Tony sat on the couch, his eyes glued to the glowing numbers burning into the wall.
[71:59:30]
The numbers ticked down with a soft pulse, not just of light but of sound, like the beat of a mechanical heart reverberating through the room. Each second seemed to echo inside his skull, burrowing into him like a parasite.
"This isn't real," he whispered.
He dragged a hand across his face, fingers trembling. The glow didn't vanish. He stood abruptly, knocking over the half-empty glass of whiskey. It shattered, liquid spilling across the floor, but he barely noticed. He reached the wall and pressed his palm against it. The glow didn't smear or fade under his touch—it stayed perfectly sharp, etched beneath his skin as though carved into the fabric of the world itself.
His pulse raced. He pressed harder, nails scraping. The plaster was solid. He dug in until his fingertips burned. The numbers simply ticked on.
[71:58:42]
It wasn't just a vision. It was a countdown.
But to what?
He staggered back, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in frantic bursts. His thoughts scrambled. Reset. The word from his dream lingered like a thorn. Reset what? The clock? The day? Him?
Tony laughed shakily, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. Okay, I'm cracking. I need sleep. Real sleep."
He stumbled toward the bedroom, leaving the glowing wall behind him, though he felt its light burning against the back of his skull. He lay down, yanking the blanket over his head like a child warding off monsters. His heart thundered.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep didn't come.
---
Morning light filtered through the curtains when Tony finally dragged himself out of bed. The world outside his window looked ordinary enough. Cars honked, neighbors argued, a dog barked somewhere down the street. For a fleeting moment, he convinced himself the nightmare had ended.
Then he turned his head.
The countdown was still there.
[69:12:05]
His mouth went dry. Two hours had passed. The numbers had ticked on while he slept.
He forced himself into motion. He showered, dressed, brewed coffee, all with robotic precision, but the knowledge gnawed at him. The countdown wasn't stopping.
By the time he left the apartment, paranoia had taken root. Every face in the crowd seemed too blurred, too indifferent. He bumped shoulders with people who didn't glance at him. His reflection in a passing shop window lagged again, a second behind, grinning faintly when he wasn't.
His chest tightened. He turned away, walking faster.
---
The office was worse than yesterday.
His ID card didn't register at the entrance scanner. The guard looked right past him. When he slipped through the turnstile behind a crowd, no alarms sounded, no one stopped him.
Inside, the office buzzed with activity—phones ringing, keyboards clattering, conversations overlapping—but Tony was a ghost in the middle of it. He approached Carter again, his voice firm this time. "You can hear me. You have to hear me."
Carter typed away, face neutral.
Tony slammed his hands on the desk. The pen jar rattled. Carter didn't flinch.
"You're ignoring me!" Tony shouted. "You can't just pretend I don't exist!"
Nobody looked up.
Rage boiled inside him, pushing past fear. He grabbed Carter's shoulder, shaking him hard. For an instant, the man's face blurred like static, eyes flickering black as if something inside was resisting. Then, with a shiver, Carter's form reset, shrugging Tony's hand off like it was never there.
Tony stumbled back, breathing heavily. His knees weakened. He scanned the room, seeing flickers—small stutters in the people around him, their movements looping or skipping like corrupted video.
This wasn't just him. The world was wrong. Felt wrong.
And the countdown was running out.
He ran outside the building, towards the street.
Outside, the city felt different. The air itself buzzed faintly, like static electricity crawling across his skin. People passed by, but their outlines wavered at the edges, as though reality itself couldn't decide if they were solid.
Tony's breath caught. On the far side of the street, a man in a dark trench coat stood perfectly still amid the flow of traffic. His face was obscured by a brimmed hat, but his head was tilted directly toward Tony.
The figure didn't move as cars passed straight through him.
Tony blinked, and the man vanished.
A cold shiver crawled down his spine. He was being watched.
By evening, Tony was unraveling. He sat in his apartment, lights dim, clutching the sticky note from yesterday.
Observe. Prepare. Choice comes soon.
His hands shook. "Choice… choice for what?"
The countdown glowed brighter, filling the room with pale light.
[65:00:10]
The numbers pulsed. His phone vibrated violently on the table. He snatched it up, and the screen flashed white, symbols scrolling faster than his eyes could follow. Then words appeared, clear and cold:
"Player Synchronization: Final Attempt."
Tony's stomach dropped.
The phone screen flickered, shifting into something impossible: a translucent blue interface that hovered above it, detached from the device itself. Words appeared midair, crisp and sharp:
[System Initialization Pending]
Accept synchronization?
Yes / No
Tony's breath hitched. His whole body trembled as he stared at the glowing prompt.
This was it. The choice.
But what happened if he said no?
The countdown ticked louder in his head.
[64:59:59]