Rain slapped the cracked window of Daniel Carter's studio apartment like a scorned lover. The flickering neon sign from the pawnshop below painted his peeling walls in alternating shades of regret and hepatitis yellow. He stared at the three envelopes on his rickety IKEA desk, each more damning than the last: an eviction notice, a final disconnect warning from Pacific Gas & Electric, and a breakup letter from Jessica that still smelled faintly of her vanilla perfume.
"Happy fucking 30th birthday," he muttered, crunching another antacid tablet. His stomach had become a chemical warfare zone since the tech startup he'd poured three years into collapsed last month. Turns out "disrupting the artisanal kombucha market with blockchain" wasn't the billion-dollar idea he'd pitched to those venture capital sharks.
The ancient laptop before him buzzed like an angry hornet. His last freelance gig – editing foot fetish videos for a OnlyFans creator named "Toe-talEcstasy69" – had just rejected his final cut. The email read: *"The lighting makes my pinky toe look FAT. No pay until reshoot!!"*
Daniel's fist connected with the wall. Plaster dust snowed onto his ramen-crusted keyboard. "I went to Stanford for this?" The framed diploma above his bed – *Magna Cum Laude, Computer Science 2015* – seemed to laugh at him.
His phone buzzed. Mom's caller ID flashed like a guilt missile. He let it go to voicemail. Again. How could he explain that her "brilliant boy" was now dodging calls from loan sharks and surviving on gas station taquitos?
The rain intensified. Daniel grabbed his threadbare hoodie – the one Jessica always said made him look "aggressively mediocre" – and stumbled into the San Francisco night. The Mission District smelled of wet garbage and broken dreams. He barely noticed the hunched figure until he collided with it.
"Watch where you're—" The words died in his throat. The old Chinese woman clutched a burlap sack dripping with rainwater, her papery fingers closed around his wrist with surprising strength. Her milky eyes locked onto his.
"You reek of could-have-beens," she croaked in heavily accented English. "The universe tires of your whining."
Daniel tried to pull away. "Lady, I don't have any cash—"
Her laugh sounded like dry leaves crushed underfoot. "Cash? Child, I offer what your pitiful generation truly craves." From the sack, she produced an ornate bronze pocket watch etched with constellations. "A second chance. Ten years rewound. One-time offer."
The watch glowed faintly. Daniel's skin prickled. "Is this some augmented reality crap? Because I'm really not—"
Her nails bit into his flesh. "Ten years to the day. But heed this – time is no obedient dog. Kick it too hard, and it bites." She pressed the watch into his palm. It burned like dry ice.
A taxi horn blared. Daniel blinked. The woman was gone. In his hand, the watch ticked ominously. The second hand moved backward.
"Fuck it," he muttered, shoving the relic into his pocket. Maybe the pawnshop would give him fifty bucks for it. Enough for another bottle of cheap gin and—
Tires screeched. Headlights blinded him. The Uber driver's scream merged with the metallic shriek of braking. Daniel's last coherent thought as the Prius plowed into him was: *At least the medical bills will be someone else's problem.*
Darkness.
Then light – but not the pearly gates kind. Fluorescent tubes hummed overhead. The sharp tang of disinfectant burned his nostrils. Daniel blinked at the unfamiliar hospital room. A perky nurse bustled in, her scrubs patterned with dancing cupcakes.
"Mr. Carter! You're awake!" She checked his IV with practiced efficiency. "Don't try to speak. You're lucky – that taxi only broke three ribs and gave you a Grade 3 concussion."
Daniel's tongue felt like a wool sock. "Wha...year?"
The nurse chuckled. "Easy there, time traveler. It's still 2023. October 15th."
Ice flooded his veins. The crash had happened on October 14th. His birthday. Before he could process this, his gaze fell on the wall calendar behind her – a smiling kitten dangling from a branch. *Hang in there! 2013* it proclaimed in cheerful letters.
His heart stuttered. "That calendar...why's it say 2013?"
The nurse followed his gaze. "Oh that? We never update it. Budget cuts." She patted his hand. "Rest now."
But as she left, Daniel noticed the smartphone on her cart – an iPhone 5S. His own hands trembled as he felt his face. No stubble. The paunch from years of stress-eating? Gone. On the bedside table, a newspaper headline screamed: *GOVERNMENT SHUTDOWN ENTERS SECOND WEEK – OBAMA URGES COMPROMISE.*
The watch in his jacket pocket – now inexplicably tucked in the nightstand – ticked once. Loudly.
A holographic screen materialized before him, blue text floating in midair:
**[SYSTEM INITIALIZED]**
**Welcome, User Daniel Carter**
**Current Year: 2013**
**Primary Objective: Reverse Personal Failures**
**Warning: Temporal Integrity at 98% – Critical Actions Required Within 72 Hours**
Daniel's scream lodged in his throat as the door swung open again. There stood his mother – but younger, her hair still more brown than gray. In her arms, a bakery box with familiar lemon-iced cookies...the kind she'd stopped making after her dementia diagnosis in 2020.
"Happy early birthday, sweetheart!" she chirped, oblivious to his panic. "I know turning 23's not a milestone, but—"
The world tilted. Daniel clutched the watch. Somewhere in the hospital, a monitor flatlined.