Salem hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact, his breath leaving him in a painful gasp. The world around him reassembled piece by piece, like someone was building reality on a laggy internet connection. The smell of ozone and burned paper hung in the air. For a few heartbeats, all he could hear was the high-pitched ringing in his ears and the chaotic stutter of his own heart.
When his vision finally steadied, he found himself sprawled across what looked like a sprawling train station — except no train had ever stopped here. The platforms stretched into impossible horizons, splitting and folding over each other like origami. The ceiling was a dizzying mess of clocks, all ticking out of sync, their hands spinning wildly. Every now and then, one would shatter, raining down fragments of time that evaporated before they hit the ground.
"Okay… new place, same weird," Salem muttered, dragging himself up. He checked his hands: no blood, no broken bones. A win, by his current standards.
A voice spoke overhead, smooth and emotionless:
"Paradox Entity 7-3-1 detected. Compiling Report."
Salem froze. "Wait. Me? That's me, isn't it?"
A faint hum vibrated through the floor as towering screens descended from the ceiling, each one displaying his face. Some were current — tired, wary, and confused. Others weren't: one showed him older, with silver streaks in his hair; another younger, wild-eyed and laughing manically. One screen displayed nothing but static where his face should be.
"Yeah, that's not creepy at all," Salem said, hugging his arms around himself.
Lines of data scrolled beside the images:
Status: WANTED
Crimes: Temporal Trespass, Narrative Contamination, Unauthorized Fourth-Wall Interaction
Risk Level: Existential
Recommended Action: Immediate Erasure
"Immediate what now?" Salem took a step back, scanning the endless room. "Okay, I vote for the 'no erasure' option, please."
The floor rumbled again, and suddenly he wasn't alone.
Figures emerged from the edges of the platform, tall humanoids made of fragmented clock faces and glitching data. Their movements were jerky, like frames skipping in a broken animation, and each one carried a weapon that hummed with unstable energy. A hundred eyes — if they could be called eyes — locked onto him.
Salem raised his hands slowly. "Hi. Okay. Listen. I know how this looks, but I swear—"
"Paradox Entity, remain still for processing."
"Oh, that's not happening." He bolted.
---
He sprinted across the platform, feet pounding against the steel floor that wasn't entirely solid. The edges of the platform flickered, revealing void beneath — not darkness, just the absence of anything at all. The constructs followed, their footfalls sounding like ticking clocks, relentless and mechanical.
"Come on, Salem," he muttered to himself, weaving between massive gears jutting from the ground. "Think. You've outrun worse… probably."
A path split ahead: one tunnel glowed with a soft blue light, calm and inviting; the other pulsed red, chaotic and unstable. Salem didn't hesitate — he dove into the red tunnel.
Instantly, the world inverted.
Gravity flipped, colors bled into grayscale, and every sound elongated into warped echoes. Salem hit the ground again — or the ceiling? — and groaned. "Who designs these places?!"
The constructs hesitated at the entrance, their forms glitching. For a moment, Salem thought he'd lost them. Then a familiar voice buzzed in his head, amused and sharp:
"You're making this very entertaining, Salem."
"The Writer," Salem growled. "You again."
"Always. Honestly, I should thank you. Your file's getting juicier by the second. 'Paradox Entity Wanted in Every Reality'—the readers love it."
"Yeah, well, tell the readers they can have my autograph later!"
"Oh, you're not getting out of this by running forever. You'll have to choose, Salem. You always do."
---
A stairway appeared ahead, twisting up into darkness. Salem took the steps two at a time, his breath ragged. Halfway up, the stairs glitched — one moment made of polished marble, the next of pages covered in his own handwriting. He glanced down mid-step and saw scribbled words that chilled him:
DON'T LOOK BACK.
He didn't.
At the top, Salem burst into a control chamber dominated by a massive console. Screens floated all around, each showing a different version of him — in different places, different lives. Some happy. Most… not.
In the center, a single display blinked:
PARADOX REPORT: OVERRIDE REQUIRED.
A keyboard materialized in front of him, keys glowing faintly.
Salem hesitated. "Override… what?"
"Your fate," the Writer whispered. "Erase the report, and the constructs stop hunting you. But there's a cost."
"What cost?"
"You'll forget. Everything. The skips, the truths, even me. A clean slate."
Salem's stomach twisted. Forgetting sounded like peace — no skips, no terror, no voice mocking him. But it also meant losing everything he'd fought to remember. Everything that made him him.
"Or," the Writer continued, "you can accept the report. Become what they say you are: a paradox. Wanted. Hunted. Free."
He hovered over the keys, sweat running down his temple. Behind him, the sound of ticking footsteps grew louder. The constructs were closing in.
Salem whispered to himself, "Forget… or keep running?"
The screens around him flickered, and for a brief second, one showed something strange — a glimpse of people he didn't recognize, a team of mismatched individuals standing together, waiting. Somewhere deep down, he felt a pull, a thread of connection.
He clenched his jaw.
"No," he muttered. "I'm not giving this up. Not again."
---
Salem slammed his hand on ACCEPT.
The room exploded with light.
Symbols cascaded across the screens, rewriting the report: PARADOX ENTITY CONFIRMED. CLASSIFICATION: UNERASABLE.
The constructs burst into the chamber — and froze. They tilted their heads, weapons lowering. One by one, they disintegrated into streams of data.
Salem stumbled, gripping the console. The platform beneath his feet reassembled, and for a moment, everything stilled.
"Congratulations," the Writer purred. "You just made yourself untouchable. And infinitely more interesting."
Salem took a shaky breath, glaring into the void around him. "Fine. But if I'm going to be hunted, I'm not going to make it easy for them."
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," the Writer replied, almost gleeful. "On to the next chapter, Salem. The hunt has just begun."
The station warped again, dragging him into another skip.