The Man On The Rooftop

The sirens were louder this time.

Mark stumbled to the window, breath shallow. The sky outside was tinged orange—early signs of the detonation he now knew was coming. This wasn’t random. This was timed. The loop had started again.

7:56.

He scanned the skyline from his apartment window, trying to spot anything out of place. The same old buildings. Same rusted water towers. Same pigeons perched like nothing was wrong.

But then he saw something new.

On the rooftop of the building across the street, a man stood alone.

Not pacing. Not panicking. Just… standing. Still. Watching the horizon.

Mark squinted. He couldn’t make out details, but there was something eerie about the figure. He looked calm. Too calm for someone who was minutes away from being vaporized.

Could he be another loop survivor?

Mark didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his coat, bolted for the door, and flew down the apartment stairs two steps at a time. The city outside buzzed with confusion — honking cars, people staring at their phones, whispers of “Did you hear?” and “It’s a drill, right?”

He ignored them all.

The rooftop door across the street was locked, but Mark had been here before. He knew how to climb the fire escape. He scrambled up the metal ladder, ignoring the burn in his thighs and the ticking in his head.

7:21.

The man hadn’t moved. He was dressed in a charcoal coat, black gloves, silver-gray hair slicked back neatly. He looked… dignified. Like someone out of a Cold War drama.

Mark didn’t waste time.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Do you know what’s happening?”

The man turned slowly, eyes calm. Sharp. Unreadable.

“You remember,” the man said. Not a question — a statement.

Mark froze. “You too?”

The man gave a faint smile. “Not exactly. I never forgot.”

Mark took a step forward, mind racing. “Who are you?”

“Someone who used to think ten minutes was enough.”

The words chilled Mark to the bone.

“I’ve been watching you,” the man continued. “Since Loop 118. You always wake up confused. You run, you panic, sometimes you cry. But this time… you came here.”

“Who’s causing the loops?” Mark asked. “Why us?”

The man tilted his head. “That’s the right question. But you're still asking the wrong person.”

Mark stepped closer. “Then point me to the right one.”

The man smiled sadly. “I can’t. But I can tell you this: The loops aren’t stable anymore. Someone’s tampering. You only have a few left before it all collapses.”

Mark's chest tightened. “How many?”

The man glanced at the sky, which now had a faint shimmer — a barely visible distortion across the sun.

“Seven.”

Then the ground trembled.

6:42.

END OF CHAPTER