Noah Verne woke up in the dark.

Something was wrong. Not normal wrong—not bills or a bad job or his empty home. Something big wrong. Wrong in the way the world works.

A soft blue light lit up the dark. Noah lifted his left arm and couldn't believe what he saw.

There, in his skin—not drawn on, not a watch, but part of him like it grew there—was a small screen: `00:10:00`.

"What the—" Noah touched the numbers. They felt like skin, warm and smooth, but glowed like a phone screen.

As his finger moved over the last zero, the numbers changed: `00:09:59`.

Run, or you die.

The voice wasn't in his ears. It was in his head, shaking his thoughts.

Run, or you die.

Noah sat up fast, his heart beating hard. "Who's there?" he called out, looking around his room. The early morning light showed nothing strange—just messy sheets, books he hadn't read, and a glass of water by his bed.

00:09:53

The numbers kept going down. Noah jumped out of bed, tripping over his jeans on the floor. His small room felt like a box closing in on him with each tick of the clock.

"This isn't real," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Bad dream. Just a dream."

00:09:41

The voice came back, stronger this time. RUN!

Noah grabbed the first clothes he could find and ran to his front door. He didn't bother with his phone or wallet. Something told him they wouldn't matter.

Outside, the world was quiet. Too quiet. The street lamps cast pools of yellow light on empty sidewalks. No cars. No early joggers. No sounds.

00:09:28

Noah started to run.

One step. Two steps. Three—

00:09:20

The numbers dropped faster than they should. Eight seconds gone in three steps? That wasn't right.

He ran faster, his bare feet slapping against the cold sidewalk.

And then it happened.

The world... glitched.

Like a bad video, the street in front of him jumped and skipped. The houses blurred, then snapped back into place, but not quite right. A red door was now blue. A tree moved six feet to the left.

00:09:05

Noah stopped, gasping. "What's happening?"

The moment he stopped, pain shot through his body. A burning, tearing pain like his skin was being peeled off. The numbers flashed red: 00:08:59

Don't stop. Never stop. Run or die.

He ran.

Each step brought new changes to the world. A fire hydrant melted into the ground. A cat froze mid-jump, hanging in the air. The sky above cracked like glass, showing strange stars behind it.

Noah ran down Main Street, past the coffee shop where he bought his morning cup, past the bank where he couldn't get a loan, past the movie theater where he went alone on Tuesdays.

But things kept changing.

The coffee shop sign now read "LAST CHANCE CAFÉ." The bank's windows showed not tellers but a fish tank full of strange, glowing creatures. The movie theater played films with titles Noah had never heard, starring actors who didn't exist.

00:08:12

The numbers were dropping too fast. Way too fast. For every step he took, the clock seemed to lose five seconds.

"I need to slow down," Noah gasped, but when he tried, the pain came back, worse than before. His vision darkened at the edges.

Run faster. Find the gap.

Noah didn't know what the voice meant, but he pushed himself harder. His lungs burned. His legs ached. Sweat ran down his face despite the cool morning air.

He turned the corner onto Park Avenue, and the world broke apart.

The street split into three copies, each slightly different, layered on top of each other like badly stacked photos. In one, it was day. In another, night. In the third, the buildings were gone, replaced by trees.

Noah stumbled, his mind trying to make sense of what his eyes were seeing.

00:07:45

"How do I stop this?" he shouted.

A laugh echoed around him, coming from everywhere and nowhere. You don't stop it. You break through it.

Noah pushed forward, choosing the daylight path. As he ran, the other versions of the street faded, but new cracks appeared. The sidewalk rippled like water. Street signs changed their words as he passed.

And then he saw her.

A girl stood in the middle of the street, perfectly still while the world warped around her. Early twenties, with short dark hair and eyes that seemed to see right through Noah. She wore simple jeans and a gray hoodie, but something about her seemed timeless, anchored.

She looked familiar in a way Noah couldn't place. Like someone from a dream, or a life he hadn't lived yet.

"You need to stop running, Noah," she called out, her voice clear despite the chaos.

Noah slowed his pace, approaching her. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

00:07:12

The moment he slowed too much, the pain returned, dropping him to his knees.

"My name is Kira," she said, walking toward him. She seemed untouched by whatever was happening to the world. No glitches, no shifts. "And you have to keep moving, but not like this. You're tearing everything apart."

"I don't understand," Noah gasped, forcing himself back to his feet. The pain faded as he started to jog in place. "What's happening to me?"

"You're moving through time wrong," Kira said. She reached for his arm, but her hand passed through him like smoke. "We're not in the same timeline yet. Find me at the lighthouse. I can help you."

