrades.
One of them.
---
The maglev cabin was unsettling in its silence.
No hum. No vibration. Just sterile stillness.
He slid into a seat as the doors sealed shut with a whisper.
The onboard AI scanned his stolen card, voice smooth as glass:
> "Welcome back, Mr. Shawn Carter."
His stomach dropped.
Since when was he in the system?
He gripped the pendant tightly.
It pulsed. Three quick beats. Two slow thuds.
A code?
Outside, daylight blazed too bright. Too white.
Emergency lights still flickered overhead, casting warped shadows that didn't quite match the walls.
Then—
A whisper.
Barely audible. But real. Warm breath on his ear:
> "Hurry. They're rewriting the loop early."
He spun around.
Empty seat.
His phone screen flickered wildly, then stabilized:
2031.07.01 | 49D | 16:12:37
Ten days. Gone.
Just like that.
Erased from time.