The ruins of Cipher Facility K-17 loomed like a carcass in the deadlands—metal ribs jutting out of the sand, cables like snapped tendons waving in the wind. Jae-Won had seen it before in a flash of the glitch, but never like this. Not up close. Not when every step toward it pulled at his spine like a compass gone haywire.
"They abandoned it three years ago," Serin said, crouching beside a rusted security panel, fingers dancing across the keypad. "After Project Helix failed."
"I thought Helix was scrapped."
She gave a humorless smile. "Cipher never scraps anything. They bury it."
The panel clicked, and the metal door groaned open. Cold air escaped—sterile, preserved. Jae-Won followed her in, eyes adjusting to the dim green of emergency lights still pulsing like a heartbeat. The glitch stirred.
He could feel it here. Something lived in this place. Something... still active.
The hallway descended into darkness, cables trailing along the walls like veins. Ahead, they reached a shattered observation chamber—glass splintered across the floor, consoles warped by time or sabotage.
Jae-Won stepped inside, letting the glitch guide him. It tugged him toward a shattered console. He placed his hand on it—and the world tilted.
In an instant, vision overtook him.
A lab—intact, glowing. Dozens of Cipher researchers stood behind the glass, watching a boy no older than sixteen strapped to a vertical slab. His eyes glowed purple. He screamed. And then—
The boy shattered.
Fragments of him dispersed through time like broken glass hurled into a cyclone.
Jae-Won staggered back, gasping.
"You saw it," Serin said quietly.
He nodded, still trembling. "What was that?"
"Subject 0-Alpha," she said. "The first Chrono Core host."
"The Core… it's alive?"
"In a way," Serin said, moving to another console. "Cipher didn't create it. They found it—somewhere outside time. And every time they tried to sync someone with it, the result was catastrophic."
"But I survived."
"You didn't sync with the Core," she said. "You glitched it."
Jae-Won stared at her. "What does that mean?"
"It means your ability isn't just time manipulation. It's rejection. Distortion. You don't control time—you interrupt it. Unravel it."
The glitch in his chest surged, reacting to her words.
"You're a paradox, Jae-Won," she said, stepping closer. "That's why Cipher fears you. That's why they need the Core—to overwrite you."
Suddenly, alarms blared through the facility. Lights flared red.
"They're here," Serin whispered.
"How did they—?"
"Doesn't matter. Move!"
Jae-Won sprinted after her down the corridor as automated doors slammed shut behind them one by one. The glitch flared in his perception—time slowing just enough to let him leap over a collapsing pipe, slide beneath a slamming bulkhead.
They reached a sealed chamber—a vault at the heart of the facility.
Serin slammed her hand against the biometric pad.
"What's in there?" Jae-Won asked.
She hesitated. "The final Core fragment."
Before he could respond, the door hissed open.
Inside floated a crystal—black as obsidian, with shifting purple light swimming beneath the surface. As soon as Jae-Won stepped inside, the glitch screamed. The air twisted. His thoughts fractured.
"Jae-Won!"
Her voice was distant.
He reached toward the fragment—and saw himself.
Dozens of versions. Dozens of timelines. All of them reaching too.
Then black.