"What lighthouse? There's no lighthouse in this town!"

But Kira was already fading, her form becoming transparent.

"Run sideways," were her last words before she vanished completely.

00:06:58

She's lying. Keep running forward. Faster.

The voice in his head seemed angry now, demanding.

Noah looked around wildly. The world continued to shift and change. A car appeared, frozen in mid-drive, its driver's face a blur. A flock of birds hung in the sky like black paper cutouts.

Run sideways? What did that even mean?

Noah spotted the park entrance ahead. Wide open space. Maybe there he could figure this out.

He sprinted through the gates, and the counting seemed to slow slightly.

00:06:52

The park was empty of people but full of strange sights. The pond had frozen over, but the ducks swam through the ice as if it were water. The trees grew and shrank, seasons changing with each breath Noah took.

And there—on the far side of the park—stood another person. A man in a business suit, checking his watch.

Noah recognized him instantly. It was himself.

But not as he was now. This Noah was older, maybe forty. Gray at the temples, lines around his eyes, wearing an expensive suit Noah could never afford.

The other Noah looked up and locked eyes with him. His expression changed from confusion to horror.

"Don't go to the lighthouse!" the other Noah shouted. "It's a trap! You'll never—"

He vanished mid-sentence, replaced by a teenage boy on a skateboard who froze, then zipped backward out of the park as if rewound.

00:06:40

Noah felt like his brain might break. He'd seen himself. An older version. A warning.

But Kira had seemed so certain. So familiar.

He kept running, crossing the park in long strides. Each step now seemed to cause less distortion, as if he were learning to move with the strange new rules of this reality.

That's when Noah spotted something new. As he ran, he left trails behind him—faint outlines of where he had been, like afterimages burned into reality. And between those images were tiny cracks, glowing with white light.

On impulse, Noah changed direction, running not forward but at a 90-degree angle to his path. Running "sideways" to his original direction.

The world screamed.

That was the only way to describe the sound—a cosmic wail that shook the trees and rippled the ground. The cracks widened, and Noah felt himself falling sideways, though his feet still touched the ground.

00:06:32

Suddenly, he wasn't in the park anymore. He stood on a beach, waves crashing nearby. And rising from the rocky shore was a lighthouse, its beam sweeping across angry storm clouds.

"What the hell?" Noah gasped, nearly stopping before remembering the pain. He jogged in place, staring at the impossible change of scenery.

This place was nowhere near his town. The nearest ocean was hundreds of miles away.

Yet here he was. And there, climbing the path to the lighthouse, was Kira.

She turned and spotted him, waving urgently. "Hurry! We don't have much time!"

Don't trust her. She wants you to stop running. You'll die.

The voice seemed desperate now, almost pleading.

Noah hesitated, then began running toward the lighthouse. As he moved, he noticed something odd. When he ran directly at his goal, the world twisted more, and the lighthouse seemed to get no closer. But when he ran at angles, cutting zigzags across the beach, he made progress.

00:06:15

The numbers were still falling too fast. Something was wrong with time itself, not just the countdown.

Noah reached the base of the lighthouse, where Kira waited by the door.

"How do I know you?" he panted, still jogging in place. "I'm sure we've never met, but you seem so familiar."

"We've met hundreds of times, Noah," she said sadly. "You just never remember. The clock makes sure of that."

She reached for his arm again, and this time her fingers connected, warm against his skin. She turned his wrist to reveal the glowing numbers.

00:06:03

"Every time you run, you break reality a little more," she explained. "You're not just moving through time—you're creating new timelines, new versions of yourself, new worlds."

"I don't understand," Noah said. "This started this morning. I woke up with this... this thing on my arm."

Kira shook her head. "No, Noah. This started years ago. You've been running for so long."

A wave crashed against the rocks below them, spraying saltwater into the air. But the droplets froze mid-arc, hanging like diamonds in the sunlight.

"Time is breaking down around you," Kira continued. "For every second you move, time moves differently for everything else. Run fast enough, and you slip between moments, between possibilities."

00:05:48

"How do I stop it?" Noah asked, his voice breaking.

"You can't stop running yet," Kira said. "But you can run better. Smarter." She pointed to the lighthouse door. "In there, I can show you how to control it."

She's lying. The lighthouse is a trap. Run away. NOW.

The voice was frantic now, almost screaming in Noah's mind.

Noah looked at Kira, then at the lighthouse, then down at his arm.

00:05:36

"Why should I trust you?" he asked.

"Because I'm the only one who remembers you, Noah. Every time the clock resets, I remember. No one else does."

