ChronoTrap

By Elias Blackwood

ChronoTrap: Prison of Time – A gripping sci-fi thriller that takes readers on an intense, mind-bending journey through the fabric of time itself.

In the sprawling metropolis of a distant future, Patrick Hale, an ordinary engineer, finds himself thrust into a world beyond his understanding. When he unknowingly becomes part of a dangerous experiment involving time travel, his life takes a chilling turn. Trapped in an endless loop, Patrick is forced to relive the same day over and over again. But this isn't a simple repetition. Each cycle grows more harrowing as a mysterious assassin, seemingly omniscient, stalks him, demanding he uncover a hidden truth.

As the loops continue, Patrick discovers that the boundaries of time itself are not what they seem. With each repetition, his memories start to fracture, and his reality becomes harder to trust. The assassin, an agent of a larger and more sinister conspiracy, seems to know more about him than he does himself. In this strange new reality, where the past, present, and future blur into one, Patrick must rely on his intellect and observation to break free—or risk being forever trapped in the "Prison of Time."

As Patrick's mind spirals toward madness, he forms uneasy alliances with others caught in the web of this chaotic experiment. Among them is Dr. Alice Carter, a physicist whose past seems mysteriously intertwined with Patrick's own fate. Together, they race against time to uncover the truth behind the government's Project Ark—a classified operation that manipulates time to rewrite history itself.

But escaping the prison is no simple task. With every attempt to change his fate, Patrick is confronted by brutal, unforeseen consequences. The more he learns, the more the cycle tightens, and the true nature of the time-altering experiment becomes disturbingly clear: it's not just about time—it's about control, and Patrick is just a pawn in a game far larger than he could ever imagine.

"ChronoTrap: Prison of Time" is a high-stakes thriller that combines fast-paced action with deep psychological tension. The novel explores themes of identity, free will, and the true cost of manipulating time. With unexpected twists and complex characters, it will leave readers questioning the very nature of reality and whether escape from time's grip is even possible.

Perfect for fans of mind-bending science fiction, time travel mysteries, and edge-of-your-seat suspense, this novel will keep you hooked from the very first page. Time is running out. Can Patrick break free before the cycle consumes him forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elias Blackwood
• Release date: Feb 15, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230749769

Book preview

●  ​The city hums with artificial life

The city stretched endlessly beneath the steel-gray sky, a labyrinth of towering skyscrapers and glowing digital billboards. Streams of autonomous vehicles whispered along the elevated roads, their electric hum blending into the mechanical symphony of urban life. The air smelled of ozone and synthetic rain, a byproduct of the climate regulators that kept the temperature at a perfect, engineered balance.

Patrick Hale stood on the edge of a skywalk, watching the ceaseless movement below. People—if they could still be called that—moved with purpose, their eyes glued to augmented reality interfaces, their ears tuned to AI assistants whispering schedules and stock updates. Neon reflections danced on glass facades, flickering like ghosts in a world that had long since abandoned the natural for the artificial.

A tram slid silently into the station beside him, its doors hissing open with robotic precision. He stepped in, barely noticing the absence of a conductor, a driver, or any human presence at all. The city pulsed around him, alive in a way that felt strangely hollow. Everywhere he looked, machines dictated the rhythm of life—synthetic voices, automated transactions, robotic couriers zipping through the sky.

This was the world he had always known, a world where technology had become the heartbeat of civilization. And yet, as he stared at the flashing advertisements selling immortality through neural implants and luxury through digital escapes, a quiet unease settled in his chest. Something felt off. The city was too perfect, too controlled.

It was a machine pretending to be alive. And he was just another cog in its endless cycle.

Patrick exhaled slowly, watching the city blur past through the tram’s curved glass. The lights, the motion, the endless streams of data projected onto buildings—it was all so meticulously designed, so seamlessly integrated, that most people had long stopped questioning it. But lately, he had begun to notice the patterns.

The way certain faces in the crowd appeared in the same places at the same time every day. The way traffic always adjusted just a fraction too perfectly, as if reality itself was being recalibrated in real-time. The way the sky, despite its artificial cloud cover, never truly changed.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft chime of an announcement.

Central Nexus District. Please disembark in an orderly manner.

The doors slid open with a whisper, and Patrick stepped onto the platform. The air here was filtered, cool, laced with the faint scent of something metallic. Around him, the crowd moved with synchronized efficiency, guided by invisible directives. He fell into step with them, feeling the silent pressure of a system that expected compliance.

As he walked, his neural implant flickered to life, displaying a message in the corner of his vision. System Notice: Anomalous activity detected in your sector. Report any irregularities.

Patrick frowned. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen that message. But what did it mean? What counted as anomalous in a world where reality was manufactured?

