2025-07-05 17:05:18The phone vibrated again in Bobby’s trembling hand, as if impatient.
“Took you long enough. We don’t have much time. – B” He read it three times. Four. Each time his throat grew tighter. "Took you long enough." So Future Bob had been waiting. "We don’t have much time." Which meant something worse was coming. Or maybe... it was already here. Bobby didn’t move. He gazed at the screen as if the text itself might transform into something with hands and strangle him. Then the screen flickered. Just once. Barely noticeable. Like a blink. And then—it was gone. The message disappeared. No notification. No history. No trace in the inbox. Gone, like a whisper in fog. --- He spent the next hour trying to retrieve it—scanning system logs, poking through cache directories. But the phone was too old, too basic. It didn’t even keep temp files without root access. And Bobby wasn’t about to root his one working connection to the future and risk bricking it. He eventually gave up on the search and sat there, gazing at the message he had recorded in his notebook. “Took you long enough. We don’t have much time. – B” “Okay,” he muttered to himself, pen in hand. “If this is really from Future Me, why cryptic? Why not a full explanation? Coordinates? A voice message, anything?” He scrawled possibilities on the page: Limited bandwidth through time? Risk of being intercepted? Future Me doesn’t trust Present Me? He circled that last one. And then underlined it. “Would I trust me?” he asked the silence. “If I knew what I’d become?” He didn’t like the answer. --- The day went by like a fever dream. He remained inside, only opening the door to get soda and instant noodles from the kitchen. His parents didn’t ask questions. They rarely did. He kept the phone in sight at all times, watching for another message, another flicker, a signal. But nothing came. Bobby did the only thing he could think of as the sun started to sink past the rooftops outside and cast long shadows across his posters and monitors. He prepared. He opened his notebook and sketched out a rudimentary antenna—based on the designs of old ham radios but modified with a few scavenged parts from his closet: a broken drone propeller, copper wiring, a few salvaged capacitors. If Future Bob could send data through some temporal echo, then maybe Bobby could improve his reception. He soldered until his fingers ached. Wired until his head throbbed. By midnight, he had a Frankenstein setup duct-taped to the inside of his closet door—ugly, buzzing faintly, and probably a fire hazard. But it worked. Sort of. The rig hummed with the sound of a sleeping animal. For being mounted inside a temporary signal cradle, the cheap phone remained strangely silent. Bobby switched off the lights and went straight to bed. He gazed at the screen glowing softly across the room. He whispered one thing before sleep took him. “Send more.” --- He woke to the buzz at 3:47 AM. The sound startled him. He hurried to his feet, almost tripping over a tangle of wires, and grabbed the phone One new message. No number. No timestamp. Just a single line: “Don't look outside.” Bobby blinked. Then, reflexively—he looked outside. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. At the end of the block, illuminated by the orange halo of a flickering streetlamp… stood the man. Tall. Black. Bald. Tactical coat. Impossibly still. Watching. Bobby wondered how long he had been there as he quickly descended to the floor, his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing unsteady. Then the phone buzzed again. “I said don’t look.” A third message followed instantly: “Now he knows you’re home.” Bobby grabbed the nearest blanket and covered the window. Then he killed the lights. Shut off the antenna. Unplugged everything. When there was no knock or boot hitting the door, he convinced himself it was okay to breathe. He had been seated in the dark for too long. However, he did not sleep again. --- By sunrise, Bobby had made a decision. If Future Bob wasn’t going to give him answers, he’d get them himself. He needed to understand how this all worked. How the messages came through. Why the man was after him. And, most importantly, what Future Bob was trying to stop—or start. So, he started digging. Not literally. Digitally. He spent hours searching everything he could about time-based data signals, quantum broadcasting, retrocausal messaging. He dove deep