7:00 AM.
The alarm buzzed.
Same tone.
Same rhythm.
But Eron opened his eyes with something new: a complete plan.
Today wasn't about watching.
It was about shifting a piece on the board—Malco Frey.
Eron had tested the system for years. But now, he was moving in.
And it started with being seen.
---
8:22 AM.
This time, Eron didn't take the usual café seat.
He sat closer to the door, directly in Dorian Black's line of sight.
Dorian walked by, checked his phone, and looked up—exactly at Eron.
Their eyes locked.
This time, Eron nodded.
Just once.
Not a smile.
Not an invitation.
Just recognition.
And Dorian blinked, uncertain. He entered the café, slower than usual.
He ordered his drink, glanced around—again, Eron didn't look at him.
Until the final moment.
Dorian took his cup and turned. Eron looked up again.
Another nod. No words.
Dorian walked out, but this time…
he kept looking back.
The game had shifted.
He no longer felt like the observer.
He felt watched.
---
10:03 AM.
Helix Satellite Office – Floor 18
Dorian sat at his desk, unusually still. He didn't sip his coffee.
He stared at the note Eron had planted yesterday.
He'd scanned it. No results.
He'd asked Max the barista. No answers.
He'd even checked the CCTV… which had gone black for six seconds. Just six.
Eron had timed it perfectly.
---
10:07 AM.
Encrypted Line – Incoming Call
Dorian: "Malco?"
Malco's voice: "Did you do something stupid?"
Dorian froze. "…No. Why?"
"There's noise on the grid. Someone touched an old file. One of mine. At Urban Records."
Dorian frowned. "That can't be random."
"It's not," Malco growled. "You're the leak."
"What? No—"
"Not a traitor. A weakness. Someone's circling you to get to me. Fix it."
The line cut off.
Dorian sat in silence, heart racing.
He looked at the note again.
"Still watching."
---
11:00 AM.
Eron watched from across the street, in a cheap hoodie and cap.
He didn't need to hear the call.
He'd heard it on loop #96,522.
Same paranoia.
Same blame.
And now… Dorian would panic.
He would break his routine.
He would make a mistake.
---
12:41 PM.
Eron walked through an alley near a bar frequented by Helix field agents.
There, taped behind a dumpster pipe, was a small box—a Helix drop-point.
He placed a message inside:
"Your handler's past isn't as buried as he thinks.
You want to rise? Then switch sides.
Meet me. 7 PM. Pier 9. Come alone.
—The One Who Watches."
He sealed it.
No fingerprint. No scent.
By 4:00 PM, Dorian would find it.
And by 7:00 PM, Eron would begin the real infiltration.
Not by force.
But by seduction.
Through fear.
And control.
6:58 PM.
Pier 9. East Dock.
The waves slapped lazily against the rusted metal pillars. The harbor lights flickered, old and poorly maintained. Seagulls cried somewhere out of sight. Wind stirred garbage across the concrete.
Eron waited in the shadows, face partially obscured by a gray scarf, his breath calm, precise. He had stood here 114 times before.
Every time, Dorian came.
And every time, he said the wrong thing.
Panicked too early.
Asked too many questions.
Or worse—brought backup.
Eron had spent dozens of lifetimes sculpting this exact moment.
Tonight, Dorian would feel like he made the decision.
He would feel in control.
---
7:01 PM.
Footsteps.
Dorian emerged from the darkness—no coat, no weapon in sight, hands in his pockets.
His eyes scanned the dock.
"You're late," Eron said calmly, even though Dorian was actually a minute early.
Subtle shift. Establishing control.
Dorian flinched slightly. "You the one leaving notes and playing spy?"
Eron didn't answer. He stepped into the light.
"Do you know who your handler really is?" he asked instead.
Dorian's lips thinned. "I'm not here for riddles."
Eron tossed a folder onto the ground between them.
Dorian hesitated. Then picked it up.
Inside: blurry photos. A coded transaction. A redacted file with Malco Frey's name listed under "arms trafficking - pre-Helix."
Dorian flipped through slowly. "This is fake."
"No," Eron said. "It's old. That's why it feels fake. Buried things tend to."
---
7:04 PM.
Silence hung between them. Then Eron leaned forward just slightly.
"Your handler isn't loyal to you. He's loyal to what protects him. And the second you become a threat to that, he'll bury you too."
"I'm not a threat," Dorian said stiffly.
"Not yet."
Dorian looked up.
That was the opening.
"You're smart, Dorian. Smarter than most in Helix. You want to rise. You want more than desk work and blind orders. So take it."
Eron slid a burner phone across the concrete.
"One message a day. No names. No risks. Just one truth. Something only someone inside would know."
Dorian stared at the phone like it was ticking.
"I won't betray Helix."
"I'm not asking you to," Eron replied. "I'm offering you clarity. Information. The kind they'll never give you."
Another beat of silence.
Then Eron turned and walked away.