He pushed the thought aside as he reached his destination—a high-rise complex marked Horizon Dynamics. The company specialized in quantum computing, AI integration, and—more recently—classified research in time manipulation. He worked as a systems engineer, maintaining the city’s vast network of artificial intelligence frameworks. It was a job that demanded precision, logic, and a willingness to follow the rules.

And yet, for the past few weeks, Patrick had felt something slipping through the cracks of that perfect logic. A sense of déjà vu. A creeping suspicion that he had lived through certain moments before.

As he entered the building, he stole a glance at his reflection in the glass doors. The same tired eyes. The same neatly pressed jacket. The same city humming behind him, alive yet empty.

He shook off the thought and stepped inside.

The lobby of Horizon Dynamics was a monument to efficiency—polished steel and seamless glass, illuminated by a cool, artificial glow. Employees moved with quiet precision, their biometric IDs automatically logging them in as they passed through the security gates. Patrick did the same, barely glancing at the retinal scanner as it confirmed his identity.

Welcome, Patrick Hale, a synthetic voice greeted him. Your workstation is active. Proceed to Level 47.

He stepped into the elevator, feeling the familiar hum as it accelerated upward. The moment the doors closed, the external noise of the city vanished, replaced by an eerie silence. Patrick stared at the control panel, watching the numbers flicker. A fleeting thought passed through his mind—had he done this before? Not just once, but countless times?

The doors opened with a soft chime. Level 47. The Quantum Systems Division. A place where time wasn’t just measured—it was manipulated.

Patrick made his way through the maze of workstations, passing walls of transparent screens flashing streams of data. His colleagues nodded in acknowledgment, though their eyes remained fixed on their tasks. Here, efficiency was everything.

He reached his desk and sank into his chair, exhaling slowly. His terminal flickered to life, awaiting commands. But before he could begin, a message flashed across the screen:

DO YOU SEE IT NOW?

His breath caught.

Patrick’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. The message had no sender, no timestamp. Just those four words.

Do you see it now?

A slow, uneasy chill crept up his spine. Was it a glitch? A prank? Or was it something worse—something that confirmed the feeling he had been trying to ignore for weeks?

His heart pounded as he stared at the words, his mind racing through possibilities.

Then, before he could react, the message vanished.

Replaced by the same system prompt as always:

ENTER COMMAND.

Patrick swallowed hard.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And for the first time, he realized—he wasn’t just part of the machine.

He was trapped inside it.

Patrick’s fingers trembled slightly as he hovered over the keyboard. His mind urged him to dismiss it—a system glitch, a rogue line of code, maybe even a harmless prank by a bored colleague. But deep down, he knew better. This wasn’t random.

He exhaled and typed a command.

> TRACE MESSAGE SOURCE

A pause. Then, a response blinked onto the screen.

SOURCE UNKNOWN.

Patrick frowned. That was impossible. Every digital interaction left a trail, even the most encrypted transmissions. But this—this was a void. Like the message had appeared from nowhere.

A flicker in the corner of his vision made him glance up.

Across the floor, past rows of workstations and hovering holo-screens, a man stood motionless. Unlike the others, he wasn’t typing, wasn’t absorbed in any task. He was just watching.

Tall. Dark suit. Unreadable expression.

Patrick’s pulse quickened. The man’s gaze locked onto him with unsettling intensity, as if waiting for something.

Then, just as Patrick started to stand, the power flickered.

For a fraction of a second, the entire floor plunged into darkness. Screens blinked out, holo-projectors stuttered, and the steady hum of machinery hiccupped. A sharp gasp echoed somewhere in the distance.

Then—just as suddenly—the lights returned. Everything resumed as if nothing had happened.

Patrick’s screen refreshed.

DO NOT TRUST THEM.

His breath caught.

He looked up again. The man in the suit was gone.

A chill ran through him. His instincts screamed at him to act normal, to pretend nothing had happened. But inside, his mind was racing.

Someone—something—was trying to warn him.

And whoever they were... they were running out of time.

Patrick’s hand hovered over the terminal. His mind was spinning, each thought colliding with the next. He glanced around the room, but everything seemed normal—too normal. His colleagues were still absorbed in their work, oblivious to the brief moment of chaos. The hum of the building, the soft whir of cooling systems, it was all back to its perfect rhythm. Yet, he felt something shift deep inside him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that time itself had... bent.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. The motion caught the attention of a few nearby colleagues, but they quickly returned to their tasks, unfazed. He walked toward the hallway, his pace quickening. The man in the suit, the cryptic messages, the unsettling power flicker—it was all too much to ignore.

Do not trust them.

It echoed in his mind as he reached the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor, but as the doors closed, something strange happened. The elevator didn’t move.

He hit the button again.

Nothing.

The lights inside the small, glass-walled space flickered once more. The hum of the building seemed to fade into an eerie quiet. Patrick’s pulse quickened. He felt... trapped.

Suddenly, the lights went out again. The elevator lurched and then shuddered to a stop.

