Chapter 4: The Scientific Method
I woke up before my alarm on Wednesday, energy humming through me. The successes of the previous day had lit a fire of curiosity that overshadowed any usual mid-week sluggishness. In truth, I felt like a student who had just discovered a fascinating secret physics experiment and couldn't wait to get back in the lab.
The "lab," in this case, would have to be the world around me. My apartment was too small and devoid of fast-moving stimuli to truly push the boundaries of my ability. I needed scenarios, tests, measurements. If yesterday's theme was confirming I could consciously use the power, today's theme would be quantifying it.
As I got ready, I compiled a mental checklist. It felt appropriate that I approach this systematically, like any research project:
Trigger conditions – Try to find a way to initiate the slow-time state at will, without relying on accidental stimuli. Perhaps attempt meditation or visualization techniques, or small self-imposed challenges that raise adrenaline. Duration – Determine how long I can hold it, subjectively and objectively, and what factors limit it. Does it end because I relax, or because of some energy drain? Yesterday I felt a headache after maybe half a minute in that state. Could be a clue. Physical limitations – See if there are things I cannot do while time is slowed. For example, can I run a long distance in that state or does my body still tire normally? Does gravity affect me differently? (The latter seemed normal – I wasn't floating or anything.) Objects and environment – Test interactions. If I push something heavy while in freeze-mode, is it as hard as normal? Does moving objects expend more effort since effectively I'm accelerating them relative to frozen environment? For example, if I tried to shove a car during a freeze, could I? Or is it like the car's inertia is infinite when time is stopped for it? Effects on living things – I'd done some with people: dragging those pedestrians, stabilizing Trevor. They seemed none the wiser except being relocated. But what about animals or plants? Unlikely to be different, but who knows. Technology – Do devices I carry on me keep working? The smartwatch stopped its clock, but when I touched it, did it resume? Perhaps try using a tablet or something during a freeze, see if it responds. I suspect not, since its internal clock would freeze too. Range – Is it global or local? So far it seems like the entire immediate world around me froze. But could it be a bubble only I perceive? If someone a mile away was not in my "zone," would they still move? That's hard to test alone… Unless I had someone observe from afar. That's complex. Likely it's global or at least large-scale, given both the train and the office events encompassed everything in view.
My mind raced. Some tests were easy, others not so much without possibly tipping someone off. I decided not all had to be done today, obviously. I should prioritize.
After a quick breakfast and double-checking I had a small notebook in my bag (to jot findings on the go), I headed out early again.
I chose to walk part of the way to work rather than going straight on the metro. There was a nice park a few blocks from my place – not huge, but with some open spaces and paths that would be fairly quiet this hour. I figured that might be a good place to attempt a controlled freeze where I could move more freely and maybe measure distance or time.
The morning sky was a pale blue, the sun still low. A crispness in the air gave everything a fresh edge. I reached the park and found it mostly empty save for a couple of joggers and an older man walking a real dog (not a bot this time). I paced until I found a secluded grassy area with a clear line of sight but no one immediately nearby.
Alright. Let's do this. My heart ticked up in anticipation.
I decided to use a throw of that same tennis ball (which I had handily stashed in my jacket pocket today) as a triggering mechanism. I'd toss it high and try to freeze time while it's in the air, then see what I could do before it fell.
Standing in the grass, I took out my phone too. I set a timer to see how long I hold the freeze. But if the phone freezes, it won't count. Right—maybe not helpful. Alternatively, I could use the phone to measure how far the ball falls or something. Hmm.
Instead, I opted for a simpler approach: my own counting and the position of the ball as an indicator. If I manage to freeze while it's airborne, it should halt mid-air. When I let time resume, it'll complete the fall.
I drew in a deep breath. No more dabbling—time to push intentionally. I threw the tennis ball straight up, quite high, and the moment it left my hand I summoned the will.
A surge of determination, the memory of how it felt in the office, and an almost physical push in my mind—now!
For an instant I wasn't sure it worked, as I could still see the ball moving upward. But then, near the apex of its trajectory, it slowed to a crawl and hung. Yes!
The familiar stillness swept out around me. Sound dampened: the distant city noise dropped in pitch, a bird frozen mid-flight not far off (I blinked at that—yes, a sparrow or something was literally stuck like a tiny feathery statue about twenty feet away). The ripple on the small pond nearby halted mid-ripple. It was as if the world turned into a high-resolution photograph.
I let out a breath. It came out oddly, like in slow-mo to my ears, which meant I was partly in normal time still. If I spoke, would I hear it normally or slowed? That was interesting—I think I was hearing my own voice slowed since the air vibrations were in the frozen environment. So even my own activities might be affected by the freeze aside from my perception. Hard to wrap my head around.
Focus. The ball hung maybe fifteen feet up. I walked toward where it was going to fall. Confirming hypothesis: It truly stopped mid-air. That means gravity's effect also froze. It wasn't slowly falling; it was just suspended. So effectively time for that ball was halted altogether.
I reached up and plucked the tennis ball out of the air easily. It had no resistance aside from normal weight. I bounced it on my hand – interestingly, once I was holding it, I could manipulate it normally relative to myself. I tossed it gently a few inches up and caught again, that motion I created was at normal speed from my perspective. But I suspect if someone else were watching, they wouldn't see it at all until time resumed (like those pedestrians who just saw me jump positions).
I placed the ball back roughly where I'd grabbed it from, trying to set it floating to see if it would remain there. It did; I could leave it suspended in a new spot, as if positioning props in zero gravity.
This was fun. I couldn't resist doing a small, silly thing: I took off my jacket and hung it on the ball, just to see a coat floating in mid-air hooked on nothing. Sure enough, it draped there absurdly. I chuckled to myself.
Okay, enough games. Time to test some checklist items.
Physical effort: I decided to sprint to a tree about 50 yards away and sprint back while time was frozen, to see how I felt and if I could gauge outside change.
I took off running. The quiet was surreal; no wind noise, just the thump of my feet and my breathing echoing in my head. Running felt normal though, as far as exertion. Maybe even a bit tougher, likely psychological because the environment was so still – no resistance though, air felt normal. I reached the tree, touched it, and sprinted back to my starting spot.
