The whiteboard was covered in chaotic scribbles—equations, half-baked theories, and sketches of impossibilities.
The scientist, hunched over, gripped a red marker between his teeth while feverishly adjusting components of his machine.
His lab was a disaster zone of tangled wires, stacks of notes, and a ridiculous number of empty coffee cups. The smell of burnt circuits hung in the air.
His fingers were stained with ink and grease, his mind a chaotic whirlwind of ideas, calculations, and insane possibilities.
"Alright, focus, focus… If the displacement factor is maintained while the consciousness transfer aligns with the harmonic frequency—" He muttered.
Suddenly, he stopped and readjust while furrowing his brow. "No, no, that would kill me. Bad. Very bad."
He scribbled furiously on the board, gritting his teeth. His hair were messy and his eyebag makes it apparent that he had faced multiple sleepless night.
Equations came together, fell apart, were rewritten. His mind was a hurricane, his hands a blur. He wiped sweat from his forehead, eyes darting between the machine and his notes. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
He had been at this for days. No, weeks. Maybe longer. He had lost track of time. His food supply consisted of half-eaten granola bars, and his sleep cycle had been completely obliterated. But it didn't matter. Because he was close. So damn close.
"C'mon, baby, work with me here," he coaxed the machine, tapping a panel with the wrench.
He flipped a switch. A small spark. The hum of a capacitor charging.
Something shifted.
A reading on the monitor flickered to life. Numbers aligned in a way that actually made sense. His heart skipped a beat. He reached for his notepad, checking his calculations.
"Oh, oh shit, that's it. That's it!" He grinned wildly. "Yeahhh baby! HELL YESSS!"
He practically vibrated with excitement, fists pumping in the air. He did it. It worked. He had cracked time travel!
Well, kind of. He wasn't entirely sure how smoothly it would function, but the theory was sound. It would work when he needed it.
And that was the key.
But as the euphoria settled, another thought crept into his mind.
This was more than just a machine. This was history, power, absolute dominance over time itself....
«all those awards, the recognition, the world falling at my feet in awe. The Nobel Prize? heck, with this. i can even do anything.. the world's my oyster!»
He lampooned over his thoughts as he comsiders each outcome. "perhaps i shouldn't even share it at all."
A slow grin spread across his face.
Why should he let anyone else in on this? He could rewrite the past, shape the future, become something more than just a scientist. He could be a god. He could topple empires before they rose, manipulate the stock market decades in advance, become a whisper of fate itself.
The thought was intoxicating.
"I could do anything…" he muttered to himself, eyes gleaming. "Anything."
He let out a slow, satisfied exhale.
Tired from the long work and finally having his work paid off, he decided to just go out the basement and rest in his room.
On the way, he was hopping, jumping in joy while imagining all the possible ways he would test the machine out-
And promptly knocked over the simmering pot of soup his wife had been cooking.
The clatter of metal against tile sent a cold wave of horror down his spine. The scent of spices filled the air. Time seemed to slow as he stared at the disaster he had just created.
He had seconds before the consequences of his actions caught up with him.
His eyes darted towards stairs leading to the basement.
"...i was just thinking of testing the machine out, guess it's now or nothin huh?"
Without another thought, he walked back to it and started setting up the machine.
"Go back by one minute!" he commanded.
The machine whirred, sputtered, and then screamed. he then rest his hands on the machine, granting it connection to his body.
Electricity cracked through the air. A high-pitched whining filled the room as the machine trembled violently, bolts snapping free, circuits overloading. The air itself twisted, distorting as if reality itself had been punched in the gut.
The hum became a roar. His vision blurred. His breath caught in his throat. Then—
A blinding flash.
He was gone.
---
He was floating. Or falling. Or both.
The concept of time felt distant, like a river he could see but never touch. Colors swirled around him in unnatural ways—brilliant, shifting hues that made no sense. Shapes formed and unformed, abstract and incomprehensible.
The machine swam through the stream of time, tumbling, sinking lower, lower than it should have.
He reached out, but his hands—where were his hands? he could feel his consciousness attached to the machine.
He observed and came to a realization, that because only his conscious was sent, he can't interract with anything but could still feel things. it seems like this is the 6th senses said to exist in multiple scriptures..
«did i accessed it throu the time machine's ability to break the limit of the world?»
While waiting, he recall his equations as well as all the theorem he written on the board.
«Machine that utilise transformed one's conscious onto data stored inside, and by breaking the boundary of dimension—would send it's user's conscious onto target within chosen time frame. Allowing it's user to hijack anyone's body across any time or any space by sending his comsciousness in.»
He suddenly remembered. «wait. if it's 10 minute time travel, shouldn't i have landed already?»
He tried controlling the machine but the tool was made to travel on it's own without driver.
«wait. no, no, no, no- STOP!»He kept begging «STOP!» He tried calling out but his conscious was just a data now. and the machine kept going. his plies fallen to deaf ears...
Everything lurched.
His stomach flipped.
He crashed. it felt like he had woke up from a dream where he fell down from somewhere high.
He was… heavy. His breath rumbled in his chest. He blinked, trying to focus, but the world was too big, too strange.
Something felt… wrong.
He turned his head. His massive, birdlike physique.
«Oh no.»
His heart pounded. He lifted his arm—no, his clawed limb. His skin was thick, leathery, prehistoric exactly like that of a Velociraptor.
«why do i have tail???» He asked to himself deep in his heart. Feeling all the new sense he never had before, including what it's like to have bird feathers.
Then he saw it. The machine, his brilliant, one-of-a-kind, absolutely-should-not-be-malfunctioning machine, spinning through the sky like a discarded toy. It arced, plummeting, then vanished behind a distant mountain.
Silence.
A deep exhale rattled from his chest. He stared blankly at the horizon.
«shit.»