[COUNTER: 2,843]
[28 DAYS, 14 HOURS UNTIL TRIAL 2]
The first person on my list was the easiest to find.
Amara Chen, sixteen years old, ranked #3 chess player in the United States, #17 globally. Her face had been all over the news after Trial 1—youngest survivor in Manhattan, pulled a dozen people to safety during the culling, including a NYPD officer who'd frozen in panic.
The media called her a hero.
I knew better.
Across forty-three of my loops, Amara Chen had appeared. Sometimes as an ally, sometimes as an enemy, once as the person who'd mercy-killed me when my counter hit single digits and I'd begged for it.
She was consistent. Adaptable. And ruthless when she needed to be.
Exactly the kind of person who might be a looper.
I found her at the Manhattan Chess Club on West 64th, which had been converted into a refugee center. The building was packed with survivors—families who'd lost their homes, people too terrified to be alone, others who just wanted to be around life after watching so much death.
Amara sat at a chess table in the corner, playing against herself. Both sides of the board were in complex mid-game positions. She moved a piece on the white side, then stood, walked around the table, and studied the black side's options.
I watched from the doorway for a few minutes.
She was small for sixteen, maybe five-foot-two, with dark hair pulled into a messy bun. She wore a Columbia University hoodie three sizes too big and had the kind of intense focus that made the chaos around her disappear.
Finally, she spoke without looking up.
"You've been standing there for four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Either sit down or leave. You're disrupting my concentration."
I sat.
She made another move—white side—then glanced at me. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. Old eyes in a young face.
"You're not here for chess," she said.
"No."
"You're not a journalist. Wrong energy. Not family—I'd recognize you. Not a Guardian—you're breathing too hard, you ran here." She moved a black piece. "So what are you?"
"Someone who needs to talk to you."
"About?"
"The trials. And whether you remember things you shouldn't."
Her hand froze halfway to a chess piece.
The noise of the refugee center continued around us—crying children, worried conversations, someone's radio playing news updates. But at our table, silence crystallized.
Slowly, she completed the move. Then she looked at me directly for the first time.
"Check," she said, referring to the board. Then, quieter: "Follow me."
She stood and walked toward the back of the building. I followed her through a maintenance door, up a stairwell, onto the roof.
The Manhattan skyline spread before us, smoke still rising from a dozen fires across the city. The sky was normal again—clouds moving, sunset approaching—but it felt wrong now. Like we were all waiting for it to freeze again.
Amara pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
"I don't smoke," she said, lighting one anyway. "Started two loops ago. Figured if I'm going to die repeatedly, might as well have one vice." She took a drag, coughed. "Still terrible at it."
My chest tightened. "How many loops?"
"Thirteen." She studied me through the smoke. "You?"
"Seventy-three."
The cigarette fell from her fingers.
"Jesus Christ." She stared at me like I was a ghost. "How? How are you not... broken?"
I almost laughed. "Who says I'm not?"
She picked up the cigarette, took another shaky drag. "Thirteen was enough to make me question my sanity. Seventy-three..." She shook her head. "When did you start remembering?"
"This loop. The morning of the announcement. You?"
"Loop seven. Woke up screaming, every death playing at once like a highlight reel from hell." She leaned against the roof's edge. "Spent three days thinking I was in a psychiatric break before I accepted it was real."
"The mark," I said. "Do you have one?"
She pulled up her sleeve. There, on her forearm: the same glitch-like symbol, but configured differently than mine or Elena's.
"Observer assigned," she said. "Got the message after my first remembered loop. No idea what it means."
"It means we're being tested. Or studied. Something beyond the normal system is watching specific people."
"People who loop?"
"People who loop and remember." I showed her my mark. "I met another one last night. Elena. Forty-one loops."
Amara's eyes widened. "There are more of us?"
"At least a few. Maybe more." I explained about the Guardians, the protocol violations, Elena's warning.
Amara processed this with the same focused intensity she'd given the chess board. "So meeting you puts me at risk."
"Yes."
"And yet you came anyway."
"Because Trial 2 is coming. The Divide. And from my memories, sixty-eight percent mortality rate. I've died in that trial seventeen times." I met her eyes. "You've only done thirteen loops total. You've never even seen Trial 2."
She went pale. "What?"
"Your longest run was Trial 1. You died in the culling every time until Loop 7, when you finally survived. Since then, you've been getting better at Trial 1, but—"
"But I've never made it past it," she finished. Her hand shook slightly. "Every loop, I die in Trial 1. Except the last six."
"Which means Trial 2 is going to blindside you."
She was quiet for a long moment, staring at the city. "Why tell me? Why risk Guardian intervention to warn me?"
Good question. Why was I doing this?