I wasn't winded too badly (I keep reasonably fit). Now, presumably, to an outside observer I'd just vanish and reappear or appear as a blur darting. That gave me an idea: what if I resumed time while I was mid-sprint? People would see a human appearing out of nowhere at high speed – not ideal. So I made sure to be back to my original place before unfreezing.
Next, interaction with objects and inertia: There was a park bench nearby – heavy cast iron one. I tried to push it. It moved, scraping slowly on the pavement. It was heavy but I could shove it a bit. So I could move large objects, albeit with muscle effort. That answered something: objects didn't become immovable, though was it harder than usual? Hard to compare; that bench would be heavy anyway. But it moved, so at least not infinite inertia.
I repositioned it a foot aside from its previous spot. Similarly, I nudged a little rock and watched it roll. When I stopped touching it, it froze in place mid-roll. Aha! When I imparted motion, it moved normally relative to me, but once I let it go, it froze. So objects not in contact with me remain under frozen time laws.
That aligned with the watch example – when attached to me or in my influence, maybe it moves forward in time; when not, it's frozen. So perhaps my "field" of normal time is basically just me (and maybe things I physically engage with).
This suggests if I carry a device and interact with it, it might work as long as it's effectively part of my frame of reference. But anything reliant on external signals (like internet) wouldn't work since the network is frozen. The device might function offline though. If I had an offline app or some computations, maybe it'd run. Might test phone by playing an offline game or calculation in freeze.
I pulled out my phone from my pocket – interestingly it was still on, since it was with me (it didn't freeze in my pocket apparently). Actually, checking it: the clock on it was stuck at the moment I froze. But when I tapped, it responded. So the screen was still working at least partially. I had a downloaded video on the phone – I played it. It played! But no sound (sound likely needs air movement which is frozen, so I just got silence). The video visuals played normally though, since the phone's internal hardware was working at my speed. Fascinating.
I paused the video. Good to know: electronic devices on my person can function, but anything requiring external environment (sound waves, internet connectivity) is limited.
My mobile data would be useless because cell towers likely froze. I could test camera though: I opened the camera and took a photo of the scenery: it captured the frozen bird in mid-air. That photo was chilling evidence if shown to someone: a bird not flapping, suspended. Of course, a high-speed camera might do that too with fast shutter, but the clarity would be weird. I kept it anyway for my personal archive.
Now, duration: I'd been in this state probably around what, a minute or two subjectively, maybe more given all that I did. I was feeling a slight strain now. The headache, subtle but growing. Also a kind of heavy feeling in my limbs, like I was starting to wade through deeper water. Possibly a sign that holding this state too long taxes me physically or mentally.
I decided to wrap up soon. But one more measure: I looked at my watch (which I had synced to a second hand analog display for this). It was showing time stopped at ~7:20:15.
I then deliberately counted seconds in my head as I stood still. I got to 60 (taking it slow and steady, "one Mississippi" style). Then I looked at watch again: still at 7:20:15. So no real seconds passed externally in that minute of my time. That implies the freeze was pretty much complete from outside perspective. Good to confirm.
I suspected when I unfreeze, maybe a barely noticeable blip of time will have passed. Perhaps the ball fell.
Speaking of which – my jacket still hung on the ball mid-air where I left it. I carefully retrieved it, putting my jacket back on. Took the ball back in hand.
I glanced around to ensure no one was near – still clear.
Time to resume. I relaxed and willed the freeze to end. Instantly, the noise of the world rushed in: the breeze rustling leaves, distant car engines, the chirp of a bird. The sparrow I'd seen burst into motion, flying off as if suddenly propelled. The ripples on the pond resumed lapping. And the tennis ball in my hand – oh! I hadn't thought of that – it wasn't where it "should" be from an outside view. Actually, I had it in my hand but it was supposed to be mid-air a second ago.
That could be odd if someone had a direct line of sight. Thankfully no one seemed to. Or if they did, they might just think they lost track of it.
Just to be safe and to complete the expected trajectory, I dropped the ball from the same height I caught it, letting it fall to the ground normally now. It thumped on the grass. To any observer, maybe they'd assume it was just tossed and caught normally.
I felt a small wave of dizziness – likely the strain. I sat on the bench (that I had moved slightly – oh right, it was now a foot from its original bolts. Doubt anyone would notice immediately). I rubbed my temples. The headache was more pronounced. It wasn't unbearable, but like the onset of a migraine perhaps.
So, limitation: using it for what felt like a couple minutes gave me a headache and general fatigue. It might be wise not to push longer just yet. Like an untrained muscle that could cramp if overused.
As I rested, I marveled at the trove of information I had gathered. My notes were going to be extensive. I realized something else: I had effectively done a mini workout (sprinting, moving heavy bench) in zero external time. But my body felt the exertion. So I could theoretically exercise or work or do anything in freeze and still get tired as normal, but no outside time passes. That was huge for productivity or training. I could train skills or strength "between seconds." That idea excited me.
But first, it would be wise to get rid of this headache. I drank some water from a fountain and headed on to the office.
All morning at work, I was buzzing quietly with satisfaction. I found myself deep in thought at times about the phenomena, occasionally almost missing when someone tried to get my attention. At one point Ryan snapped fingers in front of my face jokingly, "Hey, earth to Alex, you in a timewarp or what?" I almost choked but managed a laugh. "Sorry, just thinking about an algorithm," I fibbed.
I scribbled some of my findings into my pocket notebook during a lull. Already pages in with my scrawl. I wrote down: "Can move within freeze freely, but prolonged use leads to headache/fatigue. Might need to build tolerance." That suggested maybe like a muscle, practice could extend duration.
Under trigger, I put: "Seems tied to adrenaline/urgency. Voluntarily triggered in park by creating scenario (ball throw) and focusing intensely. Perhaps easier with physical motion as catalyst."
At lunch, I skipped the group invites and ate quickly at my desk so I could use the extra time to update my encrypted digital journal with the morning's experiment data.
Trevor passed by at one point and gave me a somewhat friendly nod. Apparently our little incident had warmed him slightly. "You know," he said, in an oddly congenial tone, "I realized I never properly thanked you for the help yesterday. Could've been a literal headache for me if that box smacked me."
I waved it off. "Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you didn't get hurt, man."
He lingered a second. "Still… thanks. And, uh, good catch. Or whatever you did. I still can't figure out how that box ended up back on the shelf." He laughed awkwardly, as if a bit spooked by it. "Maybe I really did some ninja move without realizing."