Something about her words rang true, resonating deep in Noah's chest. He nodded and followed her to the door.

The moment they stepped inside the lighthouse, the world outside vanished. No windows, no door, just a circular room with a spiral staircase leading up. The walls were covered with thousands of clocks, all showing different times, all ticking at different speeds.

"What is this place?" Noah asked, still jogging in place.

"The center," Kira said simply. "From here, we can see all the timelines you've created."

She waved her hand, and the walls became transparent. Beyond them, Noah saw himself—hundreds, thousands of himselves. Running through different cities, different worlds, different times. Some were younger, some older. Some ran in business suits, others in strange futuristic clothing.

And behind all of them glowed the same blue numbers, counting down.

00:05:15

"I don't understand," Noah said, his head spinning at the sight of so many versions of himself. "Why is this happening to me?"

"Because you made it happen," said a new voice.

Noah turned to see a man descending the spiral staircase. An old man with white hair and tired eyes, wearing a simple gray robe. His left arm was bare, showing a clock that read: 00:00:00.

"You're... me," Noah realized.

The old man nodded. "The first you. The one who built the clock."

He's lying! Run! Get out now! The voice in Noah's head was now howling, desperate.

"Don't listen to the voice," the old man said. "It's not trying to save you. It's trying to save itself."

Noah looked between Kira and his older self, confusion and fear battling inside him. "Please, just tell me what's happening!"

00:04:53

The old man sighed and sat on the bottom step. "You—I—we were a physicist. Studying time. We built a device that could let a person move through time by... running. By converting kinetic energy into temporal displacement."

"I'm not a physicist," Noah protested. "I work at a bookstore!"

"In this timeline, yes," Kira said gently. "But there are infinite timelines now, Noah. In the original one, you created the clock."

The old man rolled up his sleeve, showing his frozen clock. "I succeeded. I cheated death. But there was a price."

Don't listen! They want to trap you here!

Noah's head throbbed with the voice's screams. "What price?"

"Each time we run, we fracture reality," the old man explained. "Small cracks at first. Then bigger ones. Now entire universes are collapsing. And with each new timeline, a new you is created—with no memory of what came before."

"But with the same clock," Kira added. "Always counting down from ten minutes."

00:04:28

Noah felt sick. "So what happens when it reaches zero?"

"You die," the old man said simply. "Unless you're running. Then it resets to ten minutes, and everything starts again. Another timeline. Another Noah."

"This has happened before? How many times?"

The old man and Kira exchanged glances.

"Thousands," she finally said. "Maybe millions. We've lost count."

Noah stared at the walls, at the countless versions of himself running through countless worlds. "So I'm trapped? Running forever?"

"No," said the old man. "There's a way to fix it. To heal the timelines."

They're lying! Run!

"Shut up!" Noah shouted at the voice, then turned back to the old man. "Tell me how."

The old man stood up and approached Noah, moving slowly as if in great pain. "The clock needs to reach zero while you're in the right place. The place where it all started."

"Where's that?"

"Lab 7," Kira said. "At Chronos Institute. Where you built the clock."

00:03:59

The numbers were dropping faster again. Noah could feel something changing in the air around them, a pressure building.

"How do I get there?" Noah asked, still jogging in place. His legs were burning now, muscles screaming for rest.

"I can show you the way," Kira said. "But we have to hurry. The longer you run, the more damage you do. The timelines are collapsing faster now."

"Don't trust them," said a new voice.

Noah spun around to find another version of himself standing in the center of the room. This one was his age, dressed exactly as he was, but with a wild look in his eyes.

"They want you to stop running," the new Noah said. "They want you to die."

Listen to him! He's right! The voice in Noah's head seemed relieved at this new arrival.

"No, Noah," Kira stepped between them. "He's the voice in your head. A splinter version, trapped between timelines. He doesn't want to heal anything—he wants to keep running forever."

The new Noah snarled at her. "Because stopping means death! Tell him the truth, old man. Tell him what happens at zero!"

00:03:40

The old man closed his eyes, looking pained. "When the clock reaches zero, this timeline ends. And all the Noahs in it... cease to exist."

"You see?" the other Noah shouted. "They want to kill us all!"

"To heal the original timeline," the old man continued. "To undo the damage. One timeline, as it should be. One Noah."

"And which Noah gets to live?" the duplicate demanded. "Him? You? Me? There are millions of us now!"

Noah's head was spinning. The clock, the timelines, the endless running—it was too much. But one thing was becoming clear. If he kept running, more damage would happen. More versions of himself, more broken worlds.