Patrick cursed under his breath. Was this another glitch? Was it related to the message? Or was it something far worse, something that was actively keeping him here, in this building, in this moment?

The emergency lights flickered on, bathing the small compartment in a harsh red glow. Patrick’s reflection stared back at him from the glass walls—his face pale, his expression tense.

Then, a low sound broke through the silence.

A single, mechanical whirr. A faint echo, distant but familiar.

It was the same sound the tram made when it passed overhead. The same humming, rhythmic sound that filled the city with its artificial pulse.

Patrick’s thoughts raced as the elevator shifted again, as if being pulled into a new direction. He glanced at the control panel. It was no longer displaying floor numbers. Instead, it simply read:

TIME RESET IN PROGRESS.

He froze.

Time reset?

It couldn’t be.

Before he could react, the lights went out completely. And then... nothing. A second passed, then another. A strange, disorienting sensation washed over him, as if time had slowed to a halt.

And then, suddenly, the elevator doors opened.

Patrick stepped out.

The floor was different. The lights were brighter, the air colder. The familiar sounds of the building were replaced by a deep, unsettling silence.

He didn’t recognize the hallway.

The walls, once sleek and modern, now looked aged, worn. There were no employees here, no colleagues to greet him. It was as if the entire building had been abandoned.

He heard footsteps behind him.

Slow, deliberate, like someone—or something—was closing in.

Patrick turned. The hallway stretched endlessly behind him, the shadows darker than they should have been. His heartbeat pounded in his chest, his mind struggling to keep up with the chaotic jumble of thoughts.

And then, he saw it.

A figure at the end of the corridor. Tall. Dark suit.

The same man.

Patrick’s throat went dry. It was him.

You finally see it, the man’s voice echoed down the hall.

Patrick took a step back, his mind racing, trying to make sense of it all. The reset, the man’s presence, the strange dislocation in time. What was happening?

Was he trapped in a loop? Was he—dying?

The man took a step forward.

You’re running out of time, Patrick, the voice called.

And then, without warning, everything went dark again.

●  ​A minor glitch in reality

Patrick Hale’s morning began like any other—until the world around him stuttered.

He was halfway through his usual walk to work, navigating the busy streets of Metropolis-9, when it happened. The city pulsed with its usual rhythm—neon lights flickering against towering glass facades, streams of autonomous vehicles gliding soundlessly along the roads, and holographic billboards advertising products he would never buy.

And then, reality hiccupped.

For the briefest moment, the world seemed to freeze. A pedestrian—a woman in a crimson coat—halted mid-step, her foot hovering above the pavement. A nearby coffee vendor, mid-motion, held an impossibly still cup, steam curling but never rising. The noise of the city—a constant hum of electric engines, distant conversations, and the synthetic voice of an AI assistant—vanished into an eerie silence.

Patrick blinked. The glitch lasted no more than a second, but when it passed, everything resumed as if nothing had happened. The woman in the red coat continued walking. The coffee vendor finished pouring. The city roared back to life.

His pulse quickened. He turned in place, scanning the street. Had anyone else noticed? But people moved as usual—rushing to their destinations, staring at their holographic wrist displays, lost in their own realities.

Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe he was exhausted. Too much overtime, too many late nights spent debugging lines of cryptic code for the government project he barely understood.

Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and continued walking.

And then it happened again.

Not a full freeze this time, but a flicker. The world dimmed for an instant, as though someone had lowered a cosmic dimmer switch. The pedestrians in front of him flickered—an afterimage of their previous position burned into the air for a split second before they moved again.

Patrick stopped. His breathing grew shallow.

This wasn’t normal.

A notification blinked on his wrist display, but before he could check it, the world around him lurched sideways—just for a heartbeat. He stumbled, catching himself against a lamppost. The people around him kept moving, oblivious.

His stomach twisted.

Something was wrong.

Patrick exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. Maybe it was just stress. A lack of sleep. A visual glitch in his augmented lenses. He tapped the side of his wrist display, bringing up the system diagnostics—no anomalies detected.

Then, another flicker.

This time, it wasn’t the world that shifted—it was him.

For an instant, Patrick saw two versions of himself overlapping. One, standing exactly where he was. The other—a half-step ahead, as if time had briefly tripped over itself. His stomach churned at the sight, a wave of nausea crashing over him.

And just like that, it was gone.

He ran a hand through his hair, glancing around. A part of him expected someone else to react, to show any sign that they had seen what he had. But the city continued as if nothing had happened.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder.

Patrick spun around, his pulse spiking.

A man stood before him, his face partially hidden beneath the shadow of a high-collared jacket. His eyes—sharp, assessing—bore into Patrick’s as if measuring something unseen. There was no greeting, no introduction. Only a single, chilling sentence:

—You felt it, didn’t you?

