2025-07-05 01:23:10Bobby couldn't sleep that night. He lay in bed—his body covered with a blanket—all the way to his chin. He was staring at the ceiling as faint cracks divided the paint like lightning veins. His heart was still pounding. Every creak of the house made him flinch often. He was haunted by fear.
The shattered screen of his phone lay next to him. It was as lifeless as the silence. The message still played repeatedly in his mind: "Your life is in great danger. A tall black man with a bald head, and a brown stylish mustache is coming after you. Please, avoid him at all costs. I’ll contact you again. —Bob, from the future." He’d tried everything—restarting his phone (no luck), scanning it with his laptop (no connection). The message was gone. Wiped. Like it had never existed. But Bobby knew what he saw. What he felt. The lights flickering. The radio hissing. The phone screen cracking in his hand. It doesn't seem like a prank. It wasn’t a dream—it was real. And it didn't seem like a coincidence either. Someone—or something—had broken the rules of reality just to talk to him. And that someone had been… himself. “Bob, from the future.” He whispered it loudly, testing how it sounded. It didn’t feel real to him. Not yet. But it would. --- Bobby showed up late for school the next morning. He walked quickly, cutting down the side alleys behind Maple Street and avoiding the main roads. He kept his hood up. Head down. Eyes darting to every car, every stranger. He kept waiting to see him. The man from the message. Tall. Black. Bald. Stylish mustache. It was all burned into his brain now. What if he wasn’t a stranger? What if he’d seen him before and just hadn’t noticed? What if he was already watching? --- School passed in a blur of paranoia. In Chemistry, Bobby couldn’t focus. The beakers might as well have been made of fog. He stared out the window the entire period, watching a delivery van sit parked too long across the street. In History, he flinched when the projector buzzed and cast a glitchy red image on the wall. He kept checking the power sockets beneath his desk—hoping to spot or find another spark, another flash, another clue. Just something helpful. In the cafeteria, he was seated in the far back corner, his back closer to the wall, barely digging into his sandwich while acting as if he is scrolling through his broken phone—a pretense he decided to indulge in. He could barely even tell why he brought it in the first place. The screen was still cracked. The top corner flickered sometimes, and phantom inputs made it behave like it had a ghost of its own. But it felt like a relic now. A symbol. Proof that something had changed. That he had changed. --- The notebook became his anchor. He filled it between classes, during lunch, even while pretending to pay attention. Page after page of theories, warnings, and diagrams: EM pulses = temporal triggers? Digital time-stamping = loophole for message embedding? Did the signal piggyback on microwave traffic? Wi-Fi? 5G? He even started sketching out a new device—something stronger than his signal-scanner app. Maybe a modified SDR (software-defined radio) rig with a dedicated quantum noise filter. Something capable of scanning not just space, but time. If Future Bob could send a message… maybe Bobby could send one back. But the questions wouldn’t stop. Why was he in danger? Why had he sent the warning? And most important of all: Was the man actually trying to hurt him? --- When the day ended, Bobby's hoodie was already soaked in sweat. His palms were clammy. His thoughts were undergoing a relay race he couldn’t stop. He told himself he won't head straight home. If there was a possibility that someone would follow him, he didn’t want to lead them to his doorstep. He felt that would be very risky. So he explored other routes home, crossed through the alley by the Dollar Matt, and eagerly climbed up to the overpass closer to the train tracks— such is a spot where he sometimes came to think and relax mentally. It overlooked the main road, a sluggish river of cars slowly moving towards rush hour. Down below, horns honked and tires screeched while the wind tossed trash around from a distance above. He sat on the concrete edge, watching traffic crawl beneath him while his legs were dangling. The afternoon sun decorated the atmosphere in dusty gold. Distant sirens wailed like some mechanical banshee. He tried to breathe through it. Tried to find calm in the chaos. But everything felt sharp—edges on every sound, every thought. His nerves were live wires. Was he being watched? Was someone really after him? He kept seeing that message in his head. “Hey, freak!” The voice snapped him out of it. Derek again—football jacket, smug smile, flanked by two of his goons. Like some bad dream that refused to end. Bobby stood up fast, his legs stiff from sitting. “Not today.” “Aww, come on,” Derek mocked. “We missed your genius lectures on wormholes or whatever.” His friends snickered like backup singers to his every insult. “I said not today,” Bobby repeated. He tightened his fists, trying to prevent them from shaking uncontrollably. His voice was low but sharp. Derek moved further, closing a slight distance between him —nostrils blazing like he smelled something pungent—weakness. “Or what?” For a moment, Bobby didn’t answer. He just stared. Then something inside him cracked and flared. Not fear—something else. He stepped forward. Closer than he usually dared. “I know what you are,” Bobby said softly. “And I know what I’m going to be.” Derek frowned. “What?” “I don’t need your permission to matter.” He didn’t shout it. He didn’t flinch. He just stared into Derek’s eyes, let the words hang there like smoke in the air. And then Bobby shoved past him. And for once… they didn’t follow. He didn’t turn around to check. He just walked. Maybe they were confused. Maybe they were too stunned to react. Or maybe—for once—he scared them. --- The sun was almost down by the time Bobby started walking home. The shadows were longer now. Stretching across the sidewalks like claws. He stuck to quieter streets, still paranoid. Every car that slowed made his stomach twist. Every stranger made his hand curl into a fist. He glanced at storefront reflections. Windows. Anything that might show someone behind him. Nothing. The further he got to home, the feeling grew worse. A pressure. Like something was about to snap. --- He turned towards the corner of Greenvale Street, a few distance from his house. And that’s when his eyes met him, standing firmly across the street that is closer to the bus stop. Tall. Black. Bald. Brown stylish mustache. It was like the message had stepped off the screen and into reality. Bobby froze. His heart pounded heavily. This time, it felt like a nail was hammered toward his ribs. His breathing went shallow. His mind screamed desperately to move but his legs refused to yield. They were locked in place. The man stood perfectly still. He wore a black coat. Not cheap, either. Something heavy, tactical. It swayed tenderly in the breeze. His shoes were neatly polished. His posture? Impeccable. He wasn’t talking. Wasn’t walking. Just watching. Not like a predator. Not like a friend. Just… studying as if trying to decide something. The street between them was empty. No cars. No sounds. Just wind. And then— The man took a step forward. Bobby blinked. That was all it took. He turned and ran.
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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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