The duplicate lunged forward suddenly, grabbing Noah's arm. "We need to go! Now!"

00:03:27

As their skin touched, something strange happened. The duplicate's form wavered, then began to merge with Noah's, like two drops of water becoming one.

"No!" Kira shouted, pulling Noah back.

Too late. The duplicate's body dissolved into mist that flowed into Noah's mouth, nose, and eyes. Noah fell to his knees, coughing and gasping as new memories flooded his mind.

Running through Tokyo in the rain. Running across a desert that stretched forever. Running through a forest of glass trees that shattered at his touch.

Hundreds of lives. Hundreds of worlds. All broken, all abandoned when the clock reset.

When Noah looked up, his eyes were different. Harder.

"I remember now," he said, his voice blending with the one that had been in his head. "I remember everything."

00:03:12

"Then you know what happens if you stop," Kira said, her voice pleading. "Everything ends."

"No," Noah stood up, still keeping his legs moving. "Not everything. Just all the broken pieces. All the copies."

He looked at the old man. "You're not the original, are you? You're just the oldest surviving version."

The old man hesitated, then shook his head. "No. The original died long ago. Accepted his fate when his time ran out."

"But you found a way to keep going," Noah guessed. "To keep creating new timelines, new Noahs. Why?"

"Because I was afraid," the old man admitted. "Afraid of death. Afraid of ending."

00:02:58

A deep rumble shook the lighthouse, and cracks appeared in the walls, golden light spilling through.

"The timelines are collapsing faster now," Kira said urgently. "We're running out of time. Noah, you have to make a choice."

Noah looked around at the breaking walls, at the infinite versions of himself still running through countless worlds. At the old man with his zeroed-out clock. At Kira, who somehow remembered it all.

"Who are you, really?" he asked her. "How do you know about all of this?"

Kira's eyes filled with tears. "I worked with you at Chronos. I was there when you activated the clock for the first time. I've been trying to find you ever since, across all the timelines."

"Why?"

"To save you. To end this cycle."

00:02:41

Another shake, stronger this time. Pieces of the ceiling began to fall.

"I need to get to Chronos Institute," Noah decided. "To Lab 7."

"You can't," the old man said, fear in his eyes. "If you go there and let the clock reach zero, all of this ends. All of us end."

"And if I don't? More broken worlds? More copies running in fear?" Noah shook his head. "There has to be an end somewhere."

00:02:35

"I can take you there," Kira said, reaching for his hand. "But we have to run differently. Not forward or sideways. We have to run back."

"Back? Against time?"

She nodded. "Against the flow. It's the only way to reach the origin point."

The old man stepped between them. "I can't let you do this."

Noah stared at his older self, seeing the fear, the desperation. How many timelines had he created just to avoid facing the end? How many copies had he condemned to the same fate?

"You don't have a choice," Noah said quietly. "None of us do. This has to end."

00:02:20

Noah took Kira's hand. "Show me how to run back."

The old man lunged at them, but his movements were slow, his time almost stopped. Noah easily sidestepped him.

"Close your eyes," Kira instructed. "Picture yourself running backward, rewinding. See the path behind you, not ahead."

Noah did as she said, keeping his legs moving but imagining each step taking him back—back through time, back through the fractured realities.

"Now run," she whispered.

Noah opened his eyes and ran—but not toward any visible goal. He ran toward a feeling, a memory. With each step, the lighthouse dissolved around them, replaced by flashing scenes from thousands of timelines.

00:02:05

They ran through a New York that had never existed, where the buildings grew from the ground like trees.

They ran through a wasteland where the sun burned blue and the sand sang beneath their feet.

They ran through a perfect suburban street where every house was identical and every person wore Noah's face.

With each scene, Noah felt himself remembering more—lives he'd lived, worlds he'd broken, people he'd loved and lost across countless timelines.

And always, Kira beside him. Sometimes young, sometimes old, sometimes barely more than a child. But always searching for him, always trying to end the cycle.

00:01:48

"We're getting closer," she shouted over the roar of collapsing realities. "Can you feel it?"

Noah could. Each step now felt heavier, as if he were running through deep water. The air itself seemed to resist him, pushing back against their progress.

"The original timeline doesn't want to be found," Kira explained, her voice strained. "It's been broken too long."

Around them, the scenes changed faster, blurring together. Noah glimpsed himself dying in a thousand different ways—in car crashes, in wars, in peaceful sleep. All the fates he'd escaped by running.

00:01:30

The air thickened until it felt like running through concrete. Noah's muscles screamed, his lungs burned. Only Kira's hand in his kept him moving forward—or backward, through the tangle of time.