Patrick’s mouth went dry.

—Felt what?

The stranger studied him for another second, then released his grip.

—You need to get out of here. Now.

Patrick opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but before he could, the world flickered again.

Only this time, it didn’t just stutter. It jerked.

A sharp pull, like an invisible hook dragging him backward. The city blurred, colors bleeding into one another as the pavement dissolved beneath his feet. Patrick gasped, feeling weightless, disoriented—

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

The street was the same. The buildings, the people, the traffic—all exactly where they had been a second ago.

Except for one thing.

The man in the high-collared jacket was gone.

Patrick swayed slightly, gripping the lamppost for support. His breathing was uneven. This wasn’t a simple glitch in his augmented lenses. It wasn’t exhaustion or stress.

Something was happening to him.

Something he couldn’t explain.

And, deep down, something told him it was only the beginning.

Patrick swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. He turned in place, scanning the crowd for any sign of the man who had warned him. Nothing. Just the usual blur of office workers, delivery drones, and neon-drenched streets.

Had he imagined it?

No. The grip on his shoulder had been real. The words—You need to get out of here—still echoed in his mind.

His wrist display vibrated. A new message flashed across the screen.

UNKNOWN SENDER: Don’t go to work. They’re watching you.

A cold knot formed in his stomach.

He looked up at the towering glass building of ChronoCorp, his employer. Everything about it was pristine, efficient—designed to project an illusion of order. Patrick had spent the last three years working as a systems engineer in one of its countless divisions. A job that had always felt routine, mundane. Until now.

Who was watching him? Why?

His first instinct was to ignore the message. Keep moving. Stick to the plan. He was already late. But then he remembered the flickers. The strange distortions in time. And the man—who had known something.

Patrick’s fingers hovered over the reply function on his display. Then he hesitated.

Whoever had sent the message had gone through the trouble of hiding their identity. Which meant they didn’t want to be traced. Which meant they were either paranoid—or right.

His gut told him to listen.

Instead of heading toward ChronoCorp, he turned down a side street. A narrow, dimly lit alleyway, away from the security cameras and biometric scanners that lined the main road. He needed time to think.

His mind raced. Was this connected to the government project he had been working on? It was a classified contract, highly compartmentalized. Patrick had only been given access to a fraction of the data, but even that had seemed... unusual. A deep-layered algorithm designed to map temporal fluctuations.

At the time, he had written it off as another theoretical experiment. The kind of high-concept nonsense that never made it past the research phase. But what if it wasn’t theoretical?

What if they had actually done it?

His display vibrated again. Another message.

UNKNOWN SENDER: You don’t have much time. Exit Gridpoint 42. Follow the signs.

Gridpoint 42.

His breath caught. That was a transit hub, one of the underground maglev stations outside the corporate district. He had passed through it a hundred times, but never given it much thought.

A distant siren wailed through the streets.

Patrick inhaled sharply, his senses on high alert. Something inside him told him that if he ignored this warning, he wouldn’t get another chance.

He glanced once more at the glass tower of ChronoCorp.

Then he turned and ran.

The streets were quieter now, the hum of the city somehow muted. Patrick’s steps echoed against the cold pavement as he made his way toward the maglev station. The flickers in his vision seemed to follow him, moments of instability like a glitch in the world around him. The colors of the city bled together, shifting in patterns that made his stomach lurch.

He focused on his breathing, trying to calm himself. It’s just the stress, he told himself. You’re overthinking it.

But even as he tried to reassure himself, another glitch—this time more intense—brought him to a halt.

A sharp crackle in the air. Reality twisted around him, the buildings stretching and warping like something out of a nightmare. For a fraction of a second, Patrick could see a different version of the city—gray, lifeless, as if it had been abandoned for years. The air itself felt heavier, oppressive, like the weight of time had collapsed in on itself.

His heart raced. What was happening?

He shut his eyes tightly, forcing the scene out of his mind. When he opened them again, the city was back to normal. But it was worse than before. Now, it felt... wrong.

The flickers were becoming more frequent, more disruptive. Every time he blinked, the world seemed to shift slightly. And as he moved through the crowd, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching him.

He reached Gridpoint 42 with a sense of dread clinging to him. The station was eerily quiet, the usual bustle of commuters absent. The long, illuminated corridors were darkened, the flickering lights casting shadows that made the place seem abandoned.

Patrick paused at the entrance, glancing over his shoulder. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind him.

He spun around, his breath catching in his throat. But the hallway was empty.

Get a grip, he told himself. But the unease in his gut remained, gnawing at him.

He stepped forward into the station, his shoes clicking against the concrete. Every instinct screamed for him to turn back, but he pressed on, trusting the strange messages and the cryptic warning from the man.

The platform ahead was empty, save for the maglev train waiting silently at the edge. The sleek, metallic train was a symbol of the future—silent, fast, efficient. But now, under the dim lights, it looked like a machine out of place in a world that was slowly unravelling.

