The forest was eerily silent, save for the sound of Brady Elderwood's labored breathing as he staggered through the lifeless expanse. Each step sent a sharp, burning pain through his body, courtesy of the numerous wounds he'd sustained. Blood trickled down his arms, staining his torn clothes.

He gritted his teeth and pressed on, though his legs screamed for rest. The barren trees around him, stripped of leaves and vitality, seemed like twisted sentinels observing his struggle. The air was thick with dread, and even the faintest rustle sent chills down his spine.

Brady's mind raced as he glanced over his shoulder. Somewhere behind him, the aliens pursued him relentlessly. He had caught glimpses of them—towering figures clad in sleek, metallic armor that shimmered with an unnatural glow.

Their movements were calculated, fluid, and unnervingly silent. He knew better than to think he could outrun them indefinitely. Yet, survival was all he could focus on.

Only an hour ago, he had been in his garage. Brady vividly remembered the scene as if it had just happened—because, for him, it had. He had been frantically packing his bag, stuffing in food, water, a flashlight, and anything else he thought he might need.

His heart had been pounding as he tried to prepare for the inevitable. The invasion wasn't unexpected; rumors and sightings had been circulating for weeks. Yet no one truly believed it would come to this.

But it did.

The aliens had arrived earlier than expected, throwing his plans into chaos. Brady had barely zipped his bag when the first explosion rocked the ground. The garage windows shattered, and the walls trembled.

He had frozen for a split second, paralyzed by fear. Then instinct took over. He abandoned his bag and ran.

Now, as he trudged through the dead forest, he cursed his luck. His goal was simple: run as far as possible and wait for the aliens to leave. Then, he could return to his shed and retrieve what little he could salvage.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all he had.

Suddenly, a noise broke through the silence—a faint hum, like the charge of energy building. His heart sank. They were close.

Brady's pace quickened despite his injuries, desperation fueling him. He didn't get far. The aliens were faster. Before he could react, he felt the heat of their presence behind him.

Turning his head, he saw them closing in, their glowing visors locking onto him. There was no escape.

Brady stumbled to a halt, his legs giving out beneath him. He fell to his knees, gasping for air. The aliens surrounded him, their weapons humming with energy.

He looked up at them, his vision blurring. This was it. His time was up.

"Damn it," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He closed his eyes, bracing for the end. And then, something strange happened.

The world around him seemed to shift. A sensation like being pulled through a vortex overtook him, and when he opened his eyes, he wasn't in the forest anymore.

He was back in his garage.

Brady blinked, disoriented. He stared at the tools scattered across the workbench, the half-packed bag on the floor, and the broken glass from the explosion that hadn't yet happened.

He stumbled backward, his heart racing. "What the hell?" he whispered.

His gaze fell to the locket hanging around his neck—a cheap trinket he had bought from a $1 store years ago. It was an odd little thing, shaped like a gear, with intricate engravings that he had always thought looked cool.

Now, it was glowing faintly, a soft blue light emanating from its center. His jaw dropped. "No way..."

Brady reached for the locket, his hands trembling. The glow pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat. He couldn't believe it.

This old, insignificant piece of junk had just saved his life. Somehow, it had sent him back in time—by exactly one hour.

But Brady wasn't entirely clueless. He knew this wasn't just a lucky charm. Over the years, he'd heard whispers about tech-artifacts—items of alien origin with abilities that defied logic.

Most were rare and powerful, capable of altering reality itself. His locket, however, was far from legendary. It was rank-1, the weakest tier in the hierarchy of tech-artifacts.

Still, it had worked. It had given him a second chance. He sank to the floor, trying to process what had just happened. His mind reeled with questions.

How was this possible? Why now, of all times? And why him?

For now, though, he didn't have time to dwell on the details. The glow from the locket began to fade, and with it, the brief sense of security he had felt. The aliens were still out there, and they would be coming soon.

Brady pushed himself to his feet, his mind racing. This time, he had the advantage. He knew what was going to happen. He had a second chance, and he wasn't going to waste it.

Instead of panicking and running blindly, he made a decision. He hurried to the basement, grabbing a few essentials along the way—a bottle of water, a flashlight, and a small first-aid kit.

The basement was cramped and dusty, filled with old boxes and forgotten tools, but it was the safest place he could think of. He crouched in the corner, his heart pounding as he waited.

The minutes felt like hours, but eventually, he heard the distant sounds of the aliens arriving. The ground trembled slightly, and he could hear faint, mechanical noises as they moved through the area.

Brady held his breath, his grip on the flashlight tightening. He didn't dare move.

The noises grew louder, then quieter, then louder again as the aliens searched the house. At one point, Brady thought they might find the basement door, but after a tense moment, the sounds began to fade.

It took several hours for them to finally leave. Brady stayed hidden long after the noises had stopped, just to be sure.

When he finally emerged from the basement, the house was in ruins. The garage was still intact, though, and his bag was right where he had left it.

He grabbed it and slung it over his shoulder. The locket around his neck felt heavier now, as if it carried the weight of his newfound responsibility.

This wasn't just about survival anymore. He had a tool that could give him an edge, but he needed to figure out how it worked—and why he had it in the first place.

As Brady stepped out of the garage and into the remains of the world, one thing was clear: this was only the beginning.