into rabbit holes of abandoned forums, academic papers, obscure YouTube lectures with 32 views and a single like. But still couldn't find anything helpful. --- By mid-afternoon, Bobby needed air. He hadn’t left the house in over a day. Every muscle ached. He put on a hoodie, kept the phone in his front pocket, and walked. Not far. Just in the vicinity of the neighborhood. After crossing the cul-de-sac. Across the playground that's dried out and the tennis courts that've never been used. He ended up behind middle school, occupying the rusty bleachers and watching clouds roll in like dirty cotton. Wet asphalt and rain that never came were the smell of the wind. He commenced typing questions after opening the notes app. Rapid-fire: How far in the future is Bob from? What caused the split? Why messages and not physical intervention? Who is the man? Why do I need to be alive? But the phone stayed quiet. No new alerts. No blinking messages. Just the stillness, and the helplessness of being in the dark. --- After that, he wandered for a while. Looped through back streets. Down past the edge of Jefferson Drive, toward the train tracks where stray dogs sometimes roamed. He wasn’t going anywhere specific. Just moving. As if the fear couldn't be prevented by movement alone. He ended up at the drainage ditch behind the abandoned service station, which is one of the places adults warn children to stay away from. Like bruises, graffiti stuck to the walls. The slope was filled with crushed cans. Bobby climbed down without hesitation and hid in the tunnel, half curious and half oblivious. There was a smell of mildew and old rain inside. He found a patch that was dry, sat down, pulled out the phone again, but he couldn't find anything. The more he stared at the screen, the more useless it felt. Whatever was coming… it wasn’t going to be solved through a touchscreen. --- The sky became darker by the time he climbed back out. Heavy clouds and streetlights that blinked on early made evening creep in. He opted for the shortcut to his neighbourhood, which is behind the pawn shop and bakery, which always smelled of burnt sugar. As he stepped into the alley, something felt off. Still. Too still. No humming AC units. No cars passing. Then—movement. A shape. At the far end. Bobby's breath trembled. He was there. The man. Standing on the edge of the alley. Facing him. Closer now. No streetlamp. There is only a faint blue twilight. But unmistakable. He turned to run again but this time, he slipped. A trash bin slammed behind him, and he hit the pavement hard, scraping his elbow. He scrambled up and sprinted away -- through the gate that was located behind the bakery, across someone's backyard, and jumped over a fence. He kept going. He didn't even glance back His feet was hurting, his lungs screamed, his hoodie flapped against his arms. He passed through an empty parking lot. Down a path between trees. Under a rusted chain. And into the old storm tunnel beneath the park—the particular one where he used to challenge friends to crawl through in second grade. He ducked inside, heart pounding, chest heaving. Darkness swallowed him completely. He crept deeper, water trickling beneath his shoes. He Stopped. Listened. Nothing. Just the sound of a leaking pipe dripping and his own panicked breath. He leaned against the tunnel wall, trying to stay quiet. Trying to be still. Trying to disappear. Then— A shadow. It moved across the entrance like a curtain of smoke. He held his breath. Footsteps followed. Deliberate. Measured. Bobby turned immediately and ran deeper into the tunnel, slipping once, hands grazing the cold concrete as he sprinted forward. There was a ladder up ahead—he remembered from years ago—that it leads to a rusted-out maintenance hatch. He reached it, started to climb. Halfway up, he was caught. A hand grabbed his ankle firmly. Strong. Unyielding. Bobby tried to pull out of his hold, he kicked, tried to scream, but the man's grip was strong and he was already pulling him down. He slipped from the rung and hit the tunnel floor with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs. In the darkness, the man's shape overshadowed him. Closer than ever. He reached for Bobby’s hoodie—gripping it like a lifeline. Bobby stared up into his eyes. And for the first time… the man spoke. “Stop running,” he said, with a deep and cold voice deep and cold. "I'm here to stop you before it's too late.”