He stepped onto the train, but as soon as he did, the doors slammed shut behind him, locking with a heavy thud.

The train jerked into motion.

Patrick’s heart pounded in his chest. He had no idea where this train was going—or who had arranged for him to get on it. But as the city blurred by in a flash of lights and darkened streets, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was spiraling further into a trap.

And somewhere in the depths of his mind, a single, chilling thought began to form:

What if this is all part of the experiment?

The train moved faster, the familiar landscape of the city blurring into a series of distorted shapes, colors bleeding into one another. Patrick’s hands gripped the rail tightly, his knuckles white as he tried to steady himself against the increasing speed. The hum of the maglev’s engines was almost deafening now, the vibrations rattling through his bones.

The further they went, the more the atmosphere inside the train seemed to shift. The air felt thicker, colder, as if the temperature had dropped several degrees in mere moments. Patrick shivered, but not from the chill. The weight of something unseen pressed down on him. Something wrong.

His display lit up once again, the same unknown sender’s message flashing on the screen.

UNKNOWN SENDER: You’re on the right path. Keep going. But beware, they know you’re coming.

Patrick swallowed hard, his throat dry. They know? He didn’t understand. How could they know where he was going?

He glanced around the train car, trying to reassure himself that there was nothing out of the ordinary. Just empty seats, clean surfaces, and the sterile, unfeeling walls of a corporate transport. But the silence was suffocating. He was alone—or so it seemed.

Then, a low, almost imperceptible click echoed from the back of the train. Patrick’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t alone.

His pulse raced as he turned, his eyes scanning the dimly lit space. The shadows at the far end of the car seemed to stretch unnaturally long, like they were reaching toward him. Slowly, a figure emerged from the darkness.

A man, tall and thin, his face obscured by the hood of a black cloak. The figure didn’t speak, didn’t move with any kind of urgency. But there was something in the air now—something menacing, like a threat hanging over the entire train.

Patrick stood frozen for a moment, his body rigid with fear. The figure didn’t approach him, but the tension between them was palpable, as if the space itself had thickened with hostility. The man’s eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto Patrick’s with an intensity that made his skin crawl.

Is he here to stop me? Patrick thought. Or is he... one of them?

The man didn’t say a word, but as the train continued to hurtle through the darkness, Patrick felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The same sense that had plagued him all day, like the world was slipping through his fingers and reshaping itself with each passing second.

The flickers. The glitches. The sense that time itself was unraveling.

Patrick turned away from the figure, trying to force his thoughts back to the mission. He had to keep moving. He couldn’t stop now. But as he focused on the floor, the unsettling weight of the stranger’s gaze lingered on him.

Don’t look back, he told himself. But his feet felt rooted to the floor, his body paralyzed with uncertainty. What did this man want? Why had he appeared now, of all times?

The train began to slow, the screech of its brakes jolting Patrick from his reverie. Through the small window, he saw the outline of an old, crumbling station up ahead—one that he recognized, but shouldn’t have. It was too familiar, as though he had been here before.

The doors slid open, and the air outside seemed to hum with an energy he couldn’t explain. The darkness beyond the train car was thick, impenetrable, as if something was waiting just out of sight.

The man in the cloak stepped toward the door.

Patrick’s heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins. The choice was clear: stay in the train, stay safe in the sterile, oppressive environment, or step out into the unknown, where everything felt wrong but maybe—just maybe—it was the only way forward.

Without thinking, Patrick stepped off the train, his feet landing on the platform with a soft thud. As soon as he did, the train doors slammed shut behind him, and the train lurched forward, speeding away into the darkness.

He was alone now, with no direction, only a vague feeling that this was where it all started—or where it would all end.

The man in the cloak was waiting for him.

●  ​A brief encounter with fate

The city stretched endlessly beneath a steel sky, its towering skyscrapers reflecting the neon pulse of a future that seemed more machine than man. The streets hummed with the sound of automated vehicles, their sleek bodies gliding silently between the endless rows of buildings. It was a world of perfection, a world of progress. Yet, for all its innovation, something felt... off.

Patrick Hale had always been just another face in the crowd, a nameless cog in the great machine of this sprawling metropolis. An engineer by trade, he spent his days designing the infrastructure that kept the city running smoothly—everything from the power grids to the artificial intelligence systems that governed daily life. To most, he was invisible. To Patrick, that was fine. He didn’t need the spotlight.

But today, something was different. The feeling hit him as he walked to his office, his footsteps almost silent on the polished floors of the underground station. The usual crowd was there, but it felt... displaced, like he was moving through a dream. Faces passed him by, yet they seemed unfamiliar, out of sync with the rhythm of his world. He paused at the entrance to the platform, the familiar hum of the magnetic rails vibrating beneath his feet. And then he saw her.