"Because in Loop 44, you saved my life in Trial 14. Sacrificed your counter to give me time to escape. You don't remember it, but I do." The memory was crystal clear—Amara, older, harder, pushing me through a portal while monsters tore her apart. "I owe you."
"That's a terrible reason to risk your life."
"Maybe. But it's the reason I've got."
She studied me, and I could practically see her mind working through possibilities, calculating odds, weighing risks.
"Tell me about Trial 2," she said finally.
I pulled out my notebook—I'd started carrying it everywhere—and flipped to the relevant pages.
"Trial 2: The Divide. It's not a combat trial. It's a choice trial."
"What kind of choice?"
"The system splits survivors into pairs. Random assignments. Then it gives you an ultimatum: one person in each pair gets a massive counter boost—usually 500 to 1000 units. The other person loses the same amount."
Amara's face went neutral, the way it did when she was playing chess and saw a trap. "And you have to decide between yourselves who gets what."
"Exactly. You have sixty minutes to decide. If you can't agree, both of you lose 500 units."
"Prisoner's dilemma," she said immediately. "Classic game theory. Cooperation is optimal, but individual incentive to defect is high."
"Except it's worse than that. The system doesn't just pair you randomly. It pairs you with someone you have a connection to."
Her eyes narrowed. "Define connection."
"Family. Friends. Coworkers. Anyone you have an emotional bond with." I flipped through my notes. "Loop 23, I was paired with my mother. Loop 31, my sister. Loop 56, a woman I'd been dating for three weeks before the announcement."
"And you had to choose which one of you got the counter boost."
"Every. Single. Time."
"What did you choose?"
I closed the notebook. "Depended on the loop. Sometimes I took the boost, told myself I needed to survive longer to save more people. Sometimes I gave it to them. Sometimes we couldn't agree and both lost." My voice went flat. "Loop 31, Sarah—my sister—she insisted I take the boost. I refused. We argued for fifty-eight minutes. Both lost 500 units. She died three trials later when her counter ran out."
Amara was quiet for a moment. "That's why the mortality rate is so high. It's not a combat trial—it's a psychological one."
"Exactly. And it breaks people. Some pairs fight each other, literally. Some make deals they can't keep. Some commit suicide rather than make the choice." I remembered Loop 47, watching a man jump off a building after forcing his wife to take the penalty. "The system isn't testing physical adaptation anymore. It's testing moral adaptation. Whether you can be selfish enough to survive."
"Or selfless enough to sacrifice yourself strategically," Amara added. She was thinking like a chess player—seeing the whole board. "If I take the penalty but survive long enough to gain it back in future trials..."
"That's the trap. Most people can't gain back 500 units. That's weeks of successful trials. The math doesn't work for average survivors."
She paced the roof, processing. "Who am I paired with?"
"I don't know. It varies by loop. I've never been able to predict the pairings."
"But you've been through this trial seventeen times. You must have developed strategies."
I had. God help me, I had.
"Strategy One: Take the boost, no hesitation. Don't give the other person time to argue or make you feel guilty. It's brutal, but it works."
"Strategy Two?"
"Give the boost, but only to someone you know has a high counter and good survival skills. Treat it like an investment—they survive longer, they might help you later."
"Strategy Three?"
"Refuse to participate. Take the mutual penalty. If you're paired with someone whose counter is already low, losing 500 might kill them instantly, but you both maintain moral high ground."
She laughed bitterly. "Moral high ground doesn't keep your counter from hitting zero."
"No. It doesn't."
"What's your plan for this loop?"
I'd been thinking about that for days. "I don't know yet. Depends who I'm paired with."
"And if you're paired with someone from your current life? Your mom, your sister?"
"Then I make the same choice I've made before and hate myself for it." I met her eyes. "But I'll survive. Because if I die on Trial 2, all this—seventy-three loops, all the knowledge—it's wasted."
"Survivor's guilt," Amara said quietly. "You're already carrying the weight of seventy-three failed attempts. Adding one more person to the pile won't change anything."
"You sound like you've thought about this."
"I have. Loop 11, I was paired with my chess coach. He'd trained me since I was six. Father figure, mentor, the person who believed in me when no one else did." She lit another cigarette. "I took the boost without hesitation. Watched his counter drop 750 units. He died in Trial 4."
"You made the logical choice."
"I made the survivable choice. Not the same thing."
We stood in silence, two people carrying the weight of deaths no one else remembered.
"If we're taking this risk," Amara said finally, "meeting despite the Guardians, violating protocol—we should make it count. What do you need from me?"
"Information. You see patterns I might miss. You think strategically." I pulled out the list of names. "Elena gave me these—other potential loopers. I'm tracking them down."
She scanned the list. "Marcus Webb, the Marine. I know him. Saw him in Loop 12, Trial 6. He was... efficient. Almost mechanical. Didn't hesitate, didn't panic."