I gave a light chuckle. "Adrenaline can make us do crazy things, huh?"
He shook his head, smirking. "Between you and that car stunt, I'm starting to think you should start teaching reflex classes or something."
I just smiled and shrugged. He carried on. Phew.
His comment though sparked a thought: eventually, if too many weird things happen around me, people might start connecting dots or at least thinking I'm some freakish reflexes guy. Which is still better than them guessing the truth, but I should be careful not to show off too often in front of the same people.
Better to spread out any "miracles" or keep them subtle.
In the afternoon, I felt the effects of the morning's exertions: a wave of tiredness, like one might feel after a hard workout earlier. My legs were a bit sore from the sprints, reminding me that just because I did them in frozen time doesn't mean my muscles didn't do the work. I popped an ibuprofen for the headache which still lingered faintly, and that helped.
I mused about recovery: If I get fatigued in frozen time, do I recover in frozen time? Potentially, I could sleep or rest during a freeze (if I could maintain it while unconscious, which seems unlikely) and then resume fresh while only seconds passed outside. That might be impossible or at least advanced level. But maybe a short break inside a freeze could help if I needed a second wind in a pinch.
The day finally ended. Rather than more experiments immediately, I decided to take the evening off from intense usage to let my body and mind rest. But I did treat myself to a small demonstration of power for personal convenience: When I got home, I realized I forgot to pick up a package from the lobby locker (which required a code and was down 10 floors). Instead of taking the slow elevator or walking back down, I tried something cheeky: I stood in my living room, focused, and triggered a small freeze. Then I sprinted down the stairwell – 10 flights went by in a blur, got to the locker, opened it with my code, grabbed my package, and sprinted back up to my apartment. I did feel winded after, but I resumed time as I closed my front door behind me.
To anyone, I simply appeared to have teleported the package to my apartment. I grinned, panting, thinking: That took me maybe 2 minutes real time, but externally, hardly a blink. Honestly, I wasn't sure how the building cameras or the locker logs would interpret that if someone checked – they'd see the locker open by a ghost maybe. But the risk was low that anyone would. It was a little lazy use of power, but I wanted to test multi-location action. It worked, but I did feel like I cheated. Eh, I'd allow myself that one.
As I collapsed on my couch, package in hand (just some kitchen gadgets I ordered), I considered the ethical side. For such trivial things, it felt mostly harmless. But it's a slippery slope if I start using it for every convenience. Best not to get too cavalier.
That night I compiled all the results formally:
Confirmed I can bring objects (and presumably people) into the moving frame by touching/holding them. My "time bubble" is essentially anything I'm in contact with or that is part of me. Everything else stays frozen. Physical forces still apply normally for me; I can move things at will, though heavy things are heavy. Once I let go, they freeze mid-motion. Electronic devices on me work as normal (internal clock of phone likely still ticked; the display time only looked frozen because it wasn't syncing with network maybe). Major limitation: strain increases with duration and presumably with intensity of activity during freeze. Possibly training could improve tolerance. Trigger is emotional/instinctive, but I managed an intentional trigger using an anticipated event (ball toss).
I realized a potentially concerning point: What if I overexert in freeze and collapse or become incapacitated while time is stopped? Would I be stuck? Or would time resume automatically if I pass out? That could be dangerous, especially if I faint and time resumes with me unconscious – someone would find me, hospital maybe, questions. Yikes.
So I noted: "Do not push to point of blacking out. Always leave margin."
Also: "Perhaps set a rule to stop after certain subjective time until more practiced."
This was me establishing my own rules of engagement (ha, foreshadowing the next chapter's title perhaps). But indeed, a prudent approach.
In bed, I felt a deep contentment. The scientific method – or at least a methodical approach – served me well today. I gained knowledge and with it a sense of control. But I also recognized how much more there was to learn, and potential pitfalls.
Tomorrow, if I was up for it, perhaps I would test more subtle uses at work or in social settings – like listening in on something or accomplishing a complex task instantly. But that veers into ethically gray territory if I'm not careful, like eavesdropping or showing off.
However, one benign use I considered: if a work deadline was tight, I could freeze and get extra time to finish without staying late, essentially reducing stress. That hurt no one, and only made me more productive. In fact, I chuckled, I might become the employee of the month if I start resolving tasks at unbelievable speeds. But caution: that invites questions. Perhaps do it modestly, not enough to alarm.
As I drifted to sleep, a phrase came to mind from some class ages ago: "With great power comes great responsibility." Cheesy, but apt. I now held something great, and I had to be responsible in how I developed and used it.
So far, so good. The lab tests were a success. The next phase, I sensed, would involve applying this growing skill in more varied real-life situations. And perhaps, inevitably, facing the moral questions that come with it.
For now though, I allowed myself to feel a bit proud. I had taken the unknown and begun to understand it through logic and observation. Self-reliance and knowledge truly were power. And as I closed my eyes, I knew that the world around me had fundamentally changed—time itself had become my secret ally, my tool, and I was determined to continue mastering it, one frozen moment at a time.
Chapter 5: Rules of Engagement
I learned the hard way that when you start bending the rules of reality, you need to set some rules for yourself. By Thursday morning, I had experienced enough small triumphs with my time manipulation to feel a swell of confidence—but also a tremor of caution. Confidence, because I was growing more adept; caution, because I recognized how easily one could slip into abusing such an ability without a moral compass.
Lying in bed before dawn, I found myself drafting a mental code of conduct. Perhaps it was the analyst in me, or maybe just my upbringing whispering about right and wrong. Either way, I felt it was time to draw some lines:
Rule 1: Don't harm anyone. Obvious, but worth affirming. Using the power to hurt or to gain advantage by hurting (physically or otherwise) was off-limits. Rule 2: Minimize exposure. No flashy public stunts, no unnecessary risks of being caught in the act. If I must use it around others, do so subtly or in ways that can be explained. Rule 3: No stealing or cheating for personal gain. The temptation was there—lotteries, grabbing cash in a freeze, reading confidential info. But that way lay a person I didn't want to become. I would earn things fairly, using the power only to augment my own hard work, not replace it. Rule 4: Use it to help, when possible, but smartly. Saving those pedestrians felt unequivocally right. But would I intervene in every little mishap I see? That could expose me or lead to unintended consequences. I must choose carefully when to step in. Rule 5: Keep improving control and understanding. A rule to remember that this is a journey of mastery, not to become complacent.
