Aged in an Instant

Elias stood at the edge of the restricted zone, breathing in the stale air laced with smoke and exhaust. The skyline behind him, with its looming towers and flickering propaganda billboards, seemed more like a grim painting than a living city. Razor-wire fences and haphazard barricades sectioned off the park from where his daughter had vanished. Armed figures patrolled in unmarked uniforms, their faces hidden behind tinted visors, and a handful of functionaries—allegedly government agents—lurked near trucks full of confiscated equipment.

He clutched Lucy’s plush turtle in one hand. The small toy felt almost absurd in such a chaotic setting—yet it was all he had left of her childhood in that moment. His heart raced. Lucy. She had disappeared barely hours ago, swallowed by a shimmering anomaly. He had to believe she was still alive, that she could be found. But the men in those uniforms refused to give him so much as a clue.

“This sector’s under lockdown,” barked one soldier, his voice muffled behind a respirator.
“You have no authority here,” added another, eyeing Elias’s ragged coat with contempt.

The soldier’s stance reminded Elias of old war footage: men who had no moral qualms, only orders. His stomach knotted.

“Please,” Elias begged, his voice cracking. “My daughter was taken by that… bubble. Did any of you see a young girl? Ten years old, brown hair—”

He cut off mid-sentence, a sob catching in his throat. The memory of Lucy’s small frame stepping into that haze still tore at him. He squeezed the plush turtle, as if the worn fabric could anchor him. But the soldier’s expression didn’t soften. He lifted his rifle slightly, the gesture a wordless warning.

“Sir, you need to leave.”

A uniformed functionary with a badge pinned to his chest approached, carrying a clipboard loaded with forms. His eyes scanned Elias up and down, sneering.

“You’re causing a disturbance.”

“I’m looking for my daughter!” Elias’s outburst attracted stares from nearby personnel. Anger trembled through him. “I know she’s here. Or she was here. Somebody must have seen her.”

The functionary checked a paper, seeming bored. “We found… someone,” he said coolly. “But no child. Maybe a teenage vagrant—”

Elias froze. A teenager? The functionary’s words strangled the air around him. Lucy was only ten. The official parted his lips to continue, but a static-laden radio call interrupted.

“Transport’s waiting, boss.”

A soldier jerked his head, beckoning for the functionary to move along. The uniformed men turned away, ignoring Elias’s pleas. Desperation surged. He darted between them, searching for a break in the barricade. He stuffed Lucy’s plush turtle under his arm, refusing to let go of this last piece of her childhood. Then he spotted an ambulance idling behind a barrier, its rear door half-shut, with the outlines of paramedics in silhouette. Beyond them lay stretchers and disorganized medical supplies. A flash of movement inside caught his attention—a bare foot, longer than a child’s but not quite adult-sized, strapped to a gurney.

He rushed forward before anyone could stop him. A paramedic tried to block his path, but Elias slid sideways and peered inside the ambulance. His vision blurred with tears and panic. On the stretcher lay Lucy. Except this Lucy was… older. Her features were sharper, her limbs lankier, her hair longer. Ten years old in spirit, but her physical form looked more like fifteen or sixteen.

“Lucy!” he gasped.

She turned at his voice, eyes wide and terrified. Bruises marred her arms where IV lines had been hastily attached, and her oversized hospital gown hung awkwardly on a body that didn’t fit her old clothes anymore. Recognition lit her gaze.

“Dad?” she croaked, her voice trembling. It sounded both heartbreakingly childlike and oddly deeper—caught somewhere between the sweet pitch of a ten-year-old and a newly emerged teenager.

A wave of relief and horror washed over Elias. He stumbled to her side, ignoring the paramedic’s protests. He cupped her cheek, mind reeling at the sight of faint freckles on a face that had once been rounder, younger. Now, her features were older, and a trembling tear escaped the corner of her eye.

“What… happened…?” Lucy whispered.

Elias stroked her hair, eyes flooding with tears. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m here.” He glanced at the paramedic, voice raw. “She needs help.”

The paramedic, a woman with deep lines under her eyes, seemed exhausted—either from overwork or from the moral weight of dealing with these anomalies. She sighed and looked at him with sympathy. “We tried to do some quick vitals, but we’re not authorized to provide more than basic first aid. The hospital is requiring up-front payment, or official clearance. Without it, they won’t touch her.”

Elias clenched his fists, anger flaring. “We’ll pay. We’ll find a way. Just—please, get her to a hospital.”

“Fine,” the paramedic said quietly. “But I can’t promise they’ll keep her if you don’t have the funds.”

Elias swallowed hard. He didn’t have money for specialized care—he could barely afford rent. But Lucy’s life was priceless. “Take us there. Now.”

