The message from Caron arrived encrypted and urgent: *Meet tonight. Warehouse District, Sector Nine. Bring the tech specialist. It's time.*
Dev worked through the afternoon preparing equipment for the server breach—portable drives, hacking tools, signal jammers, everything they'd need to access and extract data from a regional banking server. His hands moved with practiced precision, but Ray noticed the tremor when he thought no one was watching.
"You okay?" Ray asked quietly.
Dev didn't look up from his work. "Vin was my friend. We trained together, back before either of us joined the resistance. He taught me half of what I know about electronics." Dev's voice was flat, emotionless. The tone of someone keeping grief locked down through sheer force of will. "And I watched him die on a screen while hiding in a shipping container."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Help me make it count." Dev finally looked up, his eyes hard. "This server breach? It's not just tactical. It's personal. Philippe Weis murdered Vin to send a message. We're going to send one back."
That evening, they made their way to the warehouse district—Ray, Sylvia, and Dev, all in new disguises courtesy of Dev's increasingly impressive skills. Ray barely recognized himself in the mirror: darker skin tone, different facial structure with prosthetics, grey streaks in his hair that made him look a decade older.
The meeting location was an abandoned factory that looked like it had been derelict for years. But inside, Ray found it transformed into a makeshift operations center. Caron was there, looking exhausted but determined. Martha stood beside him, her clock now reading 00:09:08:42. Less than nine months left.
And there were others—at least twenty resistance members Ray had never seen before. New recruits, drawn to the cause by the distributions, by Vin's sacrifice, by the growing belief that change was possible.
"Everyone's here," Caron said, his weathered face creasing into something like a smile. "Good. We don't have much time, so I'll be brief. Vin's execution was supposed to break us. Instead, it's done the opposite. Recruitment is up. Donations of time are flooding in. People who've never considered rebellion are reaching out. We're growing faster than we can organize."
"That's good, right?" someone asked.
"It's opportunity and danger in equal measure," Martha answered. "Growth means impact, but it also means exposure. The larger we get, the harder we are to hide. Which is why we need to strike now, while we have momentum, before Philippe can fully mobilize against us."
Caron unrolled a blueprint on a table. "This is the Milltown Regional Time Banking Server Facility. Not as large as New Greenwich's main server, but it handles all transactions for Milltown, parts of Dayton, and several smaller zones. Millions of accounts. Billions of years of stored data."
"Security?" Dev asked, studying the plans.
"Heavy but not impossible. The facility operates with minimal staff at night—mostly automated systems. Physical security includes guards at entrances, cameras, biometric locks. Digital security is sophisticated but not impenetrable." Caron pointed to specific locations on the blueprint. "The server room itself is in the basement. Climate controlled, multiple redundancies, isolated from the main network except during scheduled updates."
"When's the next update?" Sylvia asked.
"Tomorrow night, 23:00 to 02:00. A three-hour window when the servers are connected to the main network for data synchronization. That's when they're most vulnerable—and when we strike."
Martha stepped forward. "The plan has three components. First, we need physical access to the facility. That's a small infiltration team—no more than four people. Second, we need someone who can interface with the servers, extract the data we need, and get out before security responds. That's Dev's job."
"Third?" Ray asked.
"Third, we need a distraction. Something that pulls Timekeeper resources away from Milltown, gives the infiltration team time to work." Martha's expression was grim. "That's where it gets complicated. We need something big enough to matter, but not so destructive that we become the terrorists Philippe says we are."
"I've got an idea for that," Greta said. She'd arrived during the briefing, still moving stiffly but healing well. "We hit a time lender in New Greenwich. Not to rob it—we won't take any time. We just occupy it, hold it for an hour, make a lot of noise. Forces Philippe to respond with his best people, pulls them away from Milltown."
"That's a suicide mission," Jarek pointed out.