I scribbled these roughly into my bedside notebook by the glow of my phone. It felt almost like vows, which was both dramatic and oddly grounding.
At work, things were routine in the morning. As I coded a new feature, I considered whether to apply a bit of time-slow to speed through it. It was a monotonous chunk that I could probably knock out in a freeze and impress the team with early completion. According to Rule 3, that's borderline—cheating for personal gain? But also, I'd still be doing the work, just efficiently. The only "cheat" was stopping the clock to focus distraction-free.
I compromised: I worked at normal speed but promised myself if I hit a tight crunch or bug that needed deep focus, I might dip into freeze for a few minutes to sort it out. Essentially, treat it like an extreme form of concentration, not a crutch to slack off.
Before lunch, Grace called a brief team meeting about an upcoming project. In the glass-walled conference room, a dozen of us gathered. I ended up seated next to Maya, our UX designer, who usually worked on a different floor. We didn't interact much before, but I recognized her: she was striking in a quiet way, with warm brown skin, curly hair pulled into a loose bun, and attentive eyes that seemed to miss nothing. We exchanged polite nods.
As Grace talked, I found myself unusually aware of Maya's presence beside me, perhaps because she occasionally glanced my way or nodded at something I said (I chimed in here and there on technical points). There was a calmness to her that contrasted with Ryan's jokey vibe or Trevor's edgy energy. I recalled the prompt calling her a future confidant/romantic interest. That hadn't even been on my radar amidst my power struggles, but now that she was here, I wondered.
Focus, Alex. The meeting moved to timeline discussion. Trevor, across the table, was being pedantic about deliverables. I noticed Maya roll her eyes ever so slightly when he interrupted someone. I hid a smirk. Points to her.
When it ended, we filed out and I accidentally bumped her arm as we left. "Oh, sorry," I said.
She smiled. "No worries. I think we survived that meeting relatively unscathed."
I chuckled. "Yeah, no new action items for once. It's a miracle."
She had a gentle laugh. "By the way, I heard about your heroics the other day. The grapevine is strong around here. Pretty amazing stuff."
My cheeks warmed. "It's been blown out of proportion. I just reacted."
"So modest," she teased lightly. "Still, not everyone would jump in like that. It's admirable."
Something in her tone was sincere without being fawning. It put me at ease. "Thanks. I figure anyone in my shoes would have done the same given the chance."
Maya tilted her head. "Not sure Trevor would," she said conspiratorially, and we both snorted a laugh.
I found myself walking with her down the hall. There was a natural rhythm to it. She was in the same direction as my cubicle, maybe intentionally or just coincidence.
"Well, lunch time," she said, pausing. "I'm meeting someone, but it was nice talking, Alex."
"You too, Maya." I was pleasantly surprised she knew my name, but then again, news had spread I guess.
As she left, I realized I was grinning. Was I actually considering… No, too early to think of anything beyond professional camaraderie. But it was the first real conversation with her, and it brightened my day.
This did bring up a new angle: my rules and power in context of personal relationships. If she or anyone became closer to me, how would I handle the secret? That was a bridge for later, but it loomed in my mind. The idea of confiding in someone, especially someone like Maya who seemed thoughtful, was simultaneously terrifying and appealing. But Rule 2 (Minimize exposure) stood firm for now. No matter how nice she seemed, dropping "hey I can stop time" on someone wasn't exactly first-date conversation.
The rest of the day, I mostly abstained from using my ability. The morning experiments had been sufficient; I was still a bit mentally drained from all the analysis and didn't want to push myself daily without rest. Also, I was in a lot of human interaction scenarios, which discouraged use unless needed.
However, in the late afternoon, an interesting situation arose that tested Rule 4 (help when possible, smartly). Ryan and I were coming back from grabbing a coffee on the ground floor when we saw, through the lobby windows, a minor commotion outside: a cyclist had collided with a pedestrian on the sidewalk. It wasn't life or death—more like someone stepped wrong and they both went down. The pedestrian, an older lady, seemed to have twisted her ankle and the cyclist was apologizing profusely.
A small crowd formed. I felt the instinct to do something. But what? Time freezing wouldn't help after the fact; the accident already happened. People were calling for help, someone said an ambulance for the lady just in case.
Ryan was like, "Oof, that sucks. Hope she's alright," and was ready to move on, but I lingered. Part of me thought: if I had been outside a bit earlier, could I have prevented it by freezing? Possibly, if I noticed it coming. But you can't save everyone from every mishap.
This was a learning moment: the power is best used for dire things; everyday accidents might be beyond my capacity to manage without basically patrolling the city like some guardian, which was unrealistic and not my responsibility alone.
Still, I made a note in mind: situational awareness. Maybe I could foresee incidents if I paid attention, and intervene selectively if truly needed. But I couldn't burden myself with playing superhero on every street corner.
That led to an internal question: did I want to be some kind of superhero? Thus far, I'd acted in small heroic ways twice. Was that just circumstance or a calling? The idea felt surreal; I wasn't donning a cape or fighting crime. And yet, having this gift made me feel a responsibility beyond normal. It was tricky territory: savior complex vs practical morality.
On the way back up, Ryan said, "Man, this week's been wild. You saving people, random accidents—makes you appreciate the boring days."
I nodded. "True. Boring is underrated."
He eyed me thoughtfully. "You know, I've never seen you so… I dunno, alive as you've been last couple days. Usually you're kind of in your own world, but you seem more… confident? Maybe nearly getting killed and then turning into a ninja does that to a guy."
I was taken aback. "Do I? I didn't realize."
"Yeah," he continued. "It's good. It's like you leveled up or something." He said it jokingly, but I swallowed. He wasn't wrong—though he had no idea how literally true that was.
"Thanks, I guess. Maybe I just had a wake-up call," I said.
Ryan grinned. "Next thing, you'll be running marathons and scaling Everest. Just warn me if you start wearing your underwear on the outside of your pants, Superman."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Promise you'll be the first to know."
Inside, I was glad my friend noticed a positive change, but I also worried about being too different. If my confidence or performance soared too high too fast, suspicion could brew. Humans have a way of resenting or questioning sudden improvement (just think of doping allegations in sports when someone breaks records).
