Chapter 5

  "Time Doesn't Like Being Manipulated"

  Noah, now fully recovered, was in the middle of a meeting. I watched him from a distance as he suddenly stood up without a word. He left the room, placed a hand on his mask, looking thoughtful... then slowly turned his head toward me. — Follow me. — Uh... okay.

  I followed him through the corridors. — Where are we going? — To train you.

  The training room was immense. High-ceilinged. Armored. Filled with devices whose purpose I couldn't even begin to understand. It was... impressive.

  Noah closed the door behind us. The lock clicked. — Listen, he said calmly. — Things are about to go off the rails. — I can't keep patching you up after every failed attempt. — Okay... — So what do I do? — And more importantly... how do you know how to train me?

  He turned to face me. — Trust me.

  I clenched my fists. — Why should I trust you? — You lied to me from our very first meeting.

  He didn't respond. He took a few steps forward. Then stopped. And removed his mask. — Because I know you better than anyone.

  My heart stopped. The boy in front of me was maybe sixteen. Brown hair. Same eyes. Same posture. He looked like me. No. It wasn't "he looked like me." It was me. The leader of the most wanted organization of the decade... was none other than my future self.

  A single thought crossed my mind. Too cool.

  Noah stared at me for a long moment. — Listen carefully, he finally said. — Time doesn't like being manipulated. — It takes the hit. — Then it gets revenge.

  He placed a hand on his chest. — That's why your organs explode.

  A heavy silence. — So we're going to do this properly. — Remember when you rewound that stuffed animal?

  He grabbed a blade and cut me. — Ow! — Now rewind yourself...

  I focused. I felt something contract inside me, as if the world took a step backward. Then I rewound. A searing pain shot through my skull. My nose started bleeding. I raised my arm. The wound was gone. I looked at him, breathless. He examined me from head to toe. Then stared at the blood running down my face. — You're bleeding. — Uh... yeah. — And? — What? — Rewind yourself.

  — What?! He sighed slightly. — Ah... and I forgot to mention something. He stepped closer. — Never forget that you don't heal. — You manipulate time.

  He ran his hand over my arm. The pain returned. The wound reappeared. Exactly as before. I stood frozen. — First, he continued calmly, — learn to rewind yourself. — Only then will I teach you how to maintain that state.

  He turned away. The door opened. — Train. It closed behind him. The lock clicked. I was left alone. Wounded. Bleeding. Facing a simple, terrifying truth: time didn't repair me. It displaced me.

  Noah had already put his mask back on. When he stepped out of the training room, Mike was waiting, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. — Were you serious about what you said in the meeting? — Yes. — So there really are children from inhumane experiments... — loose in the world... — with powers capable of leveling entire cities? — Yes.

  Mike clenched his jaw. — And someone's trying to pin the program leak on us? — Yes.

  Mike's fist closed on Noah's collar and slammed him against the wall. — And when exactly were you planning to tell us, damn it?!

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  Noah didn't answer. — Fuck... Mike was shaking with rage. — Everyone here trusts you. — Ever since your mentor handed you command. — I know. — Then act like it! — I know.

  Mike shook him. — You told us our only hope was that bloody kid who showed up at my door! — What the hell is going on, NoName?!

  Silence. — What else are you hiding from us... His voice broke. — huh?

  Noah placed a hand on his wrist. — Let go.

  Mike stared into the invisible eyes behind the mask. A long moment. Then he released him. He turned away, roughly wiping his face. — Don't worry, Mike, Noah said calmly. — That boy's got grit. He paused. — Thanks for caring about him.

  Then, lower: — Believe me... — my goal hasn't changed. He straightened. — I will save this world. — And I will bring salvation to your family. A heavy silence. — All while honoring my mentor's words.

  Mike didn't respond. But he didn't look away.

  A few days passed. Mike entered the training room. The smell hit him first. Then the sight. The boy lay on the floor, barely conscious, breathing with difficulty. A massive pool of blood spread beneath him. Splatters stained the walls, the ceiling, the floor... as if he had exploded hundreds, thousands of times. Mike froze. — Lord...

  He rushed to the body, dropped to one knee, searching for signs of life. A voice echoed behind him. — Leave him.

  Mike froze. Noah was there. Masked. Motionless. Watching. Rage surged instantly. Mike stood, advancing like an angry mountain, muscles taut. — You've gone too far this time. — You have no idea what that kid has already been through.

  Noah lowered his head slightly. — I understand your anger, Mike... — HOW CAN YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?! — WHAT KIND OF TRAINING ARE YOU PUTTING HIM THROUGH?!

  Noah raised his head. — Look closer.

  A silence. Then— Splash. The boy sat up abruptly. Standing. Blood gushed from his body like a living fountain. Mike stepped back, shocked. — Look at his eyes, Mike, Noah said calmly.

