Chen Mo's pen left a final formula traced on his arm. He looked up and met a pair of hawk-like eyes. The scar on the man's left cheek looked like a crack in reality itself under the setting sun.
"Lin Zhan," the man said, his voice low. "Like you, just another madman clinging to a piece of driftwood while the world drowns."
Chen Mo instinctively covered the formulas on his arm. "How did you know—"
"Because of what you're doing," Lin Zhan said, gesturing to the chaotic crowds. "It's exactly what I was doing three days ago."
Just then, the shriek of tires tore through the air. A city bus in the middle of the street twisted and deformed. But the windows didn't shatter—at the moment of impact, they dissolved into a cloud of butterflies, their wings shimmering with impossible geometric patterns.
"It's starting again," Lin Zhan said, his eyes narrowing. "The frequency of cognitive reality-warping is increasing."
Chen Mo's phone vibrated. The headline of the news link from his assistant made his blood run cold:
*History Rewritten? Overwhelming Evidence Suggests President Kennedy Was Never Assassinated.*
The article was accompanied by "historical photos" of Kennedy serving well past 1963. But the most terrifying part was the comment section—thousands of people insisting they had always remembered this version of history.
"The Mandela Effect…" Chen Mo whispered. "But it's manifesting physically."
Lin Zhan's expression was grim. "This is more than a memory glitch, Doctor. This is a retroactive reality edit. And I suspect," he pointed to the slowly rotating 3iAtlas in the sky, "it has something to do with that thing."
***
Back in the institute's lab, as Chen Mo booted up his computer, he caught a flicker on a security monitor. In the reflection, his own image seemed to lift its head a half-second after he did. He blinked and looked closer, but the image was normal again.
"The data shows a global, exponential increase in Mandela Effect events," Chen Mo said, pulling up a chart. "At first, it was just minor changes to brand logos. Now, major historical events are being 'corrected'."
Lin Zhan approached the screen. "What's the acceptance rate of the new reality?"
"Growing rapidly after each correction," Chen Mo brought up another data set. "It's like a cognitive pandemic."
His assistant, Xiao Wang, burst in, his face pale. "Doctor, the White House just issued a statement…"
On the tablet, the White House Press Secretary was solemnly announcing: "President Kennedy did, in fact, complete his term. Any claims to the contrary are disinformation."
The chilling part was that the reporters in the room were all nodding, as if this were the most obvious fact in the world.
"They actually believe it…" Chen Mo murmured.
"Or worse, for them, it *is* the truth," Lin Zhan's voice was ice.
A thought struck Chen Mo. He turned to his assistant. "Wang, do you remember the quantum decoherence model we were discussing last week?"
The assistant looked at him blankly. "Quantum decoherence? Doctor, weren't we analyzing the energy signature of the 3iAtlas last week?"
Chen Mo's heart sank. Even his closest assistant had been affected.
After the door closed, Lin Zhan looked directly at Chen Mo. "We're running out of time. As more people accept these 'new realities,' the number of us who remember the original timeline will shrink. Eventually…"
"The original reality will be completely overwritten," Chen Mo finished for him. "And those of us who still remember will be treated as insane."
An alarm suddenly blared, its shrill cry piercing through the institute.
[**All personnel, the institute is entering Level One lockdown. Repeat, proceed immediately to a secure area!**]
The hallway erupted into chaos. Lin Zhan grabbed Chen Mo and pulled him toward an emergency exit, just as a heavy blast door slammed down behind them.
Chen Mo glanced back one last time and saw something horrifying. The researchers trapped on the other side were changing. Their faces flickered between familiar colleagues and complete strangers—a university professor one moment, a childhood neighbor the next. Their very identities were being randomly reshuffled in the collapsing reality.
"Reality instability…" Chen Mo whispered. "The lockdown zone's structure is breaking down!"
***
In the underground parking garage, the engine of Lin Zhan's SUV roared to life.
As the vehicle shot out of the garage, Chen Mo witnessed a sight he would never forget. The institute building was becoming translucent, shimmering like a mirage. Through its walls, he could see the interior spaces twisted at impossible angles, the figures of researchers flickering and splitting apart.
"My God…" Chen Mo breathed, instinctively pulling out his phone.
The time on the screen was jumping erratically between 1963, 2023, and a series of unknown years. More disturbingly, the photos in his family album were changing. His father's face was a blur, his mother's hair flickered between blonde and black, and a boy he had never seen before was now in the family portrait, smiling at the camera.
"Hold on!" Lin Zhan wrenched the wheel, swerving to avoid a convoy of armored vehicles.
The SUV sped out of the institute's perimeter and headed out of the city. Chen Mo looked back. The entire institute was now enveloped in a strange halo of light, its outline blurring, as if it were about to be erased from reality completely.
"Where are we going?" Chen Mo's voice was hoarse with tension.
Lin Zhan stared straight ahead. "To find an 'Anchor'."
"An Anchor?"
"It's what we call ourselves," Lin Zhan said, pulling a small device from his pocket and handing it to Chen Mo. "The ones who stay sane in the reality storm."
Chen Mo took the device. It was a modified radiation detector, but its needle was pointing with relative stability in one direction.
"Lin Zhan, who are you really?" Chen Mo asked quietly. "Are you just a former special forces consultant?"
Lin Zhan didn't answer immediately. Only when the SUV was on the open highway did he speak.
"I'm a survivor of the last reality correction."
Chen Mo held his breath. "The last one?"
"The 3iAtlas isn't the first 'visitor' to try and fix reality," Lin Zhan's profile was grim in the faint light of the dashboard. "It's just that this time, they're too late."
Outside the window, the distant mountains were starting to ripple like a reflection in water. The very structure of the world was dissolving before their eyes.
Chen Mo's phone lit up. On the screen was a photo he had never taken: a man who looked exactly like him, standing in front of the now-ethereal institute, smiling and giving a thumbs-up.
At the bottom of the photo, a line of text slowly appeared:
"Welcome to the reality war, Dr. Chen Mo."