ENTER: Loop 1

The ticking was louder now.

Mark couldn’t see a clock, but he could feel time dripping away like water from a cracked glass. Somewhere above, beneath, within — the countdown continued.

9:43.

He needed answers. Fast.

"Reset?" he muttered. "What does that even mean? Reset to when?"

The voice didn’t respond this time. The white void remained silent, oppressive.

Mark rubbed his temples, forcing himself to think. If this was a loop, then maybe… this had happened before. Had he died before? Had he already lived and died through this? If so, why didn’t he remember anything?

"Okay. Think."

He stood up again, pacing through the nothingness. There was no wind, no scent, no sense of direction — just the sound of his footsteps and that infernal ticking.

Suddenly, something flickered in front of him.

A shimmer, like heat rising off pavement, rippled the air. Mark took a step back, heart leaping. The ripple expanded, pixelating like a broken video feed, and then — with a soft hum — a holographic screen appeared mid-air.

"Loop 001: Termination - Nuclear Exchange."
"Casualties: 7.9 billion."
"Origin: Launch authorized by Eastern Coalition Defense AI."
"Trigger Event: False-flag cyberattack. Target: Civilian satellite array."

Mark stared, his blood running cold.

This was a war. Not a mistake — a manipulation. Someone, something, was pulling the strings.

Another line blinked into view:

"Override Potential: 0.03% (No intervention detected)."

And below that:

"9:02 remaining."

His hands curled into fists. "So I was supposed to stop that? In ten minutes? From a blank room with no internet, no phone, and no idea what was going on?"

No answer.

"Right," he muttered bitterly. "Of course."

But the word “potential” stuck with him. 0.03%… even that implied a chance. What if this wasn’t the first time they had tried? What if he wasn’t the only one?

"Wait," he said aloud, facing the void. "How many loops have there been?"

Another screen blinked to life.

"Loop count: 127."

Mark took a shaky breath. "And I only remember one?"

"Memory lock enabled. Full recall begins after Loop 003."

His throat tightened. So he’d already died 126 times and didn’t remember any of it. He felt sick.

Then the screen changed again.

"Simulation resuming. Transferring consciousness."

"Wait—!" he shouted.

Too late.

The white void fractured like glass, shattering into a thousand shards of light. The ticking became thunder.

And then—

He was back in his apartment.

Same cheap couch. Same cracked phone screen. Same news broadcast playing on mute. Sirens in the distance.

And outside, the sky was beginning to glow.

8 minutes.

Mark stood, heart racing, eyes wide. He had another chance.

He just didn’t know what to do with it — yet.

END OF CHAPTER