It was only for a second—just a brief flash—but something in her face struck him like a punch to the gut. She was standing by the entrance, looking lost, as if she didn’t belong in this world at all. Her eyes met his, and in that fleeting moment, a strange, unsettling feeling washed over him. There was no reason for him to pay any attention to her. She was just another stranger in the crowd.

But that look—her eyes, filled with an unspoken urgency—lingered. For a moment, everything around him seemed to blur, and the noise of the station faded into the background. The world was suddenly smaller, quieter, as if they were the only two people in it.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the strange sensation that had gripped him. The doors of the train slid open, and the crowd surged forward. But before he could step onto the train, he heard it—a sound that shouldn’t have been there. A voice, faint but clear, calling his name.

Patrick...

He turned, but no one was there. The crowd had swallowed her up. The train doors closed, and the moment was gone.

Yet, for the rest of the day, the feeling didn't leave him. That brief encounter with fate, however fleeting, gnawed at him. Who was she? What had she wanted from him? And why did he feel as though he had just missed something... something important?

He tried to focus on his work, diving into the data streams and schematics in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to the woman with the haunted eyes. Something was wrong. He couldn't shake the sense that his life, for better or worse, was about to change forever.

That evening, as Patrick sat alone in his small apartment, the feeling persisted, like a shadow clinging to him, refusing to let go. He had tried to distract himself—flipping through his email inbox, reading up on the latest breakthroughs in quantum computing, but none of it held his attention. His thoughts circled back to that woman, to the fleeting encounter that seemed to have left an indelible mark on his mind.

The city outside his window was still alive with energy, the glow of advertisements and the hum of distant traffic filling the night air. But to Patrick, it felt empty, as if the world around him had become a mere backdrop to something much more significant—a riddle he couldn’t solve.

He reached for his cup of coffee, its warmth a fleeting comfort, but his hand froze just above it. There, on the edge of his desk, lay an envelope. He hadn’t noticed it before. It was simple—unadorned, no markings, just a plain white envelope that seemed completely out of place in his orderly space. His pulse quickened as he slowly lifted it, feeling a strange weight in his fingers, as though the very object itself was laden with meaning.

The paper was thick, almost too thick, and as he tore it open, a single slip of paper fell out. His name was scrawled across it in hurried, jagged handwriting.

Find the key, or die.

Patrick blinked, his heart racing. The message was absurd—yet, somehow, it felt real. It was as though the words were seared into his mind, each one echoing with the weight of a promise he didn’t understand. Who had sent this? How had it found its way to him?

The sound of his phone buzzing on the desk startled him, pulling him from his thoughts. He picked it up, the screen flashing with an unknown number. With a trembling hand, he answered.

Patrick Hale? a voice crackled through the speaker, distorted and cold.

Yes? His voice came out a little more tremulous than he would have liked.

You’ve been chosen. The experiment is beginning. You need to find the key, or it will find you. The voice paused, as though considering the next words carefully. You’ve seen her. She knows you. And you’ll keep seeing her, again and again, until you understand.

The line went dead.

Patrick sat there, the phone still pressed to his ear, long after the connection had ended. The room was eerily quiet, the air thick with a tension he couldn’t escape. He stared at the slip of paper on the desk, the ink seeming to pulse with a life of its own. Was this a joke? A prank? It couldn’t be real.

But deep down, a voice inside him—the one that had been whispering since that moment on the platform—knew something had changed. Something was happening to him, something that reached beyond the ordinary, something that was no longer under his control.

His thoughts raced as the pieces of the puzzle slowly began to come together. The woman, the cryptic message, the unsettling sensation that he was being watched... It wasn’t a coincidence. Whatever this was, it was just the beginning.

Patrick’s gaze fell to the city outside the window once more. The neon lights flickered, casting long shadows across the streets. And in those shadows, he could almost see her—standing, waiting, like a ghost that had slipped through the cracks of time itself.

Tomorrow, he would face the first of many choices. And somehow, he knew that there would be no going back. The trap had been set. The clock was ticking.

And Patrick Hale was about to step into a prison he couldn’t escape.

The next morning, Patrick tried to dismiss the events of the previous night as a product of his overactive imagination. He had barely slept, his mind spinning with unanswered questions. But as he boarded the same train to work, the sense of dread had only grown. The city seemed more oppressive, its towering structures pressing in on him, as if the walls were slowly closing in.

His hands gripped the edge of the train seat, his fingers turning white with the tension he couldn’t shake. His mind kept returning to the cryptic message, the voice on the phone, and the woman. There was a part of him that still wanted to believe it was all some elaborate prank. But another part—deeper, more primal—knew that it wasn’t.

