"Let's go in. The others are waiting. And remember — they're not time travelers..."
Peter already knew what Vincent was about to say: Rule #1 for time travelers — never reveal your identity during a jump. The moment they stepped inside, a voice called out to meet them.
"Boss, is it true what they're saying on the news?" a female voice asked. "That Darek is dead?"
"Stop talking nonsense, Christine. Does a dead man stand in front of you?" Vincent said, pointing at Peter.
Wait... am I dead? Why am I the last one to know? Peter thought to himself.
Vincent leaned close and whispered in his ear.
"See her? Her name is Christine. She's obsessed with anything out of the ordinary — she's our informant. Be careful around her. Don't slip up, or she'll see right through you. Later, stop by my office for more details about yourself, unless your interface already gave you most of it."
"What are you two hiding?" a voice emerged from the shadows directly behind them.
Everyone jumped — especially Peter, who hadn't heard a thing.
"Berkson. How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?"
"He scared me half to death," Christine muttered.
"I was just having fun. And you — nobody asked you. So shut it."
"Excuse me? Shut it? Who do you think you are, you mutt?"
Vincent leaned toward Peter again and sighed.
"Don't worry about them. It's always like this. Christine's his ex, so they're at each other's throats constantly. But trust me, they make a solid team — she handles intel, he handles stealth."
"Hey, Darek." Berkson turned to Peter. "Did the mission go well?"
Peter had no idea. So he said nothing.
Vincent gestured for Peter to follow. Despite its atmosphere, the underground base was surprisingly spacious. They walked down a long corridor.
"Your room is here. The one right next to it belongs to Frics. Don't ever go in there. I mean never."
He stepped into a side room, Peter close behind.
"I know you've had a thousand questions since we met. I was lost too, when I first arrived. Now that we're alone — let's talk."
"I want to know something... Christine said I was dead. That Darek was dead."
Vincent pointed directly at Peter's chest.
"Look."
Peter — or rather Darek — looked down and saw a wound on his chest, sealed shut as if cauterized by a hot iron.
"Darek was killed by the Alliance. We were on a recon mission based on intel from our informant duo. But we were exposed. That's when he got shot. I was fleeing when my chip picked up a temporal distortion coming from his body. I went back — and he was gone. So I went looking for you."
Vincent paused, then continued.
"Officially in this era, I go by Rotson Enderbeck — former Alliance agent, just like you."
"What's the Alliance?"
"It's Malos's organization. That bastard didn't even bother keeping his host's name. I'm not sure exactly what he's trying to build, but it feels like he wants to create some kind of utopia here. His methods are brutal, and the damage to society is already visible. From the moment they arrived, they seized control of the entire city in no time — using knowledge from the future as their weapon. My host, Rotson, was one of their members. Actually, everyone in our group is a former agent. When I first got here, I spent my early days observing, waiting for the right moment to strike. That's when I met Darek. I convinced him — and a few others — to push back. And so we rebelled."
He straightened up.
"That's the short version. You should be able to keep up from here."
Peter asked to be shown to his quarters.
"Go ahead. But remember — we have a briefing in a few minutes."
When he opened the door to his room, the smell hit him first — sweat and garbage.
This Darek guy must've been a real slob, Peter thought.
Surprisingly, he didn't dwell on it. He collapsed onto the mattress and was almost asleep when a blaring horn jolted him back awake.
That must be the assembly alarm, he thought.
Soon they were all gathered in the main room, seated around a holographic table.
"Alright everyone. Two objectives for this session. First — each of us gives a mission debrief. Second — I'll tell you later."
"Hold on, Boss. We can't start without Frics."
"Don't worry, he won't be joining us. I gave him a more critical mission: upgrading our equipment. Now, back to business. Yesterday, thanks to intel from our dynamic duo," — he nodded at Christine — "we identified four possible locations where the prototypes could be stored. Darek and I covered the East side. You covered the North. Our side? Nothing but a fully armed squad waiting for us."
"Ha! Same thing happened to us. We barely made it out. And I'll tell you — while we were running, Christine—"
Before he could finish, a fist connected with his face.
"Idiot."