The ride in the back of that ambulance felt like an eternity. Lucy lay strapped to the stretcher, disoriented and frightened. Her plush turtle rested awkwardly on her lap, a small reminder of the little girl she’d been just that morning. Elias hovered, trying not to let his terror show. He noticed subtle changes in her—her hands larger, nails slightly longer, the shape of her jaw no longer the roundness of a child. His little girl had been forced into a stranger’s body.

At intervals, Lucy moaned as if in pain. She kept tugging at the IV lines, confusion radiating from every quiver of her lips. “Dad, why…?” she started to ask, then trailed off, eyes brimming with tears. Elias had no answers, only anguish.

Outside, sirens wailed. They passed through congested streets, occasionally slowed by protestors chanting slogans against Chronos Research. Some bystanders wore expressions of fear or contempt—nobody was truly safe in a city haunted by anomalies. A few pounded on the ambulance doors, demanding to see who lay inside, presumably seeking evidence or a sensational story. The paramedic’s driver honked angrily, weaving through traffic.

Elias pressed Lucy’s hand, ignoring the cacophony outside. His thoughts drifted to Marie, Lucy’s mother. She, too, had aged unnaturally in the blink of an eye—her life stolen by a phenomenon no one truly understood. Not again, he thought. I can’t lose Lucy the same way.

They arrived at the hospital—a large, imposing building plastered with tall banners: “Advanced Solutions for Modern Times.” The glossy facade belied a grim reality: inside, it was overrun by bureaucracy and corruption. The paramedics rolled Lucy inside the emergency ward on a gurney, Elias trotting beside them. Harsh fluorescent lights illuminated row upon row of stretchers, most bearing the wounded or delirious from city riots, industrial accidents, or suspected “time bubble” incidents. Distraught families crowded every corridor.

A nurse with clipped speech and tired eyes demanded a registration form and payment details. Elias inhaled, mustering courage. “I’ll figure it out,” he said. “Just stabilize her.” The nurse pursed her lips in annoyance but signaled for the paramedics to bring Lucy to an examination bay.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, handing him a sheet of paper. “Complete this quickly. Financial approval is mandatory—”

“Look at her!” Elias shouted, pointing at Lucy’s trembling figure. “She’s a child in a teenager’s body. She’s in pain!”

The nurse’s expression twitched, revealing a flash of pity before sliding back into professional detachment. “We’ve seen multiple anomaly cases, and the hospital policy states—”

“Hospital policy?!” Elias’s voice rose, attracting stares. “She’s dying! Or… or aging—who knows? You want me to fill out forms while she… deteriorates?”

A doctor, older and wearing a wrinkled lab coat, stepped forward. His ID tag read Dr. Moreau. He set a gentle hand on Elias’s shoulder. “Calm down. Let’s see to your daughter. If we discover something urgent, we’ll do what we must, forms be damned.”

Elias, breath catching, nodded rapidly. Relief warred with dread inside him. At least one doctor seemed to care.

They placed Lucy on a cot behind a thin curtain. Dr. Moreau performed a basic check-up: measuring her pulse, blood pressure, pupil dilation. Lucy’s arms shook with cold or shock, her eyes half-lidded as if struggling to stay present. She clutched the plush turtle close to her side whenever a new wave of fear washed over her, as though it could provide some protection from the harsh reality.

Elias hovered at the foot of the cot, desperate to be close, but also afraid of what they might discover. He clenched the metal railing so hard his knuckles turned white. Meanwhile, Dr. Moreau’s brow furrowed. He took Lucy’s temperature thrice, each time shaking the thermometer as if it must be broken. He scribbled notes on a chart.

Elias finally spoke. “What’s happening to her?”

Dr. Moreau exhaled. “Her vitals are… unusual. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s gone through six years of physical development in less than a few hours. It’s as if her cells are… hyperstimulated. I’ve seen references to something called ‘accelerated aging syndrome’ in hush-hush bulletins about these anomalies, but never this advanced.”

He paused, then lowered his voice. “You must prepare yourself, sir. This condition is unpredictable. There’s no definitive cure on record.”

Lucy stirred, whimpering. Elias leaned down, gently brushing her hair away from her forehead. “I’m here, Lucy. I’m not leaving.”

She gazed up at him, terrified tears pooling in her eyes. “Dad… it hurts,” she whispered. “Everything… feels so tight. My bones ache, and—” She swallowed, biting back a sob. “Why is this happening to me?”

Elias’s heart felt ready to shatter. “I don’t know,” he murmured, voice shaking. “But I promise I’ll fix this.”