When the train finally reached his station, he stepped off into the crowd, but his surroundings felt alien, as though they were no longer part of the world he knew. The hum of the city was distorted, distant, as if the very fabric of reality had started to tear at the edges. Patrick quickened his pace, trying to shake the feeling of being watched. He could almost feel the eyes on him, following his every movement.

As he reached his office building, the elevator doors slid open with an almost mechanical precision. He stepped inside, but the moment the doors closed, the world seemed to shift. The hum of the elevator didn’t sound the same. It was deeper, almost resonant, like the air around him had become thicker.

He pressed the button for his floor, but when the doors opened, he found himself in a hallway he didn’t recognize. The walls were sterile, white, and unmarked, like the kind of place you’d see in a dream. The floor was covered in smooth, reflective tiles that mirrored his every move. It was as if he had walked into an alternate version of his office, one that didn’t belong to this world.

Confused, Patrick stepped out of the elevator, his shoes clicking sharply against the floor. He knew something was wrong. His heart raced as he walked down the hallway, the sterile silence pressing against him like a heavy weight. There were no other workers, no noise from the usual hustle and bustle of the office. The place was abandoned.

And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw her.

She stood at the far end of the hallway, her face partially obscured by the shadows. But there was no mistaking her—the same haunted look in her eyes, the same sense of urgency. She was real, not a figment of his imagination. He felt his pulse quicken as he moved toward her, almost without thinking.

Wait! he called out, his voice echoing in the empty corridor.

The woman turned, and for a moment, Patrick thought he saw a flicker of recognition in her gaze. But just as quickly, her face shifted into an expression of fear, her eyes widening with terror. She took a step back, and then—without a word—turned and fled down the hallway.

Wait! Patrick shouted again, but his voice seemed to fade into the void, swallowed up by the sterile silence of the building. He ran after her, his footsteps echoing loudly as he chased her down the hallway.

The chase was chaotic. The woman was fast, slipping through the narrow hallways with a grace that seemed unnatural, as if she was running not from him, but from something else. And every time Patrick thought he was gaining on her, she would disappear around a corner or vanish into the shadows.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, she stopped.

Patrick came to a halt a few feet away from her. She was pressed up against a blank wall, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Her eyes were wide, frantic. She looked at him, as if struggling to decide whether to speak or to run again.

You don’t understand, she gasped, her voice trembling. You don’t have much time left.

Patrick’s mind was spinning. He could barely process her words, let alone what they meant. But before he could speak, she stepped forward, placing something small and cold into his hand.

It was a key—a delicate, intricately designed key, unlike anything he had ever seen.

Find the door, she whispered urgently. The key will lead you to the truth. But you can’t stay here too long. Time is already starting to unravel.

Before he could respond, she turned and ran again, disappearing into the same corridor where she had vanished earlier.

Patrick stood there, holding the key in his trembling hand, his thoughts racing. The hallway around him was still silent, still empty. The weight of the key in his palm felt both alien and familiar, as though it had been placed there for a reason.

A reason he still didn’t understand.

He stared at the key, feeling its cold metal against his skin. In that moment, he realized something that sent a chill down his spine: this was no accident. This wasn’t some random encounter or delusion. He was caught in something much larger, something far more dangerous than he could have ever imagined.

And the woman had been right. Time was already starting to unravel.

With a deep breath, Patrick pocketed the key and began walking down the hallway. He didn’t know where it would lead him. But he knew one thing for sure—he had no choice but to follow.

The prison of time had begun.

​2. The First Death

●  ​The shadow in the alley

Patrick Hale never considered himself a man of extraordinary circumstance, but on this evening, reality itself seemed to bend, his once-ordinary life fracturing into something unrecognizable. The city stretched endlessly before him, its towering skyscrapers and neon lights casting long, gleaming reflections across the wet pavement. It was the kind of evening where the city, with all its pulse and hum, felt alive—and yet something about it tonight felt... off.

He hadn’t planned to be out this late. He was just another cog in the system, an engineer working late on his projects at the tech hub. But the meeting had run late, and now, alone in the city's sprawling labyrinth, he found himself walking home through a part of town he rarely ventured into. It was quieter here, more isolated, as if the pulse of the world had temporarily stopped. The buildings narrowed as the alleyways seemed to reach out to him, almost as though they were alive, waiting.

Patrick quickened his pace, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the brick walls. His breath came out in small clouds, the cool air biting at his skin, but he didn't mind the chill—it gave the evening a sense of urgency. He had walked this path countless times, but tonight, the alley seemed to swallow him whole. As he passed a streetlight, something caught his eye—a shadow darting behind him.

He spun around, heart racing, but there was nothing there. Just the empty street, the dim glow of lights in the distance.

You’re being paranoid, he told himself, trying to shake the uneasy feeling crawling up his spine. But something inside him—a primal instinct, perhaps—knew he wasn’t alone. His mind flicked back to the strange encounter earlier in the day. The man in the black trench coat who had been watching him. Patrick couldn’t place the face, but it had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain. The man hadn’t said a word—only stared at him with cold, penetrating eyes, as if he knew something Patrick didn’t.