"Only if we plan to stay and fight. But if we're just buying time, we can fortify, hold out for the hour we need, then extract through pre-planned routes before they can contain us." Greta pointed to the map. "Time lenders in New Greenwich are symbols of the system. Taking one, even temporarily, sends a powerful message."
"It also puts people in extreme danger," Ray said. "Who volunteers for that?"
"I do," Greta said immediately. "And I'll need five more. People willing to risk everything for an hour of chaos."
Hands went up around the room. More than five. More than ten. People eager to take the dangerous assignment, to be part of something that mattered.
Martha selected five—all experienced resistance members, all fully aware of the risks. Then she turned to the infiltration team.
"For the server facility, I'm recommending Ray, Sylvia, Dev, and myself."
"You?" Caron looked concerned. "Martha, your clock—"
"Has nine months. More than enough time for this operation." Martha's tone left no room for argument. "I know server facilities, I've run dozens of infiltrations, and I won't send people into danger I'm not willing to face myself."
"Then it's settled," Caron said. "Two teams, one mission. The distraction hits at 22:00, draws attention. The infiltration team enters the server facility at 23:00, during the update window. You have until 02:00 to get the data and extract. After that, the servers disconnect and the window closes."
"What data exactly are we extracting?" Dev asked.
Sylvia stepped forward, pulling out a drive. "I've been working on this with Kira. We need three things: First, complete transaction records showing how time flows through the banking system. Second, executive communications—emails, memos, recordings that show the intentional manipulation of scarcity. Third, algorithmic data proving that time distribution is deliberately restricted to maintain class separation."
"That's... a lot of data," Dev said, studying the requirements. "Terabytes, probably. I'll need at least ninety minutes just for the download, assuming optimal conditions."
"Which is why the distraction needs to hold for the full hour," Martha said. "Every minute they buy us is a minute closer to exposing the truth."
The briefing continued for another hour—detailed plans, contingencies, communication protocols, extraction routes. By the end, Ray's head was spinning with information, but he understood the core truth: this was their biggest operation yet. Bigger than the vault robbery, bigger than the transport heist. This could expose the entire system's inner workings, prove definitively that scarcity was manufactured.
Or it could get them all killed.
As people dispersed to prepare, Ray found himself alone with Sylvia on the factory's roof, looking out over the city. Lights stretched in every direction—New Greenwich glowing brightest, Milltown a bit dimmer, Dayton barely visible in the distance.
"Last chance to back out," Sylvia said. "You could take your century and disappear. Live a long, quiet life somewhere Philippe can't reach you."
"Could I though? Live quietly while people die?" Ray shook his head. "Hamilton didn't give me this time to hide with it. He gave it to me to use."
"Even if using it gets you killed?"
"Especially then. What's the point of a long life if you spend it running from what matters?" Ray looked at her. "What about you? You've given up everything—family, wealth, safety. Do you ever regret it?"
Sylvia was quiet for a moment. "Every day. And also never. It's both at once. I regret what I've lost, but I don't regret choosing to fight. Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense."
They stood in comfortable silence, both processing what was coming. Tomorrow night, everything would change. Either they'd succeed in exposing the system's core corruption, or they'd fail and likely die trying.
"Ray?" Sylvia's voice was soft. "If something goes wrong tomorrow—"
"Nothing's going wrong."
"But if it does. I want you to know that meeting you, joining this fight... it's the first time in my life I've felt like I mattered. Not as Philippe Weis's daughter, not as an heiress, but as myself. So thank you for that."
Ray took her hand. "Thank you for being brave enough to betray your entire world for people you'd never met."
They stayed on that roof until dawn began to break, two people on the edge of something that would either save thousands or destroy them both.
---
The next day passed in tense preparation. Dev triple-checked his equipment. Martha reviewed the facility blueprints until she could navigate them blindfolded. Greta assembled her distraction team and briefed them on the time lender occupation.