Minutes later, another nurse appeared, brandishing a clipboard. She eyed Lucy’s half-conscious form, then turned to Dr. Moreau. “We need this bed. Management says we’re over capacity for… these cases.”

“‘These cases’?” Elias repeated, stunned. “She’s just a child.”

The nurse shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Doctor, the orders come from higher up. Unless there’s a payment plan or official directive, I’m told to clear the bed for priority patients. We have an influx of riot casualties, VIPs needing immediate care—”

“VIPs…” Elias spat the words. He could taste the bitterness of a system that valued money and status over his daughter’s life.

Dr. Moreau peeled off his gloves in frustration. “This is madness.” He rubbed his forehead, turning to Elias. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do what I can, but my hands are tied unless the administration signs off.”

Elias felt the world spin. Lucy needed help, not more red tape. Rage simmered in his gut. “Where do I go? Who do I talk to?”

The nurse avoided his gaze. “Billing, on the second floor. But… the lines are long, and they rarely approve these anomaly-related cases. The cost is astronomical.”

Without warning, Lucy jerked upright, a scream tearing from her throat. Her eyes flew open, wild with panic. “Dad!” she cried. “It’s happening again!”

Her bones cracked audibly—like a joint popping but magnified tenfold—followed by a strangled moan that stilled every medical staffer in earshot. Dr. Moreau sprang to her side, shining a penlight into her eyes. The nurse’s expression paled. Lucy’s face contorted with pain, as if a decade of growth were condensing into mere seconds.

Elias lunged, cradling her head, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Lucy, hold on!”

Her body trembled, muscles tensing. Bit by bit, she looked older still, her features refining, her limbs lengthening beneath the flimsy hospital gown. It lasted less than a minute, but when it ended, Lucy sagged, panting in Elias’s arms, her newly elongated fingers curled into fists. If she had been around fifteen or sixteen moments ago, she now appeared closer to seventeen—maybe older.

Silence blanketed the ward, broken only by Lucy’s ragged breaths. Then Dr. Moreau murmured, “Unbelievable…” He scratched notes in Lucy’s chart. “If we don’t find a way to slow this process, she could… keep aging. Rapidly.”

Elias’s throat constricted. “Is she going to…?”

He couldn’t bring himself to say die, but Dr. Moreau’s somber expression confirmed his fear. Left unchecked, Lucy’s accelerated aging could devour her life in days or even hours. The father inside him roared in anguish. But the system was a maze of paywalls and administrative roadblocks; there would be no easy rescue.

“We can’t stay here,” Dr. Moreau whispered, as if reading Elias’s mind. “The hospital… they’ll toss you out soon enough. Or some official from Chronos or the military might show up, wanting to whisk her away for research.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “If you can find a private clinic, or somewhere less… compromised… your odds might be better.”

Elias glared around the bustling ER, watching uniformed men hauling in the injured from city riots while hospital managers hovered nearby, scribbling on clipboards. No one wore a name badge from any recognized humanitarian group. None seemed genuinely concerned about Lucy’s fate. They were cogs in a machine that valued policies over people.

Moments later, the dreaded hospital administrator arrived—a stout man in a tailored suit. He didn’t bother to approach Lucy’s cot. Instead, he beckoned Elias from a distance, tone clipped and impersonal.

“Mr. Anders, is it? I’m told you can’t pay. The bed is needed for someone else. We have soldiers requiring emergency care.”

Elias clenched his jaw. “My daughter’s dying. You’d turn her away?”

The administrator’s lips tightened. “We have guidelines. If you can’t afford specialized anomaly treatment, we suggest you contact government relief funds or apply for an official Chronos permit. There’s nothing more to be done here. We have a city to manage.”

“City to manage…?” Elias repeated, voice trembling with fury. “She’s a child! All you people can do is shuffle paper and ignore how your own experiments—yes, your system’s experiments—destroy families! First my wife, now Lucy—”

The administrator merely gave a slight, contemptuous shrug. “Sir, we are not responsible for your personal misfortunes.” He turned to the nurse. “Discharge them. Immediately.”

With that, he left, weaving through the busy corridor as though Elias and Lucy were less than human, footnotes in a ledger.

Dr. Moreau tried to protest. He administered a sedative to calm Lucy’s trembling, then scribbled down some notes. He discreetly pressed a folded slip of paper into Elias’s hand.

“Some doctors won’t shut their doors,” he murmured. “Call them if you can. I’m sorry.”

Elias nodded numbly. He scooped Lucy into his arms—she felt heavier, more like carrying a frail teenage patient than a child. Her plush turtle dropped to the floor in the commotion, and Elias hastily leaned down, snatching it up before anyone could take it away from her. Lucy clung to him, breath hitching. They left behind the stark, antiseptic reek of the hospital, stepping out into a street that felt no safer. No gentler.