Thus, another implicit rule formed: Don't appear superhuman. Even if I could quietly achieve more, publicly I should still seem like a regular guy with regular limits, at least to a degree that doesn't invite scrutiny.
By evening, I formalized some of these thoughts in my notes. I wrote a section titled "Personal Guidelines" which was essentially the rules above and notes on comportment:
Blend in; use ability invisibly whenever possible. If benefiting personally (like finishing work faster), don't flaunt—act as if you just worked efficiently. Continue building trust and normal relationships (like with Ryan, maybe Maya) without introducing the power unless absolutely necessary. Isolation could lead to poor judgment. Keep ego in check. The dry humor part of me scribbled: "Remember you're not a god, just a guy who's found a cheat code. And even cheat codes can crash the game if overused."
I realized something as I compiled this: I was effectively creating a framework to handle power. Many people in life seek power—money, status, knowledge. Few ever get a literal superpower. But the pitfalls might be similar: arrogance, detachment, paranoia, misuse. It was reassuring in a way that I proactively worried about these; it meant I hadn't lost myself in the rush. Yet.
As a test of humility, I purposely spent the rest of the evening doing entirely mundane things with zero time manipulation: laundry, cleaning my kitchen, calling my parents to catch up (I didn't mention anything unusual, obviously; just listened to Dad gripe about the new condo rules and Mom remind me to eat well).
It kept me grounded. I felt almost like I had two lives—one where I was just Alex the average guy, and one where I was this budding time-mage navigating extraordinary experiences. Merging those smoothly was going to be critical for my sanity.
That night I messaged Ryan about catching a drink Friday after work, something we did occasionally. He eagerly agreed, adding a joke: "But no super-speed drinking contests, okay?" I rolled my eyes but smiled.
Before bed, I also found myself drafting a text to Maya – nothing fancy, just thanking her for her input in the meeting and joking that at least Trevor didn't volunteer us for weekend overtime, something she had quipped about in passing. After sending it, I immediately second-guessed – was it too out-of-the-blue? But a few minutes later she replied: Lol, small mercies. Good teamwork today. I exhaled. A door to further conversation, perhaps. I left it at that for now.
I slipped under the covers, mind cycling through the day's moral deliberations. Perhaps this chapter of my journey wasn't as adrenaline-pumping as dodging cars or experimenting in the park, but it felt just as crucial. I was laying the ethical foundation for how I'd live with this ability.
I realized the themes emerging in my life now mirrored those I've only read about in stories: power and responsibility, self-mastery, ethical ambiguity. The difference is, in those stories the hero often has a mentor or a clear villain to shape their path. I had none of that—just my own conscience and analysis to guide me.
Would that be enough? I hoped so. At least I was giving it serious thought, which was more than could be said for some who come into sudden fortune or power.
As I drifted off, one more dry, self-aware thought struck: If someone read my private journals right now, they'd think I'm a crazy person with delusions of grandeur, or plotting some meticulous world domination. In reality, I'm just trying to keep myself from going off the rails.
I softly chuckled in the dark. Congratulations, Alex, I mused, you've officially held a board meeting with yourself about the ethical use of your time-freezing superpower. Not exactly something I foresaw doing in life.
Humor aside, I felt a sense of reassurance. With rules in place, however flexible they might need to be, I had a moral north star to follow. And I had people in my life to keep me connected to normalcy.
Tomorrow was Friday, and I looked forward to unwinding a bit, maybe normal fun with friends. Perhaps I wouldn't need to use the power at all. And that would be okay. In fact, proving to myself that I could refrain, that it didn't control me, was just as important as knowing when to use it.
Yes, the rules were set, the game was afoot. Time (quite literally) would tell how well I could abide by my own code when temptation and challenges inevitably arose. For now, I allowed myself to rest, content that I'd taken another step not just in mastering the power, but in mastering myself.
Chapter 6: Lone Player Mode
I've always been something of a loner by nature—or at least, I never minded solitude. But solitude takes on a whole new meaning when you're literally alone in a paused world. I discovered this over the weekend when I decided to truly push the boundaries of how long and how far I could go while time was stopped. It was, in essence, like playing a single-player game in a world built for multiplayer, hence the moniker I gave it: Lone Player Mode.
Friday passed without much incident. I used my ability minimally, aside from one cheeky moment at the pub after work where I flicked a peanut in midair and froze time just to watch it hover while Ryan was telling an animated story (I resumed before anyone noticed, and the peanut bounced off Ryan's forehead—he accused me of having terrible aim, I feigned innocence). It was a silly, almost subconscious use, but it reminded me how tempting casual usage could be. I tightened my resolve to use it deliberately.
On Saturday, with no work obligations, I planned a more extended experiment. I told Ryan I was having a quiet day in (I think he had a date anyway, so he wasn't looking to hang out). In truth, I wanted to explore the city in a way no one else could: with the pause button pressed.
That morning, I geared up like I was going on a hike or day trip. Comfortable clothes, good walking shoes, a backpack with water, snacks, a first-aid kit (just in case), my notebook and pen, and a portable phone charger. I also carried a small analog wristwatch I'd picked up at a thrift store—something cheap I could use solely for these tests, with a dial I could see move or stop. I left my smartwatch at home to avoid any digital tracking or weirdness.
I also decided to take along a GoPro camera I owned, strapped to my chest. Part of me was dying to capture footage of the frozen world for documentation. I had to be extremely careful with that: such footage, if ever discovered, would raise insane questions. But I figured if I kept it secure, it could serve as my secret record. The GoPro has good battery life and could film for a couple hours. I'd see if it functioned while I was in freeze (likely it would, being attached to me).
Thus prepared, I headed out mid-morning to a fairly busy area downtown. I wanted to freeze time at a moment when the city was alive, to see that living tableau in suspension.
I found a vantage point in a public square where I could see a cross-section of city life: shoppers going in and out of stores, kids playing by a fountain, a street performer strumming a guitar, and lots of foot traffic. I sat on a bench, took a sip of water, and steadied myself.
This was as public as it gets, but that was the point. I wasn't worried about being seen freezing time—if it worked, I'd be the only active witness anyway.
I took a deep breath, started the GoPro recording, and triggered the power.