"In that case, there are only two locations left to check," Peter said quietly.
"Still as reserved as ever, Darek."
"Exactly," Vincent confirmed. "Zone A and Malos's residence."
Holographic images of both locations flickered up from the table as he spoke.
"So which one do we hit first?"
"What do you mean, 'which one', Boss?" Berkson said. "We split into two teams again — same as today. Better odds."
"What you're not seeing, Berkson, is that after today's failures, they've definitely reinforced both locations. Two pairs of two won't cut it."
"I think we should wait," Berkson added.
The tension was rising when Peter broke the silence.
"First — let's be real. There are four of us against an entire army. Our odds of success are maybe one percent. If we're choosing, waiting makes more sense."
"Exactly."
"But waiting puts us at a disadvantage too. The longer we wait, the more Malos can build up his arsenal. Even if we recruit more people, it might not be enough. Dragging this out won't help us."
"I agree. We go with the element of surprise. Everyone on board?" Vincent scanned the room. "Then the only question is where."
"No need to think too hard. A dog never strays far from its bone. We hit Malos's base."
"Alright. We move tomorrow at 0200 hours — hit them when they're at their most exhausted. Until then, rest up. It's going to be a long day."
Time passed, but Peter couldn't sleep. He had appeared calm during the meeting, but the truth was simple: if they failed, this entire era could be lost.
The hour came faster than expected. Peter, who hadn't slept at all, was running through the plan obsessively when a voice came from behind.
"Darek. Come here. The Boss told me you're our battering ram for this mission, so I put everything I had into building you a proper arsenal."
He didn't recognize the man. But it had to be Frics — an elderly figure with a round face and a perfectly centered bald patch that gave him the unmistakable look of a mad scientist. He set a bag down on the table.
"A custom detonator, built specifically for you. Blast radius: over twenty meters. Use it wisely."
Peter picked it up and studied it carefully.
"A Phaser-X Ultrabooster — ten rounds per charge. And the best part:" Frics held up a sleek device, "infrared detection goggles. With all of this, you should have a fighting chance."
Soon, they were outside the base.
"Everyone remember the plan? Berkson, Christine — you guide us in. I go straight for Malos. And you, Darek — you grab the prototypes. Let's move. Now or never." Vincent's voice was low and sharp. "The Alliance's main building is just a few streets away. We can't waste time."
Peter nodded, his hand unconsciously brushing the grip of his Phaser-X. He wasn't a soldier. He was just a time explorer — lost in an era that wasn't even his. But part of him knew there was no turning back.
They crossed the empty streets, their steps light on the broken ground. Adrenaline sharpened Peter's focus. Every movement, every breath, mattered. One mistake could cost him his life — or worse, destroy the mission he was sent to complete.
They stopped in front of a massive building. Its armored doors were stamped with the Alliance seal. The distant hum of the dying city seemed even further away here, as if this fortress of metal and concrete had walled itself off from the world's collapse.
Rotson turned to Peter.
"Darek — you know the plan. All I can say is: give it everything you've got."
Peter gave a single nod. He knew this wasn't just a sabotage run. It was a chance to strike at the root of a totalitarian power that crushed everything in its path.
They moved toward the metal doors. Two armed guards stood watch outside. Peter was already wondering how they'd get past them.
"Christine. You know what to do," Rotson said.
She nodded. She pressed a device on her chest — and in an instant, a stunning red dress materialized over her frame. The men in the group stared, completely thrown off.
"Good luck," Peter managed.
She walked toward the guards, moving with deliberate, unhurried confidence. The two men noticed immediately.
"Good evening, gentlemen. I know you're busy, but could you help me with my vehicle? I think it broke down."
"Of course, ma'am. I'll help you," one guard said. "You — stay here," he told the second.
"No. I want to help the lady too."
"Then come on, both of you. More hands, more help."
She led them around a deserted corner, keeping the conversation easy and warm.
"So you both work in that big building? That can't be easy. I always wonder why men as capable as you are stuck on door duty. You deserve better."
The two guards were glowing — a beautiful woman who actually understood them. Their guard dropped completely.
