The building was abandoned for a long time before anyone could even remember what it was called. Time just kept going. Letting let rust take over the walls of the building and dark shadows formed in its corners. The silence was almost sacred. That is, until night fell.
In the center of the main chamber, a machine sat dormant, looking like an ancient relic of ambition and obsession. Its creator, a man consumed by patterns and possibilities, obsessed with the idea that control over all thing was possible. But ambition, when unhinged, is a dangerous companion.
A careless hand brushed against a switch. A spark hissed from the engine, wires arcing as a red alarm blared across the chamber. The machine surged, unrestrained. The air shimmered as if the world itself had paused to catch its breath. The very fabric of time itself began to shiver right before his eyes as he admired his own creation.
The storm outside mirrored the machine's fury. In the midst of the chaos, a droplet found its way through the cracked pipes and lingered dangerously above the console before splashing onto the board and threading between wires, repeating it's decent like a stubborn echo.
In an instant, the revolution became catastrophic. The scientist froze, realizing too late that curiosity had slipped its leash. The time-warp began spiraling out of control and an invisible threaded shockwave stretched beyond the walls, beyond the city, into lives untouched and futures unwritten. Somewhere, or sometime far ahead, eyes would open. Warnings would be sent. Messages would whisper across time streams.
It was not a beginning, nor an end. It was the first ripple. Born from human error, reckless curiosity, and the fragile arrogance of believing one could hold time in hand. This fatal flow would wait, patient and relentless, until the world finally responded.