Chapter 1: The End of Time

The room was a ruin of sterile white. The walls stretched endlessly, smooth and seamless, once pristine but now marred by hairline cracks. Glass shards glittered like frozen tears across the floor, littered among broken tools and scorched circuits.

In the middle of the devastation, an old man sat hunched over, scratching his bald scalp with gnarled fingers. His beard hung wild and gray, unkempt like the man himself, and his eyes—empty, hollow—stared blankly at a machine that loomed in front of him.

It was circular and vast, a mechanical monolith meant to defy the natural laws of existence. Now, its surface was warped, its lights flickering weakly as though pleading to be put out of their misery. It hissed faintly—like a final gasp.

The old man exhaled sharply through his nose. He rose with the slow, uneven motions of brittle bones and shuffled toward the machine. A small, disfigured mouse lay inside—dead, its body burned and twisted. He reached in and plucked it free, holding it up to the dim light.

"Of course it wouldn't work," he muttered, sneering bitterly at the corpse. His voice, cracked and dry, carried a weight of failure only decades could forge. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the mouse into the corner trash bin. The metal clang echoed through the silence like a gavel slamming down.

He lingered for a moment, staring into the empty void where the mouse had been. Then, without a word, he turned and staggered toward the center of the room.

A swipe of his trembling hand brought a virtual screen shimmering to life in the air—a thin rectangle of blue light, floating weightlessly. The screen blinked, ready to record.

The old man sank into the chair, its steel frame creaking beneath him. He sat still, breathing shallowly, before clearing his throat and leaning toward the glowing panel.

"Day two…" He paused, blinking slowly, his brows furrowing as though sifting through the dust of his memory. "No. Wait—what day is it?"

His gaze snapped upward. "Cassy?"

The AI said nothing. The lab remained silent.

"Cassy!" he barked, his voice breaking. He slapped the arm of the chair, his hand trembling with anger. "Fucking AI won't even respond. Have you abandoned me, too?" His lips curled in a humorless smirk. "Just like the others...all of them…"

The old man's words faded into silence. He sat slumped, his head hanging low. Then he stirred, his jaw tightening as if a decision had been made. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet and shuffled across the room.

The wall glowed faintly at his touch, rippling outward from where his palm met the smooth surface. A muffled hiss echoed as two pods slid silently from the wall, their surfaces gleaming under the pale light. One was empty. The other contained a body.

It was a boy, late teens, thin and pale. His arms lay stiff at his sides, his face slack and hollow. Missing fingers marred his left hand, and his genitals were also missing.

The old man loomed over the pod, staring down at the boy's naked figure. His gaze lingered on the absent fingers, then shifted to the emptiness where his genitals should have been. He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Better than nothing," he muttered. A bitter scoff followed. "Tsk."

The second pod opened with a soft hiss. The old man turned toward it, his thin hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. They fumbled, trembling so violently that it took several tries before the fabric finally loosened. The shirt dropped to the floor, forgotten.

Next came his trousers. He bent, awkwardly tugging at the waistband. One leg slipped free. The other caught stubbornly around his ankle. When he tried to pull it, his balance failed, and he fell hard onto his backside with a grunt.

"Damn it!" he cursed, smacking the floor with his palm. For a long moment, he sat there, breathing heavily, sweat beading on his brow.

Then he laughed—a dry, bitter sound. "I should've bought that Tesla bot." His eyes darted toward the ceiling. "Not that it would've mattered. I'd have shoved it into the machine like the others. All dead. All useless."

His smirk faded. Slowly, painfully, he got to his feet, stepping naked into the pod. It sealed around him with a low hiss.

Inside, darkness embraced him. The cold air prickled his skin. Then the voice spoke—calm, hollow, mechanical.

"Proceed?"

The old man's eyes closed. Images flickered across his mind: faces—smiling, shouting, crying—before they all faded into silence. A lifetime of empty halls, of work, of sacrifice that had stolen everything and given nothing back.

The voice repeated, "Proceed?"

His jaw tightened. "No."

The pod hissed open. The old man stepped out, his legs unsteady, his body trembling. He stumbled through the room until he reached a narrow drawer on the far side. With shaking hands, he yanked it open. Tools clattered to the ground, but he ignored them.

His fingers found what he was searching for—a small, silver box.

He fumbled with the latch until it popped open. Inside lay a black, bug-shaped object—smooth, matte, bug.

The old man stared at it, his empty eyes glinting faintly. "You'll have to do."

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pressed the device against his neck.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then pain erupted.

The bug drilled into his skin with a sickening hiss, splintering into microscopic shards. He stumbled, gasping as if fire poured through his veins. His back arched, his limbs convulsing as the invasion spread. He fell hard onto the tile, his body spasming. White foam bubbled from his lips as he screamed, the sound raw and primal.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pain ebbed. He lay still, chest heaving, sweat pooling around him.

The time machine hummed softly behind him.

The old man dragged himself upright, his arms trembling, his body a broken shell—but something behind his eyes was alive. Before him, the machine stood waiting, its circular core spinning weakly, light dancing faintly across its chrome surface.

At its base, a wide, ring-like entryway pulsed softly, the gateway into the machine's heart. The doorway seemed to hum, alive with untapped power, as if anticipating his arrival.

With the last of his strength, the old man staggered forward, gripping the edge of the circular frame to steady himself. The hum grew louder as he hauled himself inside, entering the hollow chamber. The air within buzzed with energ and electric, the walls pulsing faintly as though breathing.

At the center of the chamber, the vortex waited—colors and shadows swirling endlessly. It roared softly.

"All those years," he murmured, his voice nearly lost in the machine's rising hum. "All that work… and time still took me, like it takes us all."

He straightened, the faintest spark of defiance flickering across his face. His trembling hand found the control panel embedded into the curved wall. With one last, deliberate motion, he willed the system to life.

The machine jolted awake. Lights flared along its surface, the core spinning faster and faster until it roared with energy. Sparks snapped across the walls as the vortex grew brighter, twisting violently.

The old man stared into the swirling light. His lips curled into a faint, broken smile, and then he laughed—softly at first, but louder, madder, until it echoed through the chamber.

The vortex devoured him whole.