That was the moment Berkson materialized behind them without a sound, grabbed both men by the head, and slammed them hard into the ground. Out cold.
He reached into their pockets and pulled out two electronic keycards. He raised his hand — the signal for Peter and Rotson to advance. The chief took the cards. Christine and Berkson stripped the unconscious officers and pulled on their uniforms.
A soft beep. The screen flashed green. The door slid open.
Inside, the building was drenched in shadow — black metallic walls, a near-claustrophobic atmosphere. Neon lights flickered in patches. They moved carefully, their steps swallowed by the thick floor material. Surveillance cameras hung from the ceiling, but Peter knew how to read them. He had learned to work around systems like these, even in a body that wasn't his. A step forward, a sidestep, a drop back — weaving through the blind spots until finally...
They reached a secured hall — a vast open space where dozens of soldiers patrolled. This was where Peter had to act.
He turned to Rotson.
"I've got this. Go make that bastard pay."
Rotson gave a sharp nod and vanished down another corridor.
Peter moved quietly toward one of the security consoles. He had only minutes before the alarm triggered. He slotted a hacking device into the central system — every second pressing down on him.
Then — footsteps. A soldier rounded the corner.
Peter had a split second to react. He seized a weapon from his side and melted into the shadow. The soldier walked past without noticing, focused on his own patrol. A slow breath escaped Peter's throat.
But the real challenge was just beginning.
Level after level of security. Hacked databases. Mazes of code and countermeasures. The air grew heavier, more suffocating with every step.
And then — he found it.
He stepped into an enormous room that looked less like a storage facility and more like a research lab.
What he saw stopped him cold.
On the left side of the room, rows of transparent containers lined the walls. Inside them, flawed replicas of the energy prototypes pulsed with unstable light — some sparking, others leaking thin streams of smoke.
But on the right side...
On the right side was something else entirely.
Human beings — men and women — floated in a viscous liquid, naked, connected to machines by cables implanted directly into their flesh. Their bodies were covered in energy burns. Some limbs were deformed. Their eyes were wide open.
And completely empty.
Nobody had told him about this. Lorn had mentioned a theft, a temporal threat — but not this. Not this kind of horror.
"Vincent, do you copy?" Peter whispered, nausea rising in his throat. "They've been making replicas — and they've been testing them on humans. He's running experiments on living people."
"What?!" Vincent's voice cracked with shock. "I... I had no idea. That's monstrous. But Peter — listen to me. Focus on the Original Prototype. That's all that matters right now. Find it."
Then Peter spotted it — a hidden door at the far end of the lab. He pushed through it into a smaller, heavily secured room. There, at the center, mounted on a pedestal, the Original Prototype pulsed with clean, steady energy.
"He played us all..." Peter murmured, the full scope of Malos's deception sinking in.
He grabbed it.
His interface lit up immediately.
"Peter — watch yourself. Malos is not in the building," Rotson's voice crackled through the intercom.
"What — he tricked us into—"
He never finished the sentence.
Red lights flooded the room. A deafening alarm tore through the air.
"Damn it!"
He spun around. A column of soldiers was already pouring in from every direction. The situation was critical. There was no way to extract the prototypes — not all of them. Not like this.
Then it hit him.
If he couldn't take them... he had to destroy them.
In a desperate move, Peter drove his hand into his pocket, pulled out the detonator, armed it, and hurled it at the prototypes.
A deep, concussive blast rocked the room.
"What the hell did you just do, Darek?!" Rotson's voice exploded through the intercom. "Please don't tell me you just destroyed the prototypes—"
Before Rotson could finish, the ground beneath Peter began to shake. A massive shockwave rippled outward, throwing the soldiers off their feet.
"Don't move — I'm coming, even if I have no idea what I'm going to do," Rotson called out.
But Peter was no longer listening.
His internal interface was going haywire, flashing a cascade of warnings:
TEMPORAL ANOMALY DETECTED. ENERGY UNSTABLE. IMMINENT RUPTURE RISK.
The space around him tore open. His body locked in place. His consciousness was ripped from reality as if an invisible hand had reached inside him and pulled.
A distorted scream. A crushing pressure. And then—
Silence.
Cold.