Ray spent the afternoon training—not physical training, but mental preparation. Visualizing the mission, walking through each step, preparing for everything that could go wrong. He'd learned in Dayton that panic killed faster than bullets. Stay calm, stay focused, survive.
His clock read 105:12:18:22. Still so much time, but it felt inadequate. He needed centuries to do everything that needed doing. Years to save everyone who needed saving.
But he had what he had. And tomorrow, he'd use it.
That evening, both teams assembled for final preparations. Greta's distraction team looked determined but not suicidal—they had a plan, they had escape routes, they believed they could survive.
The infiltration team was smaller, quieter. Ray, Sylvia, Dev, and Martha. Four people about to break into one of the most secure facilities in Milltown.
"Last check," Martha said. "Equipment?"
"Confirmed," Dev replied, patting his backpack of electronics.
"Disguises?"
"Ready," Sylvia said. She'd transformed herself into a maintenance worker, complete with authentic-looking credentials Dev had forged.
"Weapons?"
"Non-lethal only," Ray confirmed. "Time-drainers, flash-bangs, smoke grenades. Nothing that kills."
"Good. Because if this becomes a bloodbath, we lose the moral high ground. We're revolutionaries, not murderers." Martha checked her own equipment. "Extraction vehicles?"
"Elena's providing three, stationed at different points around Milltown," Kira answered. She'd be staying behind as communications coordinator. "No matter which direction you exit, you'll have a ride."
"Communication protocol?"
"Minimal radio use, encrypted when necessary, hand signals where possible." Dev showed them the communication devices—small, nearly invisible earpieces. "And I've got signal jammers in case they try to track us electronically."
Martha nodded, satisfied. "Then we're ready. Greta's team moves out in thirty minutes. We follow an hour later. Everyone understand their roles?"
Affirmatives around the room.
"One more thing," Martha said, her voice taking on a different tone. "This is dangerous. More dangerous than anything we've attempted. Some of us might not come back. If that happens—if you're captured, if you're injured, if your time runs out—know that you died for something real. Something that matters."
She paused, looking at each of them in turn.
"Hamilton started this by giving Ray his century. Vin died for it in a public plaza. Marcus, and others whose names we'll never know, have already sacrificed everything. Tomorrow, we honor them. We expose the system that killed them. We show the world what they died fighting against."
"And if we fail?" someone asked.
"Then others will continue," Martha said simply. "Revolution doesn't end with one operation or one group of people. It's an idea, and ideas can't be killed. Only delayed."
Greta stood, addressing her distraction team. "We've got the dangerous job—holding a time lender in New Greenwich for an hour while Timekeepers surround us. It's going to be loud, chaotic, and terrifying. But here's what we're not doing: we're not taking hostages, we're not hurting civilians, we're not becoming the monsters Philippe says we are. We're just making noise and buying time. Can you do that?"
"Yes," came the unified response.
"Then let's go make some noise."
The distraction team loaded into vehicles and departed. Ray watched them go, each person knowing they might die tonight, all of them going anyway.
An hour later, the infiltration team prepared to leave. Dev had his equipment. Sylvia had her forged credentials. Martha had the blueprints memorized. Ray had his century and a determination that bordered on reckless.
"Elena's waiting," Kira said. "Vehicles are ready."
They filed out of the warehouse into the night. The city sprawled before them, oblivious to what was coming. In New Greenwich, Greta's team was probably approaching their target. In server facilities across the zones, data flowed unaware that tonight, it would be exposed.
Ray climbed into the vehicle beside Sylvia. Martha and Dev took the second vehicle. They'd travel separately to the target, approach from different directions, appear unconnected until the moment they infiltrated.
As Elena drove them toward Milltown, Ray checked his clock one more time: 105:12:17:44.
By dawn, that number would be lower. Or he'd be dead. Or captured. Or successful beyond their wildest hopes.
Only one way to find out.
The countdown continued.
The revolution accelerated.
And somewhere in the night, Greta's team was about to make history.
---