"I can see it," she gasped. "The lab. Just ahead."

Through the chaos of memories and timelines, Noah saw it too. A sterile white room with gleaming equipment. A metal table in the center. And on it, a small device that looked like a wristwatch.

The original clock.

00:01:16

"We can't reach it," Noah realized, his steps slowing as the resistance became overwhelming. "It's too far back."

"Yes, we can," Kira said fiercely. "But not like this. Not together."

She pulled him to a stop, and for the first time since this began, the pain didn't come when Noah stopped running. Here, between times, the rules were different.

"What do you mean?" he asked, dread growing in his chest.

"One of us has to push the other through," she said. "Create enough force to break the barrier."

00:01:02

Noah shook his head. "No. There has to be another way."

"There isn't. There never was." Kira smiled sadly. "It's always been like this, Noah. Every time we get this far, we have the same conversation."

"We've done this before? We've gotten this close?"

"Many times. But you always choose to keep running in the end. To save me." She squeezed his hand. "Not this time."

00:00:48

"I won't leave you," Noah insisted, though he didn't know why he felt so strongly. These memories, these feelings—they belonged to other Noahs, other timelines. Didn't they?

"You have to," Kira said. "One timeline, Noah. One life. The way it should be."

She placed her hand on his chest, and Noah felt something pass between them—a warmth, a certainty.

"In the real timeline," she whispered, "we have a life together. A good one."

00:00:35

"How can you know that?"

"Because I remember it. I'm not like you, Noah. I don't splinter across timelines. There's only one of me, moving between the cracks you create."

Noah looked into her eyes and saw the truth there—a lifetime of chasing him through broken realities, trying to bring him home.

"How? How can there be only one of you?"

"Because I'm the anchor," she said. "The fixed point." She took his hand and placed it over her heart. "In the original experiment, there were two clocks."

00:00:22

Understanding dawned on Noah. "You're running too."

She nodded. "In the opposite direction. Keeping the balance. But now there's no more time for either of us."

Before Noah could respond, Kira placed both hands on his chest and pushed with impossible strength. Noah flew backward, through the barrier he couldn't cross on his own, into the sterile white lab.

The last thing he saw was Kira's face, smiling through tears as reality collapsed around her.

00:00:10

Noah crashed onto the hard lab floor, knocking over a chair. He scrambled to his feet, disoriented.

The lab was real. Solid. No glitches, no cracks in reality. Just a normal research facility, quiet in the early morning hours.

And there, on the metal table—the device. The original clock, not yet activated, not yet bonded to his flesh.

00:00:05

Noah lunged for it, understanding exactly what he had to do.

00:00:04

He grabbed the device, feeling its weight—so small to have caused so much damage.

00:00:03

His own clock burned on his wrist, the final seconds ticking away.

00:00:02

Noah raised his foot above the original clock.

00:00:01

"I'm sorry," he whispered, thinking of all the versions of himself about to be erased. Of Kira, lost between collapsing timelines.

00:00:00

Noah brought his foot down, smashing the device into pieces.

Light exploded outward, blinding him. The world tore apart at the seams, reality ripping like paper. Noah felt himself coming undone, atom by atom, memory by memory.

And then—

Silence.

Noah Verne woke up in his apartment, sunlight streaming through the blinds. His alarm clock showed 7:30 AM. Just another Tuesday.

He sat up, a strange feeling of déjà vu washing over him. A dream already fading—something about running, about time breaking apart.

Noah glanced at his wrist. Bare skin. No clock. No countdown.

Just an ordinary morning.

He showered, dressed, and headed out, the strange dream already forgotten as he planned his day. Coffee first, then the bookstore where he worked. Maybe he'd finally ask out that new regular who always browsed the science fiction section.

The coffee shop was busy, the line stretching to the door. Noah checked his watch—a normal watch—and decided he had time to wait.

That's when he saw her.

A woman at a corner table, short dark hair, reading a book on theoretical physics. When she looked up, her eyes met his with a jolt of recognition that stopped his heart.

She smiled—a sad, knowing smile that didn't belong on a stranger's face.

Noah walked toward her, drawn by something he couldn't name. An echo of a memory, a sense of connection that transcended the fact they'd never met.

"Kira?" he said, the name coming from nowhere.

Her smile widened. "You remember."

"No," Noah said, confused by his own certainty. "I don't think we've met."

"We haven't," she agreed. "Not in this timeline." She closed her book and stood. "But we will."

She walked past him toward the door, pausing just long enough to whisper:

"This time, don't run."