Click.
A sharp sound jolted Ned awake. His head throbbed, and his vision swam, making it hard to focus. As the haze cleared, he realized he was sitting on an old, musty sofa in an unfamiliar white room.
An outdated television buzzed in front of him, its screen flickering erratically. Confused, he tried to recall what had happened. The last thing he remembered was the searing pain of his hoverboard shard lodged in his stomach. He should be dead—or at least in a hospital. That he was alive could only mean one thing: the watch had done something. But what?
Before he could untangle the mess of his thoughts, the static on the television screen shifted. The image of a man appeared—a sharp-dressed figure with white hair and piercing blue eyes. His face radiated an almost ethereal beauty, like some legendary movie star.
"Damn, this guy looks good," Ned muttered to himself, before quickly adding, "No homo."
The man on the screen adjusted his tie, then leaned forward as if looking directly at Ned. His voice was deep and steady, laced with an odd sense of detachment.
---
Log Unknown
Date Unknown
"I wanted to start my last log with a quote," the man said, "but I can't remember any." He chuckled softly, though it lacked warmth.
"So, here we are. My last log.
"I've had plenty of regrets in my life. They're etched into my memory as vividly as the day they happened. That's the curse of a perfect memory—you never forget. Not the ones who left, the ones I couldn't save, or even the ones I loved. Their faces haunt me, clear as sunlight, but I… feel nothing anymore. Not sadness, not joy. Just an empty void where emotions used to live."
The man paused, his eyes distant.
"I always believed every story had a 'good ending.' That somewhere, there was a version of the story that was meant to be. But looking back on my life, I'm not sure this is it.
"My world is gone now, destroyed. Not even ashes remain. If you're watching this, that means you've stumbled upon the only relic left—this log machine. It's… special. It holds my entire life: my triumphs, my failures, my loves, my losses. It also holds the stories of others—special stories, tragic stories—some of which ended by my own hand.
"Why am I telling you this? I don't know. Maybe it's a pathetic attempt to make my life feel meaningful. Maybe it's my way of pitching my story, even now. But at least if you're here, watching this, you'll feel something. Sadness, anger, maybe even joy. And that… that's more than I've felt in years."
The man leaned closer, his blue eyes boring into Ned's.
"Welcome, stranger, to the logs of a lost world. And… goodbye."
The screen flickered and buzzed with static before abruptly shutting off.
---
Darkness engulfed Ned again.
---
When he woke up, he was back in his bed. His little sister Angel sat beside him, her sharp eyes fixed on his face.
"Mom!" she shouted, her voice loud enough to wake the dead. "Cheta's awake!"
Ned groaned, his head spinning. Before he could protest, his mom and dad barged into the room, their faces filled with a mix of worry and relief.
"What happened to you?" his mom demanded, hovering over him like a mother hen. "You were found unconscious in the street! Your hoverboard was broken, and there was blood everywhere! Do you have any idea how scared we were?"
His dad, predictably, grumbled from the corner, arms crossed. "Damn kid can't even ride his own invention without breaking it. Useless." But the concern in his eyes betrayed his tough exterior.
Ned quickly crafted a half-baked excuse. "I… uh, had an accident. Lost control of the board and hit the ground. No big deal."
His mom wasn't convinced. "No big deal? You were bleeding! What if someone hadn't found you?"
Ned waved her off, assuring her he was fine. The truth was, he wasn't ready to process what had happened—let alone explain it to his family.
After some more fussing and scolding, his parents left him to rest. Angel stayed behind, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She sat cross-legged on a chair across from his bed, staring at him like she could see right through his lies.
"What?" he snapped, more annoyed than usual.
"You're hiding something," she said bluntly. "Spill."
"I'm not—"
"Don't even try. You suck at lying."
Ned groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. "Go away, Devil."
She didn't budge, but eventually, she lost interest and stomped out of the room.
Finally alone, Ned stared at the ceiling, replaying the events of the last few hours. He had tried to help a kid, only to get himself nearly killed. The watch had done something to save him, but what? And then… that log. The therapy room. The strange man with his tragic monologue. What the hell had he stumbled into?
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden realization. Something felt… different.
His senses were sharper, clearer. Colors seemed more vivid, and sounds were crisper. When he looked at Angel earlier, he'd noticed faint, glowing patterns floating around her—similar to the ones he'd seen around awakeners like Christine, but different. He remembered seeing similar patterns around his parents, too.
He sat up, his heart pounding.
Could this be the watch? Or… my Spectator talent?
There was only one way to find out.
His hands trembled with excitement as he whispered, "Status window."
For the millionth time, he hoped. But this time, it felt different. This time… it just might work.