The forest was not supposed to exist.
According to the map, this timeline branch had already been corrected forty-seven years ago.
No megafauna. No anomalous ecosystems.
Just a clean, reconstructed stretch of temperate woodland restored to baseline history.
Agent K-17 didn't like how quiet it was.
"Scan again," she muttered.
Her partner complied, wrist console humming softly. "No active distortions. No chronal spikes. We're clear."
They moved deeper between the trees, boots sinking slightly into soil that was too soft, too alive. Ferns brushed against their legs.
Something massive shifted in the undergrowth ahead.
Then the ground shook.
A roar split the air—raw, prehistoric, wrong.
"Contact-!"The first agent didn't finish the word.
A shadow crashed through the trees, scales and muscle and bone moving as one. A Tyrannosaurus burst into the clearing, eyes burning with feral intelligence far beyond anything natural.
And it wasn't alone.
Figures rode atop its back.
Humanoid silhouettes in angular armor, visors glowing faintly blue. One raised an arm—and the forest lit up with searing energy fire.
The agents scattered.
Too late.
The dinosaur lunged. One agent vanished between its jaws in a spray of red and broken tech. Another fired desperately, chronal rounds bouncing uselessly off reinforced hide.
A rider laughed.
"Timeline police," he said mockingly. "Always late."
The forest swallowed the screams.
The chronal beacon blinked once.
Then went dark.
______________________________
Six hundred kilometers away.
Different era.
The desert sun burned white-hot above the stone walls of a vast fortress rising from the sand like a mirage made real. Banners snapped in the wind—foreign symbols, stitched with authority that didn't belong in this century.
A Time Patrol strike unit advanced across the dunes, cloaks shimmering with active camouflage.
"Objective in sight," their commander said.
"Secure the anchor. Extract and reset."
The gates opened before they reached them.
That was the first mistake.
The second was assuming resistance would come from soldiers.
The sand moved.
Hands burst from the dunes, grabbing legs, pulling agents down. Blades curved and glittered in the sun. Men in desert garb emerged, faces hidden, movements practiced and merciless.
From the battlements above, a man watched.
He wore gold and crimson, seated on a throne dragged into the open air. His eyes were sharp. Calculating.
"So," he said lazily. "The keepers of time finally come."
Energy bolts streaked upward. Shields flared. Stone exploded.
The man raised one hand.
The air bent.
Chronal fields collapsed like paper.
One by one, the agents froze—locked in place as if caught mid-breath. The desert king rose from his throne and descended the steps slowly, savoring the moment.
"History," he said softly, walking past them, "belongs to those who survive it."
A sword flashed.
Time resumed—only long enough for bodies to fall.
The fortress gates closed.
The beacon signal unraveled into static.
_______________________________
Elsewhere.
Steel screamed.
A ruined city lay beneath a sky choked with smoke. Towers of metal rose where buildings once stood, their surfaces crawling with moving parts.
A Time Patrol retrieval team breached through a collapsed wall, weapons raised.
"Automated defense zone," one agent warned. "Heavy."
They didn't see the figures until it was too late.
Machines stepped out from the shadows—humanoid, sleek, eyes glowing an eerie green.
Perfectly synchronized. No hesitation.
"Steel Troops," someone whispered.
The robots moved.
Energy cannons fired in perfect unison.
Shields failed instantly. One agent was torn in half before she could scream. Another tried to jump timelines—only for the jump field to shatter mid-activation.
A robot caught him by the throat, lifted him effortlessly.
"Temporal interference detected," it intoned. "Eradication authorized."
The agent's final transmission cut off mid-signal.
The city fell silent again.
____
Across dozens of timelines, the same pattern repeated.
Forests that hunted back. Kingdoms that remembered. Machines that learned.
Everywhere the Time Patrol intervened, something waited.
Not random chaos.
Not coincidence.
Coordination.
Back in the observation chamber, alarms howled.
Red indicators bloomed across the holoscreens, one after another.
"Lost contact!"
"Another team just vanished!"
"Sir, we're down seventeen units in under ten minutes!"
Lieutenant Voss's voice trembled despite herself.
Satori stood perfectly still.
His eyes were locked on the data—not the casualties, not the numbers, but the pattern beneath them.
"They're not defending," he said quietly.
The room stilled.
"They're hunting."
Behind him, Dekisugi watched the screens with a distant, unreadable expression.
"These villains," Dekisugi said softly. "They were never meant to exist together. "
He adjusted his glasses.
"But now they do."
Satori's fists clenched.
"This isn't a bleed anymore," he said.
"No," Dekisugi agreed. "It's an ecosystem."
The alarms kept screaming.
Satori sighed, his fist relaxing as he tried to compose himself.
"So, how are you solving this?"