River jolted awake, sunlight streaming in through the windows of his apartment, much later than he would have liked. His mind felt foggy, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, or perhaps... a nightmare. His body still felt heavy from the remnants of a restless night, but his eyes flickered open as he tried to adjust.
The apartment looked the same—familiar, yet distant. The walls were painted a soft gray, accented with warm wood furniture rather than metal, and a few personal furnishings scattered about. A small bookshelf lined the far wall, filled with scattered textbooks and engineering books, a few mementos from his past scattered throughout the room. It was all the same as yesterday—or was it?
He rubbed his eyes, slowly sitting up, and the world seemed to calm around him. The quiet hum of the city beyond his window was audible, but the discomfort was still there, like the room had shifted beyond his reach. Something was…off. But what?
River glanced at his bed. The sheets, still rumpled, felt so familiar—as if he had been here a thousand times, as if he had woken up in the exact same position over and over again. He shook his head. It was okay, he told himself, trying to ignore the strange feeling gnawing at his mind.
Pushing himself up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cold metal floor beneath his bare feet. He looked around the room again, and suddenly he felt an epiphany—it was all his. His belongings, his books, his clothes. And yet, somehow, it all felt wrong.
He stood and moved to the window, gazing out at the bustling city below. The faint hum of Lumeira's life continued, people going about their daily routines, oblivious to the strange tension in his chest. He watched the wheels of the city turn, but his own world felt out of sync.
He took a deep breath. He needed to calm down. This wasn't like him—this disorientation, this feeling that things weren't as they seemed, like a delusion. River ran a hand through his hair and turned toward his small kitchen.
He absentmindedly opened the refrigerator, half expecting to find something… different. But there, right where they were, was a carton of eggs and a bottle of milk. A few slices of leftover bread. The usual fare he ate on his days off. He grabbed the eggs, cracked them into a bowl, and began to make himself breakfast, his mind still racing.
It's all the same. You're just tired. It's okay. He repeated it like a mantra, trying to convince himself. However, the voice in his heart was not calm.
After the eggs were scrambled, he sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, absentmindedly stirring his food. His gaze shifted to the calendar on the wall. It was marked with red crosses across the dates, indicating when he had work, meetings, and deadlines. However, his eyes froze when he saw today's date, which was highlighted in bold letters: Internship day off.
It should have felt like a relief. A day to relax, unwind, maybe catch up on some sleep. But as he looked at the calendar, a wave of unease washed over him. The date seemed familiar, but something in his chest twisted. He stared at it for too long, as if the numbers were playing tricks on his mind.
His thoughts turned to the day before—his internship, the machine, the equations that didn't make sense, the déjà vu that had hit him harder than ever. He chewed his breakfast, absentmindedly. It was easy to get caught up in the rhythm of life, to let the world pass by, but today felt different. It felt like he was missing something important, something he couldn't quite grasp.
As he sat there, staring at the calendar, River's fingers brushed over a small, half-finished puzzle on the table. It was a mechanical puzzle, one of those complex, interlocking designs meant to challenge the mind. He had started it days ago—maybe longer—but had never quite finished it. He picked up the pieces, turning them over in his hands, the cold metal against his skin. It was oddly comforting, but part of him drew back, as if the puzzle itself didn't belong here.
It was like something was whispering to him, urging him to solve it, to finish it, but as soon as he got close, his mind was distracted. As if there was a deeper layer of meaning—something that didn't make sense. He set the puzzle down with a sigh, shaking his head.
His phone vibrated off the table, its vibrations breaking the silence of the apartment. River glanced at the screen. It was a text from Elliot, his roommate:
Are you okay? I have stuff to do. Just checking in on you.
River stared at the message for a moment, then typed again:
Yeah, just woke up late. Needed to clear my head. Got a day off.
Elias responded quickly.
Good. Don't push yourself too hard. I'll be out for a few hours.
River put the phone down. His eyes flicked back to the mechanical puzzle, then to the bookshelves, which were filled with engineering textbooks and other random objects—some familiar, some oddly out of place. A small vase of dried flowers sat on the shelf next to a pocket watch, which for some reason, he didn't remember owning.
A flash of something—something unnatural—flashed in his mind: the pocket watch, the ticking sound, the feeling of time stretching and bending, spinning around him. The sensation was gone, but the unease remained.
His apartment. His things. His life.
It's okay, he told himself again, but this time his voice didn't sound so convincing.
He stood up, stepped away from the table, and began to pace. He needed to get out of here. He needed some fresh air. To clear his head. Yesterday had just been one of those mornings—one of those days where everything felt a little weird. But that wasn't anything new, was it?
He grabbed his jacket, pulled it on, and headed for the door. Before he left, he stopped in front of the mirror by the door and stared at his reflection. His disheveled appearance, the slight bags under his eyes, his slightly pale but handsome face—it all felt strangely familiar. And yet, for a moment, it felt like someone else.
River shook his head, pushing the thought away. It wasn't important. He was just overthinking.
Giving the apartment one more glance, he stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.
⛭⛭⛭
The streets of Lumeira were bustling with the usual daytime energy, the city alive with a constant hum of activity. River walked purposefully, trying to shake off the confusion that clung to him like a fog. He was headed for the Underground, a network of tunnels, alleys, and abandoned buildings that snaked beneath the city. The Underground was far from the clean, well-ordered streets of the city above. A forgotten world, full of secrets and horrors, where the city's most unpleasant elements gathered.
It was supposed to be a break, just a walk to clear his head. The Underground had always fascinated him—the stark contrast between the steampunk elegance of Lumeira's upper streets and the messiness of the underground. River had always thought of it as a place where time, quite literally, stood still. A reflection of a city on the edge of chaos, hidden beneath the world where everyone else lived.
The alley leading to the Underground was less crowded, the market stalls more clustered, and the smell of oil and smoke filled the air. But then something caught his eye.
A woman—nimble, purposeful, and silent—slipped through the alley, her movements too smooth, too practiced. River instinctively stepped closer, trying to get a better look at her. She was dressed in dark, tight clothing, with a hood covering most of her face, her hands busy with something—a tool, a mechanical component.
At first, River didn't mind it. People here were always scavenging, looking for old parts, or trying to make a quick buck. But as his gaze followed her, he noticed something odd: she moved with precision, not the clumsy scavenger he was used to seeing. The things she was picking up—gears, scraps of metal, intricate parts of what looked like larger mechanisms—were valuable, and she wasn't just stealing them. She was targeting them. The way she worked, it was deliberate, skillful. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.
The realization came too late. He had taken these pieces for something specific. A faction? A rival group? It didn't seem like a random theft.
Before he could figure it out, the woman turned sharply to avoid a steam pipe jutting out of the wall, and in her haste, she collided with River.
"Careful!" River instinctively reached out to steady himself, but he lost his balance, and stumbled backward. His shoulder hit the edge of a nearby metal steam pipe, and a sharp pain shot up his arm.
Everything went blurry. A jolt of pain echoed through his head, then a sudden heat, his vision dimming as if the world itself were ending. The clang of the pipe that had been ringing in his ears grew muffled, the chatter of the street fading into the distance.
The woman's voice—calm, indifferent—sounded like it was coming from far away. "Get out of my way."
But River couldn't answer. His body felt heavy, the ground beneath him seemed to tilt, and the last thing he heard before passing out was the clanking of gears echoing in his mind, the faint creak of time.