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Chapter Forty
The third day broke under a sky bruised with gray.Bobby’s legs ached from the climb, his throat dry, but he didn’t complain. Darius moved slower than ever, grimacing with every step, but never stopping. The coordinates led them farther from the city’s crumbling edges and deeper into places where even time seemed reluctant to touch.The valley was wild, choked with thickets and stone. Few traces of roads remained—just cracked asphalt swallowed by roots. The world here felt like it had been abandoned centuries ago.And at the center of it all, hidden beneath the jagged cliffs, was their destination.The coordinates matched perfectly.A bunker.Half-buried, half-collapsed, its steel doors rusted and torn. Moss crept along its edges like nature was trying to erase it.Bobby stared, heart thudding. “This is it.”Darius’s eyes narrowed. “Looks like hell chewed it up and spat it out.”They approached cautiously. Bobby’s shoes crunched over gravel, every sound magnified in the still air.The
Chapter Thirty-nine
Bobby didn’t keep it from him this time.He couldn’t.The secret burned too hot, too heavy, gnawing at his ribs like fire. By dawn, when the pale light crept into the broken windows of the maintenance building, Bobby finally forced himself to speak.“I need to tell you something,” he said.Darius had just finished bandaging his side again, the rough strip of cloth spotted with old blood. He looked up, weary but sharp. “What is it?”Bobby’s throat felt dry. He pulled the folded scrap of paper from his pocket—the one with the coordinates scrawled in shaky ink—and set it down on the dusty floor between them.“He sent this.”Darius stared at it. His jaw tightened. He didn’t ask who. He already knew.“Coordinates,” Darius muttered, reaching out with trembling fingers. He unfolded the paper, scanned the numbers, and let out a long, tired breath. “Figures.”Bobby braced himself. “I want to go.”Darius’s head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”---Silence stretched. Dust hung in the air, caught in
Chapter Thirty-eight
Bobby stared at the glowing words on his phone.The offer still stands.His hands shook. His throat felt tight. The screen dimmed after a few seconds, but the words still burned in his mind, etched into him like scars.He wanted to smash the phone. Throw it against the wall until it shattered into a thousand useless pieces.But even then—he knew.It wouldn’t matter.Future Bob would just find another way to speak.He always did.---Darius stirred beside him in the tunnel, coughing hard. His breath rattled as he shifted against the wall. “Still awake?” he rasped.Bobby shoved the phone into his pocket. “Yeah. Can’t sleep.”“Neither can I.” Darius adjusted painfully, hand pressed to his ribs. He tried to hide the wince, but Bobby noticed. He always noticed now.Guilt gnawed at him. He could still hear Future Bob’s voice like a whisper in the dark. Kill him. Cut the weight. Take control.Bobby squeezed his fists so tight his nails bit his palms.No.He wouldn’t do it.He wouldn’t.---M
Chapter Thirty-seven
Bobby barely slept after the vision.Every time he closed his eyes, the shards of light returned—flickering like broken mirrors in the dark, replaying those awful images of himself standing over cities in ruin, his golden-eyed reflection staring back.When dawn crept into the tunnels, thin and gray, he was still awake.And something pulsed in his skull.A low thrum.Not a headache. Not exactly.It was a rhythm, steady and insistent, like a heartbeat that wasn’t his own.He pressed his palms to his temples, breathing hard. But the rhythm only grew louder, until it filled his mind completely.And then he saw it.The ChronoCore.---It wasn’t like seeing with his eyes. It was deeper—etched inside his skull.A massive sphere of glass and metal, suspended in a void without walls. Its surface rippled with light and code, streams of glowing numbers that twisted like rivers. Symbols flickered across it—alien, unreadable, but somehow familiar.At its center, he glimpsed something darker. A sha
Chapter Thirty-six
Bobby hadn’t meant to say it aloud.But the words tumbled out anyway.“He wants me to kill you.”The silence in the tunnel shattered like glass.Darius froze where he sat, the dim glow of the cracked lantern carving shadows across his bruised face. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.Then his eyes narrowed. “What?”Bobby swallowed hard, fists tightening around his knees. “Future Bob. He sent me a message last night. He said you’d betray me—that I should kill you before it happens.”Darius’s expression didn’t change. He just leaned back against the wall, exhaling slow, eyes searching Bobby’s face as if to measure the truth.Finally, he gave a humorless laugh. “So he knows about the deal.”Bobby flinched. “The deal… yeah.”“Of course he knows.” Darius’s gaze flickered toward the darkness beyond the platform. “Every word we say feels like it’s under his thumb.”“But that’s the thing,” Bobby cut in quickly. His throat burned, but the words pushed themselves out. “I didn’t a
Chapter Thirty-five
The phone screen glowed faint blue in the dark tunnel.Bobby’s pulse thundered in his ears as he forced himself to read the message again, making sure the words didn’t change, didn’t rearrange themselves into something less monstrous.“Kill Darius Cross.”The rest of the text followed like a blade twisting in his chest.“He will betray you. He already has. Don’t wait for it to happen. Do it first.”Bobby’s throat closed. His mouth went dry.It was one thing to hear Darius say the word deal, one thing to hear him tell the Echo Loopers he would end Bobby if the time came. But this…This was different.Future Bob wasn’t warning. He wasn’t predicting. He was ordering.---Bobby’s fingers hovered over the keypad. His chest heaved.No. Not him. Not Darius.He shut the phone off, tossed it down on his sleeping mat, and pressed his palms against his temples until his head hurt.Across the platform, Darius stirred in his sleep, coughing weakly. The man’s bandages were stained red, his breath s
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