The effect was instantaneous and grand. The guitarist's fingers halted on the strings, a droplet of water from the fountain froze in mid-splash, a flock of pigeons were suspended like a modern art installation in the sky. The sounds of the city cut off into an uncanny muffled hush. Dozens of people around me turned into statues mid-motion. It was as if I'd stepped into a high-resolution photograph, a silent diorama of a bustling square.
I stood up, heart pounding with exhilaration. This was far more extensive than my park trial; an entire city block now lay still under my command. The sense of power and surreality nearly overwhelmed me for a second. I steadied my breathing—don't get lost in it, I reminded myself. Observe, but keep your wits.
I walked through the square. A little girl was frozen mid-run after a chased soccer ball; I gently guided the ball back under her foot so when things resumed it'd be a triumphant kick instead of running past it. (I couldn't resist a small act of kindness that would appear just as a lucky break.)
I passed a man sneezing, bent forward with an ugly pre-sneeze face—time to be a bit impish: I plucked a tissue from a pack protruding from his pocket and placed it in front of his nose. That would confuse him, but he'd probably just count himself fortunate his tissue flew out perfectly.
I know, I know—small indulgences. But I felt they were harmless and gave me a sense of play in this otherwise eerie scenario.
Now, this was Lone Player Mode in full swing. I was the only one moving in a vast playground. I decided to do something bold: walk into one of the department stores that faced the square. The doors were open (people walking in and out), so entry was easy, though I had to sidestep a frozen family at the threshold.
Inside, bright displays of spring fashion greeted me, along with shoppers caught mid-browse. I roamed freely, the sole active customer in a place usually filled with hustle. In the electronics section, a dozen TVs showed a soccer match that was now on pause—the players on screen frozen just like the spectators here. I chuckled at that symmetry.
For science (of course, science), I took an apple from the food court area and bit into it. The apple was crisp, fresh—taste and consumption worked fine in freeze. I did wonder, would the checkout scanners function if I tried? They were computer-based, so likely not until time resumed. I wasn't actually going to shoplift under the guise of time-stop though; I left a dollar (more than the apple's cost) on the counter beside the stunned clerk who held a stack of trays, to salve my conscience.
After about what felt like 15 minutes of this solo mall spree, I felt the first sign of fatigue. This was a much more complex and extended freeze—covering many people, moving a lot myself, plus the initial adrenaline rush was fading.
I exited the store and went down the street. Now I wanted to test distance: how far could I wander in freeze? Possibly indefinitely; the whole world might be stopped, so I could theoretically hop on a plane (wouldn't work, engines stopped) or walk across town without time passing. Of course, in practice, my stamina was the limit.
I headed toward a park a few blocks away. Joggers were frozen mid-stride on the paths. I was careful to not physically bump people—I weaved through like a ghost. It was oddly intimate being able to gaze at everyone without them knowing. I saw expressions in detail: laughter, frustration, boredom, all suspended. It reminded me of those time-stop photography exhibits. Only this was three-dimensional and I was in it.
I checked the watch on my wrist. Its second hand had stopped dead at the freeze moment: 10:43:55. I had no idea how long I'd been in freeze because my own sense of time was subjective now. Perhaps 20 minutes? Hard to say. I should be mindful not to exceed perhaps an hour subjectively without rest, since previous usage hinted at consequences.
Speaking of which—another effect hit me: hunger. That apple wasn't much, and using the power seemed to burn calories. I'd been essentially exercising (lots of walking and moving things). So I paused near a street vendor (both vendor and customers paused) and snagged a hot pretzel from the display. I left a couple bucks in the vendor's tip jar (my habit of paying even when no one could catch me felt like an important line to maintain). I munched as I strolled.
All this was deeply fascinating but also a little disconcerting. The isolation, the god-like ability to do as I pleased unseen—it was liberating, yet I felt a pang of loneliness and strangeness. Humans are social creatures, and here I was in a populated void, an invisible man.
It struck me: if I spent too long in such states, would it affect my psyche? Would I start to feel disconnected from everyone, maybe superior or just separate? That thought chilled me more than the weird quiet. I understood why rule-setting and occasional refraining was important—staying grounded in the normal flow of time and society was necessary to remain human.
I returned to the square where I'd started. According to my gut, maybe 30-40 minutes had passed for me. I decided it was time to let things resume before I got too drained (and before my GoPro battery gave out; I was eager to see the footage).
Before unfreezing, I had a whimsical impulse. In the center of the square was the fountain with a big sculpture—abstract metal loops. Nobody was right next to it. I quickly scrambled up onto the fountain edge and struck a goofy pose atop it, like a triumphant climber reaching a summit, fists raised. My thought: when time resumes, for a split second I'll appear up here and then I'll jump down. Maybe someone will double-take or just think they missed seeing me climbing. A harmless prank on reality.
I made sure the GoPro caught my vantage point, then I hopped down and blended back toward my original bench.
The moment of truth: I sat, composed myself, and released the freeze.
Sound and motion flooded back in a wave. The abrupt change still jolted me no matter how many times I did it—a cacophony of city life instantly returning. Nearby, the little girl I'd helped kicked her ball with surprising accuracy and squealed in delight. The man who sneezed found a tissue magically at his nose and looked utterly perplexed (I stifled a laugh). A couple of people were glancing around, probably because they thought they saw something odd (perhaps my fountain stunt).
I felt a huge surge of dizziness then, likely from prolonged use. I put my head down as if checking my phone, breathing deep. The headache was there, stronger than before, and a wave of exhaustion that hit like a truck. My legs felt weak (not surprising, I'd walked quite a bit).
I realized I might have overdone it. Carefully, I got up and started making my way home, moving slowly like someone who hadn't slept enough. I must blend in; can't exactly call an Uber in frozen time, so I had to endure the regular trip back.
The walk and train ride were a slog; I felt like after you run a half-marathon, body heavy and mind fuzzy. But internally, I was elated. What an experience! I'd essentially lived out some wild fantasy of being the last person on Earth for half an hour. The data and insights gained were priceless.
At home, I all but collapsed onto the couch. I chugged water and devoured a banana and two energy bars. My body needed refuel. That confirmed another thing: using this power and moving in frozen time is extremely calorically and physically demanding, especially for long durations. It might even accelerate my metabolism weirdly (I did spend quite a bit of energy with no rest externally).
I remembered to stop the GoPro recording and plugged it in to offload the footage. My hands were shaky from fatigue.