Night had fallen. City lights reflected off towering billboards proclaiming “Innovation Secures Tomorrow!” The distant rumble of protest chants rose like a wave. Elias spotted lines of riot police at the far intersection, pushing back civilians who demanded answers about disappearances, anomalies, and Chronos. No one took notice of a distraught father with a teenage girl in his arms.

Lucy stirred, half-conscious. “Dad… cold,” she whispered, though the night was muggy. Elias pulled his coat around her and tucked the plush turtle between them, trying to soothe her with its familiar shape. He felt helpless, his thoughts swirling with despair. She’s aging too fast, he told himself. Who can help us now?

He recalled the paramedic’s mention of “syndrome de bulle accélérée,” and Dr. Moreau’s chilling words: We’ve never seen a case like this. He felt as though time itself was slipping away from Lucy.

Slumped against a lamppost, Elias gently sat Lucy on the curb. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing deep brown irises too haunted for a ten-year-old. She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

“Dad… am I going to keep… changing? I feel… older.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “But I’m not. I’m still me… inside.”

Elias brushed her hair back, leaning in to press a trembling kiss to her forehead. “You are, Lucy. You’re my daughter, no matter what.” He forced confidence into his words, though inside he felt only terror. “I’ll find a way to stop this.”

She nodded weakly, biting her lip. “I’m scared.” Her hand found the plush turtle, hugging it tightly as if doing so could halt the passing of years that her body seemed determined to undergo in mere hours.

Those two words nearly tore Elias apart. He wrapped his arms around her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He noticed how her posture had changed—slightly taller, bones more pronounced. This can’t be real, he thought, wanting to scream at the absurd cruelty of the world. But it was real, and ignoring it wouldn’t save Lucy.

A siren wailed in the distance. People shouted, ducking into alleyways, as another wave of civil unrest rippled through the streets. Graffiti covered nearby walls: “STOP CHRONOS. NO MORE MISSING!”

Elias stared at those words, remembering the neighbors who had vanished, the hush-hush rumors about advanced weapons. This city is rotting from the inside, he realized. They created these anomalies, and now they run from the consequences.

He inhaled slowly, eyes burning from withheld tears. “Lucy,” he murmured, “we can’t stay here. The hospital can’t help us. The city officials don’t care. We’ll have to find… someone else.” His mind flashed to unverified rumors—rogue scientists or ex-Project Chronos staff who had defected. Maybe they would know how to slow or reverse Lucy’s aging. He thought of the flicker of hope in that doctor’s slip of paper.

Lucy lifted her head, gaze flicking over the riot police in the distance. “Where will we go?”

“I… I’m not sure yet,” Elias admitted, voice quaking. “But I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

She tried to smile, but it wavered. The tears in her eyes spoke of pain and confusion far beyond her years. As they rose, the heartbreak in Elias’s chest felt heavier than any burden he’d ever carried. He looked at the battered slip of paper from Dr. Moreau, clutched in his hand like a lifeline. A single phone number. The slender chance that someone, somewhere, might help them.

He bent to pick Lucy up again, ignoring the ache in his own muscles, ignoring the stares of passing strangers. Step by step, father and daughter moved away from the hospital’s harsh fluorescent glow.

“Dad, promise me…” Lucy began, voice trembling. “Promise me you won’t let them take me.”

Elias swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I promise,” he rasped. “No one will take you away. I won’t let them.”

They continued down the darkened sidewalk, the city’s neon haze reflecting off puddles of oil-slick water. Every breath Elias took felt weighted with the knowledge that Lucy’s time was slipping through his fingers. He pressed her closer, heart hammering in his chest.

In that moment, Lucy’s eyes drifted shut. She seemed on the brink of passing out from exhaustion. Elias glanced at her face—features older than the morning but still his little girl. The sense of dread grew: What if she ages again tonight? What if she wakes up tomorrow twice her age?

He felt her hand flutter against his chest. Gently, she squeezed his shirt as if to anchor herself to him. Her plush turtle wedged between them like a frail shield against the unstoppable flow of time. He fought back tears, whispering into her ear:

“It’s going to be okay,” he lied. “I’ll find a way.”

But even as he spoke, the question he couldn’t voice pressed in: Who on earth can save Lucy from this unstoppable march of time?

Under the city’s restless skyline, father and daughter melted into the crowd, lost in the ceaseless churn of traffic and protest. In the flickering glare of streetlights, Elias saw the final blow that ended any illusions he might have carried: Lucy’s hair, glinting dully, showed streaks of dryness that hadn’t been there before. She’s still aging.

She was changing in his arms—even now—and nothing seemed able to stop it.