Ten steps. Fifteen. No hesitation.
Behind him, he didn't hear the phone being kicked away.
He didn't hear it dropped in the water.
He heard it picked up.
---
7:30 PM.
Back at the Apartment
Eron wrote in his journal:
Loop #100,001.
Dorian accepted contact. Delay: 2 minutes, 19 seconds.
Emotional tension: High.
Risk: 3%.
Outcome: Progress.
He stared at the last word.
Progress.
Not perfection yet—but close.
The dominos were lining up. And once they fell…
Helix would be his.
From the inside out.
DAY 100,002
7:00 AM
The alarm buzzed.
Same tone. Same moment.
But this time, Eron sat up immediately—back straight, mind clear.
The burner phone on his desk vibrated once.
A message.
"What happened at Westvale in '17?
—D"
Eron smiled faintly.
It had begun.
---
7:45 AM – Urban Archives
Eron moved through the building like a shadow. The archivist greeted him by name—he'd worked here a dozen loops ago, memorized every passage, every entry code, every safe.
He already knew the answer to Dorian's question.
Westvale, 2017—classified operation, five Helix agents burned. Officially a failed recon. But Eron had found the internal recording years ago.
The mission was sabotaged.
By Malco Frey, Dorian's handler.
---
9:12 AM – Message Sent
"You were taught it was a recon.
Truth: Malco redirected it to cover his arms deal.
Westvale burned to bury his client list."
Short. Cold. Direct.
Eron placed the phone down and began prepping the next step.
He didn't flood Dorian with proof.
He gave just enough to provoke obsession.
Curiosity is the most efficient poison.
---
11:08 AM – Helix HQ, Surveillance Bay
Dorian sat at his desk, pretending to read reports. But his screen showed something else—a restricted terminal he never accessed before.
He typed:
"WESTVALE-RED CLASS FILES"
Access denied.
Three times.
He swore under his breath and closed it.
Then stared at the burner phone in his coat pocket.
Eron's strategy worked.
Dorian was chasing a truth he couldn't let go of.
---
1:00 PM – Hidden Room, Lower District
Eron met a man named Calven.
Small-time fixer. Deep debts. Soft voice. Useless in most timelines.
But here? He was Eron's mouthpiece.
"Deliver this envelope to Building G-14. Person in the black tie, third floor."
"Is it dangerous?" Calven asked.
"No. But you'll say someone tried to stop you. You'll fake a limp."
Calven frowned. "Why?"
Eron looked him in the eye.
"Because when word reaches Helix that someone's leaking, they'll trace it to G-14. Not you. And definitely not me."
---
2:47 PM – Helix HQ
Malco Frey slammed a folder onto his desk. "We've got a leak."
Dorian's heart jumped. "Where?"
"Urban district. G-14. But it's sloppy. Someone wanted it to be found."
"Inside job?" Dorian asked casually.
"Or someone trying to bait us."
Malco paused. "Find them. Quietly."
Dorian nodded. But inside…
he already knew this wasn't about G-14.
It was about him.
And the ghost whispering truth from the shadows.
3:12 PM – Alley behind G-14
Calven limped toward the street, clutching his side dramatically.
His shirt was stained—red dye, carefully placed.
Two onlookers gasped. A woman called for help.
Across the street, a Helix scout recorded everything.
Just like Eron intended.
In twenty-two timelines, this scene had unfolded with zero deviation.
Now it was muscle memory.
Calven turned the corner and vanished into a waiting cab. Inside, Eron handed him a roll of cash.
"You were perfect."
Calven, still breathing hard, blinked. "Do I even want to know what this was for?"
"No. But thank you for being forgettable."
The cab pulled away.
---
4:30 PM – Helix Internal Meeting
The Helix Board of Surveillance watched the G-14 footage in silence.
Malco Frey leaned against the table, his jaw tight.
"Looks like a staged drop," said the gray-haired director beside him.
"I'm not convinced it's an outsider," Malco said, voice low. "The drop was too obvious. It's a cover. Someone's trying to draw attention away from something deeper."
"And what would that be?"
Malco didn't answer.
But inside, he already suspected it—a ghost inside Helix.
---
6:00 PM – Rooftop Overlooking Helix HQ
Eron stood alone, eyes tracing the building's windows. Each light, each shadow, every pattern—it was all burned into his memory.
He knew which floors rotated guards.
He knew which executives stayed late on Tuesdays.
He even knew the vending machine that jammed on Floor 12.
Behind him, Dorian's message arrived:
"I checked the footage from Westvale.
You were right."
Eron typed a single line:
"Truth is expensive. You still want more?"
Dorian's reply came quickly.
"Yes."
Eron's smile faded.
"Then we begin."
---
9:45 PM – Journal Entry, Loop 100,002
Dorian is in.
Malco is paranoid.
The seed is planted.
Eron paused.
He crossed out the last sentence and rewrote it:
The infection has begun.