  Mike stared at the child's face. His eyes. They weren't empty. They weren't broken. They burned. With pure determination. The boy slowly raised his fist. Then extended his thumb. It meant everything's okay. He didn't speak. He couldn't. But his eyes screamed. Mike felt his throat tighten. He remembered what he'd once told him: When you're going through something too tough, raise your thumb and yell "It's OKAAAAY." Tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Noah stepped forward. — You see, Mike... He gazed at the child. — Those are the eyes of the one who will save the world.

  The training continued. Day after day. Week after week. Mike stopped by sometimes. He didn't talk much. He brought food. Changed bandages. Cleaned dried blood off the floor with a sponge, never commenting. Sometimes he sat against the wall. Arms crossed. In silence. Watching. The boy fell. Got back up. Rewound too far. Not far enough. He screamed without sound. His body gave out. Then came back. Again. And again. Time was no longer an enemy. It was becoming a material. A resistance to master.

  Months passed. The pools of blood grew smaller. The splatters less frequent. The failures... shorter. The boy learned to stop. Not to force it. To feel the exact point where time allows itself to be touched... without breaking. Mike noticed something else. His gaze. It had changed. There was no longer just pain. Not even just determination. There was calm.

  A year passed. Then two, since the exposure of Project Zero. The training room door opened. The boy stepped out. He walked straight. Breathed normally. No visible wounds. He was ten years old. But something in him... was no longer that of a child. Mike, leaning against the wall, watched him approach. He instinctively placed a hand on his shoulder. — You okay?

  The boy nodded. His eyes spoke. Yes. Noah stood a little farther away, masked, motionless. — He's ready, he said simply.

  A silence. Then Mike gave a weary smile. — Damn... — The kid really toughened up.

  The boy slowly raised his thumb. That same gesture. But this time... it was no longer a promise. It was certainty. He was ready. Ready to go out. Ready to see the world. Ready to carry out his first missions.

  Somewhere, in a secret prison in Scotland — Hello. — I'm in charge of the national government investigation into Project Zero.

  The inspector's voice echoed in the cold room. Behind the reinforced glass, a silhouette sat in the shadows. Long brown hair fell over his face. A man... who had no name. — An inspector, huh... He tilted his head slightly. — Oh... — Has it already been a year since I've been here?

  She didn't respond. She activated her recorder. — You seem perfectly capable of speaking. — Tell me what you know.

  He chuckled softly. — What I know? — Not much, you know... He slowly raised his eyes. — But tell me... — what do you know about fate?

  Ilona raised an eyebrow, weary. — I don't believe in that sort of thing.

  He burst out laughing. — And yet... — this is all just its script.

  She leaned slightly toward the glass. — Explain yourself. — A secret military program. — Created by men who wanted to play God.

  He paused. — The world claims to be outraged... — but in reality? — Nobody cares.

  He smiled. — And He knows it.

  She jotted notes quickly. — Who is "He"?

  A silence. Then he murmured: — Let's see... — the only one who toys with the fate of men... He lifted his head. — God.

  She sighed. — And what has "God" planned for us?

  He smiled, almost tenderly. — The end. — The flood. — A flood where no one will survive... — except a handful of chosen ones saved by Noah.

  He began to laugh. — Go on, she said, skeptical. — He saved thirteen. — Including himself.

  He tilted his head. — Jesus had twelve apostles at his table. — But he himself was an apostle.

  She stopped writing. — Who is "he"?

  He sighed. — Noah.

  She narrowed her eyes. — You know what I think?

  He smiled wider. — The last two saved... — one is the thirteenth. — The other is Judas.

  His laughter turned almost hysterical. — And you, Inspector Ilona Virtanen... — you have a role to play in all this.

  She stood abruptly. — End of interview.

  Outside — under the rain The car door slammed hard. Ilona got in, soaked, furious. — What a waste of time... — He was talking complete nonsense.

  The engine didn't start right away. — You think so? her exhausted colleague asked. — You believe he was telling the truth?

  Ilona stared at the windshield. — We live in an era where companies create artificial intelligence... — where unidentified individuals lift tanks.

  She inhaled. — So yes. — I'm asking myself the question. — Start the car, she snapped.

  The radio turned on. — (thhhp) — It is October 2021, 6:00 p.m. — Welcome to Local Rad—

  She shut it off abruptly. — Listen to me. — I get your enthusiasm.

  She turned the key. — But the higher-ups want results. — And some damn guy locked in an ultra-secure prison... — just said my name without me introducing myself.

  Silence in the car. — So for now, — you're going to shut up. — And let me drive in peace.

  The car drove off into the Scottish night. Behind them, the prison stood motionless. And behind the reinforced glass, the nameless man was still smiling.