I took a long nap that afternoon, more drained than I expected. I awoke to early evening light, head clearer, body a bit sore but fine.
Then, with great anticipation, I reviewed the GoPro footage on my laptop.
It was surreal to watch. The video showed me sitting on the bench, then suddenly everyone around just stops. I stand and move around, interacting with static people. It's like special effects, except it's real. The clarity of it, the consistency (the water of the fountain halting in mid-air was particularly jaw-dropping to rewatch). I saw myself climbing the fountain sculpture and striking a pose with a dumb grin (I cringed and laughed at myself).
As expected, there was a jump in footage at the moment of freeze and unfreeze—because the camera kept recording at normal speed relative to me, when I froze the world, the camera essentially captured those moments. There was no gap, it just shows continuous recording while everything else is paused. If some film expert saw it, they might assume others are frozen in place or edited out with CGI.
This video was the kind of evidence that could either make me famous or get me locked up in a lab if it went public. I shuddered at the idea, but I was careful: this stays encrypted, backed up offline, just a personal archive. Still, I saved a clip of the fountain water freeze and a panoramic of the square to a thumb drive to treasure. A piece of proof for myself for the day my memory might doubt it happened.
Sunday, I allowed myself a full rest. I did normal things: groceries, called up Ryan to see how his date went (he said "eh, not a love connection, but decent pizza"), and spent an hour video chatting with my mom walking her through a new tablet setup (a task for which I was tempted to freeze time just to spare myself the slow process, but I endured normally as penance, ha).
I also thoroughly documented the Saturday experience in writing. Key notes:
Max subjective duration so far ~30-40 minutes; resulted in heavy fatigue and migraine-level headache that subsided after rest. Physical strain proportional to how much I do. Covering a city area on foot took a lot out of me. No sign of any "range" limit; appears global freeze as suspected. Emotional effect: slight disorientation and loneliness when alone that long. Must be cautious about psyche—maybe avoid too frequent or too prolonged isolations. The world resumed with no obvious issues; minor continuity hiccups I introduced were small enough not to cause alarm (though I did search on social media if anyone mentioned weird fountain man or magic tissue, nothing notable; just my paranoia check). Very importantly: No sign of anyone else moving during freeze. It was just me. (Part of me had half an eye open that perhaps I'd notice another person like me someday; none yet). Post-freeze, I slept deeply, so it does impose recovery similar to extreme exercise or mental exertion.
By Sunday night, I was physically recovered but introspective. I had glimpsed the thrill of near absolute freedom in Lone Player Mode, but also its emptiness. It reinforced theme of self-reliance (I truly could only rely on myself in stopped time) but also highlighted that ultimately, life's meaning is tied to others and the normal flow.
I also realized how easy it'd be to get addicted to that state: no lines, no waiting, nothing you can't do (except interact with living beings). The world is literally at your leisure. For someone frustrated by daily grinds and delays, that's dangerously alluring. I must treat it like a powerful drug—use sparingly to avoid dependency or detachment from reality.
Closing out the weekend, I updated my rules mentally with a new one:
Rule 6: Limit solitary frozen time to what's necessary. Don't lose yourself in it. Perhaps I wouldn't do an extended freeze like that again for a while, unless required, to avoid the psychological toll and physical strain.
My journey thus far had escalated from personal discovery, to controlled testing, to grappling with ethics, and now to experiencing the profound isolation of a frozen world. Each chapter was building up my understanding of not just the power, but of myself under its influence.
I went to bed with mixed emotions: pride at what I'd achieved and seen, and a twinge of melancholy from the solitude I'd felt in that bustling silent city. Strangely, I found myself looking forward to Monday, to resume normal life among people who moved and talked and laughed. Even Trevor's snark or Grace's deadlines felt welcome as signs that I was part of humanity.
As I drifted off, I considered that maybe soon I should confide in someone. The weight of such a secret, coupled with the literal loneliness of using it, might eventually require an ally or confidant. Maya's face flitted across my thoughts, unbidden. I brushed it aside; that was premature. But the seed of that idea was planted: one day, I may need someone to share this burden and keep me anchored.
For now, Lone Player Mode was a tool I could wield, but it wasn't where I wanted to live. I was more certain than ever that I needed to remain engaged in the multiplayer world—the one with other unpredictable, wonderful humans in it. After all, what good was stopping time if not to protect and savor the life that happens when time moves?
With that comforting notion, I allowed myself to slip into regular, un-frozen sleep, the sounds of distant city traffic lulling me, grateful that this time I wasn't the only one awake in the world.
Chapter 7: The Mask and the Mirror
By Monday, the high of my solitary weekend exploits had settled, and a subtle unease took its place. I felt like I had returned from a place no one else could go, carrying experiences no one would believe. It was as though I wore two faces now: the everyday Alex my coworkers and friends knew, and the secret Alex who could manipulate time. The mask and the mirror.
The "mask" was the persona I had to maintain in normal life—unremarkable, ordinary (well, perhaps a bit improved in confidence, but still fundamentally the same guy). The "mirror" was what I saw when I looked inward now: someone extraordinary, albeit secretly. Reconciling the two was becoming a psychological balancing act.
This theme began to color my days. For example, Monday morning in the office, Trevor and I both arrived early to prep for a client presentation. We chatted amicably (a new development—apparently not letting a box decapitate him had thawed our relationship a bit). As we were reviewing slides, I felt a twinge of guilt watching him meticulously animate a graphic that I could've done in a snap with my powers if I wanted to reveal them. But I just offered a normal helping hand.
He sighed at one point. "How'd the numbers update finish so fast? I thought we were behind, but everything's up to date."
I had, truth be told, done some of it on Friday in a minor time-slow moment without telling anyone. I just shrugged. "I came in Sunday for a couple hours to tidy it up." A lie, giving normal explanation to a supernormal feat. There—I put on the mask of diligent employee, concealing the cheat code I'd used. He gave me an odd look (who works on Sunday voluntarily?), but then said "Thanks, man" and that was that.
Wearing this mask of normalcy sometimes chafed, especially when I had to deflect credit or play dumb about something I knew through unusual means. Case in point: That afternoon I overheard Grace and another manager in the hallway discussing a potential restructuring in our department. They didn't see me around the corner. I froze time for just five seconds—enough to step closer and catch a glimpse of the document in Grace's hand detailing the plan—then resumed. Later, in a meeting, Grace asked for input on optimizing team roles. Armed with foreknowledge, I offered a suggestion that aligned uncannily well with the soon-to-be-announced restructure.