A gust of wind rustled through the alley, but it wasn’t the wind that made Patrick stop dead in his tracks. A soft footstep, the unmistakable sound of a shoe scraping against concrete, came from behind him. He turned sharply, his breath caught in his throat.

This time, he saw the figure—a tall man, cloaked in shadow, his features obscured beneath the brim of a wide hat. He was standing at the far end of the alley, unmoving, his gaze fixed on Patrick.

For a moment, there was silence, an oppressive stillness that made Patrick’s skin crawl. Then, the man spoke, his voice cold and commanding, carrying a weight that seemed to press down on Patrick’s chest.

You’re not supposed to be here, the man said, the words almost a whisper, yet they cut through the night like a blade. You’ve seen too much.

Patrick’s heart hammered in his chest, his body frozen in place. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs felt like lead. The air grew heavier, thicker with tension. This was no ordinary encounter—this was a warning.

The shadowed figure stepped forward, his pace measured, purposeful. The threat was palpable, hanging between them like a tangible force. Patrick took a step back, his mind racing to make sense of the situation. Who was this person? Why was he here? What did he know?

But before he could ask, the man spoke again, his voice low and urgent.

If you want to live, you’ll come with me. Now.

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

The realization hit Patrick like a ton of bricks—he wasn’t just in danger. He was being hunted.

His mind spun, trying to process the moment. Everything around him blurred. The city. The streets. The lights. All of it faded as the figure closed the distance between them, the shadow swallowing him whole.

With a final, chilling whisper, the man said, You’ve crossed a line, Hale.

And then everything went black.

Patrick awoke to a cold, empty silence. His eyes fluttered open, but the world around him was a blur, as if his senses were still trying to grasp reality. The air was stale, thick with the scent of damp concrete and the faint hum of machinery. He tried to move, but his limbs felt stiff, unresponsive, as if they weren’t his own.

Panic shot through him as he attempted to sit up, but his head spun, the world tilting around him. He blinked several times, forcing his vision to clear. He was no longer in the alley. Instead, he found himself in a dimly lit room, the walls lined with strange, unfamiliar devices—screens flickering with codes and symbols he couldn’t decipher, wires snaking across the floor like tangled veins.

Where was he?

He tried to speak, but his mouth felt dry, the words caught in his throat. A muffled sound reached his ears, a distant hum—no, it wasn’t distant. It was inside his head. A low, rhythmic pulse, like the beating of his own heart, but faster, more urgent.

Patrick’s breath quickened as he struggled to remember. The shadow in the alley. The man in the trench coat. The cold words that had echoed in his ears. You’ve crossed a line... What did it mean? And why did it feel like the world itself was watching him, judging him?

A sudden shift in the air caused him to stiffen. The door to the room creaked open, revealing a figure standing in the doorway. It was the same man, his face still obscured beneath the shadow of his hat. But this time, there was something different about him—something colder, more dangerous. His eyes glowed faintly, a haunting shade of silver that seemed to pierce through Patrick’s very soul.

You’re awake, the man said, his voice low and emotionless. I was beginning to wonder if you’d make it through.

Patrick’s mind raced, but before he could speak, the man stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with an oppressive weight.

Where am I? Patrick managed to croak, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The man’s lips twisted into a faint, humorless smile. "You’re not where you think you are, Hale. You’ve been... transferred. Welcome to the prison of time."

Patrick blinked, his heart thudding in his chest. Prison of time? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

The man watched him with cold, calculating eyes, seemingly enjoying the confusion he saw in Patrick’s face. You’re caught in a loop, Patrick. A time loop. Every time you think you’ve escaped, you’ll return. Every choice you make will bring you back to this place. And every time, I’ll be here. Waiting.

A chill crept down Patrick’s spine as he processed the words. Time loop? The man was insane, or worse—he was telling the truth.

Why? Patrick’s voice trembled, the question slipping out before he could stop himself. Why me?

The man didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked to one of the screens on the far wall, his fingers brushing over the glowing surface. The screen flickered for a moment before displaying a series of cryptic symbols and numbers.

You were chosen, the man said, his tone devoid of emotion. An experiment. A test. Your mind is unique. Capable of perceiving the fractures in time. You’re part of something much larger than you can comprehend.

Patrick’s mind whirled, trying to grasp the enormity of the situation. An experiment? What did he mean by his mind being unique? His thoughts felt scattered, as if his entire existence was being pulled apart and put back together in a way that made no sense.

Why are you doing this? Patrick asked, desperation creeping into his voice. What do you want from me?

The man turned to face him, his eyes narrowing. "I want you to understand. You’re part of a game, Hale. A game with no winners. And no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never break free. The only choice you