"Looper?"
"Maybe. Or just military training." She tapped another name. "Dr. Sarah Okonkwo. Don't know her personally, but I've seen her in the news. Trauma surgeon, saved hundreds of people after Trial 1. Counter's at 4200, one of the highest recorded."
"High counter doesn't mean looper."
"No, but it means adaptable. The system rewards adaptation." She looked at me. "What if we're asking the wrong question?"
"What do you mean?"
"We're looking for people who remember loops. But what if there are people who don't remember but are still being influenced? Subconscious knowledge, muscle memory, instincts they can't explain?"
I'd never considered that. "You think some loopers don't know they're loopers?"
"I think the memory wipe might work on most people, even if they loop. But the experience still shapes them somehow. Makes them better survivors without knowing why."
It made horrible sense. How many times had I attributed survival to "luck" or "instinct" in my early loops?
"We need to test that theory," I said.
"Carefully. If we expose ourselves to too many people—"
A sound cut her off. Footsteps on the stairwell.
We both went silent.
The door to the roof opened.
A man in a black suit stepped out.
Guardian.
"Shit," Amara whispered.
The Guardian's head turned toward us with that same mechanical precision I'd seen before. Its eyes locked on.
[PROTOCOL VIOLATION DETECTED]
[MULTIPLE ANOMALIES IN PROXIMITY]
[ENFORCEMENT REQUIRED]
"Move!" I grabbed Amara's arm and ran for the fire escape.
The Guardian walked—not ran, walked—but space bent around it. One step covered twenty feet.
We scrambled down the fire escape, metal rattling under our feet. I glanced up and saw the Guardian standing at the roof's edge, watching us with complete calm.
Then it stepped off.
"Oh fuck—"
It landed two floors below us, concrete cracking under its feet, and continued walking upward.
"They can't be killed!" Amara shouted.
"I know! Just run!"
We hit the ground level and sprinted into the street. The refugee center was blocks away now, crowds thinning as evening approached.
I pulled Amara into an alley, then through a basement entrance I'd scouted earlier—part of the old subway maintenance system. The city was a maze if you knew where to look, and seventy-three loops had taught me every hidden passage in Manhattan.
We ran through service tunnels, past old homeless encampments, through sections of subway that had been closed since the 80s.
Finally, we emerged in a different neighborhood entirely—East Village, nowhere near where we'd started.
I checked behind us. No Guardian.
We collapsed against a wall, both gasping for breath.
[COUNTER: 2,839]
Four units lost during the chase.
"Is it always like that?" Amara asked between breaths.
"Yes. Meeting other loopers always draws them. We got lucky—usually they're faster."
"Lucky." She laughed weakly. "Sure."
I pulled out the burner phone Elena had given me. Typed a quick message using the code: CHESS PIECE SECURE. ONE DOWN, TWO TO GO.
"What now?" Amara asked.
"Now we stay separated. Don't contact me unless it's an emergency. Don't go looking for the others—I'll handle that."
"And Trial 2?"
"Whatever happens, remember: the choice isn't about morality. It's about math. Calculate who has the better survival odds and act accordingly."
She nodded, then hesitated. "Connor? In Loop 44, when I saved you... did it work? Did you make it further?"
"I died in Trial 15. Two trials later."
"Was it worth it? My sacrifice?"
I thought about Loop 44—how I'd used those extra trials to map out Guardian patrol patterns, to identify safe zones, to gather intelligence I'd used in subsequent loops.
"Yes," I said. "Everything you learned, everything you did—it mattered. Even if you don't remember it."
She smiled, small and sad. "Good. Then maybe this time will matter too."
She left without another word, disappearing into the evening crowd.
I stood alone in the alley, feeling the weight of another connection formed, another person whose death I'd have to watch if things went wrong.
My wrist tingled.
[OBSERVER NOTATION: NETWORK FORMING]
[DEVIATION APPROVED]
[CONTINUE]
The Observer was pleased. Whatever experiment it was running, I was performing correctly.
I didn't know if that was comforting or terrifying.
Probably both.
I checked my list. Two more names to find.
Marcus Webb, former Marine, last seen in Queens.
Dr. Sarah Okonkwo, trauma surgeon, working at Mount Sinai.
Twenty-eight days until Trial 2.
Twenty-eight days to build a network of people who might remember, who might adapt, who might survive.
And twenty-eight days to figure out what the Observer wanted from me before everything went to hell.
I started walking, my shadow long in the streetlights, another ghost moving through a dying city.
[COUNTER: 2,837]
The clock was always ticking.
But for the first time in seventy-three loops, I wasn't facing it alone.
[END CHAPTER 3]
[NEXT TRIAL IN 28 DAYS, 11 HOURS, 42 MINUTES]
[ANOMALIES IDENTIFIED: 2/12]