It was subtle, but Grace raised a brow. "That's… actually in line with some things we've been considering," she said slowly. I smiled, playing it off as a lucky insight. My colleagues looked at me with newfound respect. Inside, I felt a pang. I was using my power to appear smart, insightful. Was that harmless or was it deceit? Probably both. The mask was getting a bit thicker.
That evening, I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. I literally looked for differences. Same brown eyes, same slightly messy hair, same half-smirk I always had. But I felt different. In the mirror, I tried speaking to my reflection: "Who are you now, Alex?" It was rhetorical, but I needed to ask.
I responded to myself in a whisper, "Someone figuring it out."
It sounds melodramatic, perhaps, but it grounded me. A reminder that identity is malleable, and I needed to actively shape the kind of person I was becoming with this gift.
The "mirror" aspect also meant introspection: I often turned the mirror inward to double-check my motives. For instance, mid-week, I found myself considering using a time-stop to sneak a peek at a confidential report that might affect our jobs. Why? Because I was curious and anxious. But when I examined that impulse, it felt wrong—pure snooping for personal advantage or comfort. That violated my ethical guideline. So I resisted, telling myself, if it's important, it'll come out in due time.
It wasn't always internal struggle and seriousness, though. The dry humor in my inner voice often bubbled up. One morning, running late, I fantasized about how past-me would've killed for the ability to freeze time to sleep in longer. Now I had it and still I dragged myself out of bed. What's the point of superpowers if you can't beat Monday fatigue? I joked to myself while chugging coffee.
Socially, I interacted as usual, maybe a tad more confident. I chatted with Maya a couple times—once about a book she was reading (I ended up freeze-skimming it later that night so I could discuss it intelligently—was that cheating or just using resources? I rationalized it as efficiency). She seemed pleased that I shared interest and even lent me the book after, not knowing I'd already devoured it in a blink. Mask or not, I enjoyed those conversations genuinely.
By Wednesday, a bit of paranoia crept in. There's a suspicious thing about leading a double life: you worry about getting caught even if you're careful. I started wondering if any of my small time-bending acts had been noticed. Did anyone spot a blur? Did camera footage somewhere show something inexplicable?
For instance, the building security likely had me on tape appearing at the lobby locker instantly that day retrieving a package. I realized belatedly that maybe I should review that. So I conjured up an excuse to talk to the building's concierge about package thefts (there had been an email about being vigilant). While chatting, I subtly steered the conversation to the security system and even joked if I could see how clear the footage was of the mailroom area because I was concerned.
Friendly as he was, he indulged me and pulled up a clip from that day—lo and behold, the camera by the lockers was an older model, low frame rate. It showed me walk in frame, then a second later I'm by the locker with it open. If one looked carefully, it's weird—like a jump cut in real life. But luckily it's glitchy enough one might assume the camera skipped. Still, I quickly said, "Alright, looks decent to me. Thanks, just curious!" and left.
Heart pounding, I noted: last time doing something so brazen under a camera. That's the mirror aspect again—facing my mistakes. The mask there was acting casually interested when in fact I was desperately ensuring my secret was safe.
One of the more poignant "mask and mirror" moments came toward the end of the week. Ryan threw a small party at his apartment Friday night, just a handful of friends playing board games and having beers. It was completely normal and fun. There was a moment where I looked around the room: people laughing, arguing about a dice roll, music playing low. I realized none of them truly knew me now. They knew a version of me, but not the full truth. I was surrounded by friends and yet felt a touch of isolation.
I stepped out to Ryan's balcony for fresh air. The city skyline twinkled. In a whim, I did a tiny time-stop, just five seconds, to appreciate the stillness of the view without the noise from inside. When I resumed, I heard footsteps—Maya had followed me out, concerned maybe.
"You okay out here by yourself?" she asked.
I nodded, summoning a smile. "Yeah, just needed a breather. It's warm inside."
She leaned on the railing next to me. "You seemed a bit quiet tonight. Not your usual witty self," she teased gently.
I didn't realize I'd been off, but perhaps my introspection leaked through. "Just thinking. Weeks been long."
She looked at me sidelong. "I get it. Sometimes you feel alone in a crowd, huh?"
That comment made me stiffen. Did she suspect something? Her eyes were kind, just intuition perhaps. I forced a small chuckle. "Am I that transparent?"
She shrugged. "I just notice things. It's a gift and a curse." Her phrasing made me smile inadvertently. If only she knew the scale of gifts and curses I was juggling.
We talked a bit about the city, life, small philosophical musings as the party buzzed behind us. It was nice. I felt seen, ironically, while still hiding my biggest truth. A part of me ached to test the waters—maybe hint about feeling like I have a secret or something. But fear held me back. Not yet.
Later that night, back home, I stared at my reflection once more, slightly tipsy from beer. "Are you happy?" I asked the mirror Alex. It wasn't a question I'd considered since this started. Busy analyzing, I hadn't paused to measure my emotional state. Was I happier now than before discovering my power?
I expected the answer to be a resounding yes – who wouldn't be thrilled? But the face in the mirror looked unsure. I had excitement, purpose, a sense of specialness. But also stress, secrecy, and moral weight I never had before. It was a balance.
I admitted quietly, "I'm... getting there." Happiness would come, I hoped, when I resolved some of these internal conflicts—when mask and mirror aligned more.
Perhaps when I could be wholly myself with someone, when I knew how to use this power to create a life that was fulfilling and not just interesting.
This chapter of mask and mirror was ongoing; I was still in the thick of it. But recognising it was helpful. It reminded me why most superheroes in fiction eventually reveal themselves to someone or have a double life crisis—being two people is exhausting.
As I drifted to sleep, I recalled Maya's perceptive comment. Alone in a crowd. Yes, that's how it felt at times now. But maybe it wouldn't always be so. Maybe in time (no pun intended), I'd let someone into the full picture.
For now, I just hoped I was doing a decent job wearing the mask convincingly without losing sight of the man in the mirror.
And in that hope, I found a measure of contentment for the night, resolved to keep navigating the duality until one day, I wouldn't have to.