The rhythmic ticking of time was the first thing Alex heard as he woke, a cruel reminder of the world he lived in. Each tick was a countdown, pulling him toward an inevitable end, just like everyone else. His eyes fluttered open to the dim gray light filtering through the grimy window of his apartment, casting shadows across the cracked walls. The room was silent, except for the ticking. It had always been there, like a heartbeat, but colder—harsher.

Alex sat up, his body stiff from another night of restless sleep. He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to focus on the clock around his neck. **10 hours, 13 minutes, 5 seconds**. The numbers blinked back at him, each second vanishing in a steady, unforgiving rhythm. **Time**, the most precious commodity in this broken world, and he had so little of it left.

His chest tightened with the familiar anxiety. There were no second chances here. When the clock hit zero, it was over. No exceptions, no mercy. Alex had seen it too many times—people collapsing in the streets, their clocks blinking empty as their bodies became lifeless husks. It didn't matter how hard you fought, how much you worked. Time always won.

He stood up slowly, the cold air biting at his skin as his feet touched the worn floor. His apartment, if it could even be called that, was a reflection of the world outside—bare, crumbling, and devoid of life. There were no decorations, no signs of warmth, just a bed, a broken chair, and a pile of clothes shoved into the corner. But this was the norm now. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

Alex glanced at the window. Beyond the grime-covered glass, the city was waking up. What had once been a thriving metropolis was now a husk of its former self, a collection of decaying buildings and silent streets. People moved through the city like ghosts, their eyes hollow, their lives dictated by the blinking clocks hanging around their necks. No one smiled. No one stopped to chat. They simply moved, desperate to earn more time.

The rich, the ones with years on their clocks, lived high above in the towers—untouchable and indifferent to the struggles below. Alex hated them. He hated the entire system. But what could he do? Time was the only currency, and without it, you didn't exist.

He caught sight of his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink. The man staring back at him looked tired, not just from lack of sleep, but from something deeper. His eyes were sunken, dark from the endless nights of worry and grief. His hair was a mess, strands of it falling across his forehead, unkempt and wild. He barely recognized himself anymore.

With a sigh, Alex splashed cold water on his face, trying to shake off the weight of the morning. He knew what he had to do. It was the same routine every day. Head to the **Time Distribution Center**, work a meaningless job, and earn just enough time to keep the clock from hitting zero.

But today felt different.

He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, the chill of the morning seeping into his bones. The streets were as bleak as always, the buildings towering over him like ancient giants, their facades crumbling under the weight of neglect. No one spoke. No one made eye contact. Everyone was too focused on their clocks, too focused on surviving another day.

As Alex made his way to the distribution center, his mind wandered, thoughts drifting to a distant memory—a time before all of this. Before the collapse. Before time became everything. A time when he had a sister, Mira, and a dream of something better. But those days were gone, just like her.

**10 hours, 12 minutes, 45 seconds**.

The ticking was always there. Always reminding him.

---

The line outside the **Time Distribution Center** was long, as it always was. People shuffled forward, their faces blank, their clocks flashing dangerously low. Alex joined the line, his thoughts drifting as he waited for his turn. The person in front of him had less than two minutes left. Alex turned away, unwilling to watch what would happen when the time ran out.

He had seen it enough times.

When he finally reached the front, the woman behind the counter didn't even look up. She was just part of the machine, processing people like items on a conveyor belt. "ID?" she asked in a monotone voice, her eyes never leaving the screen in front of her.

Alex handed over his card. A few clicks, a beep, and she handed it back. "Three hours for maintenance work. Booth five."

Three hours. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep his clock going, for now.

He nodded and walked to his assigned booth, the weight of the clock around his neck feeling heavier with each passing second.

---

The hours dragged on as Alex worked, his hands moving mechanically through the task in front of him. Maintenance, repairs, menial jobs that kept the city functioning just enough to stave off collapse. The minutes ticked away on his clock, replaced by the time he earned. But it never felt like enough. It was never enough.

By the time his shift ended, Alex's body ached, his fingers stiff from the cold. He checked his clock as he left the center. **13 hours, 17 minutes, 5 seconds**. Barely more than what he had started with. But it was enough. Enough to survive another day.

The streets were even quieter now, the few people still outside moving quickly, their eyes darting nervously to their clocks. No one wanted to be caught out with too little time. Alex didn't bother looking at them. He had stopped caring a long time ago.

As he walked, a series of bright signs caught his eye. **ALBEKO: A Life Beyond Time**, they flashed in vivid colors, a stark contrast to the gray world around him. The virtual reality world had been advertised for weeks now, promising freedom from the clocks, from the relentless ticking that ruled their lives.

Alex had dismissed it at first, like so many other false promises. But as his time continued to slip away, the thought lingered in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, ALBEKO was real.

And maybe, it was his only way out.