Lester woke up with a start.
The room was dark, the air thick with the silence of early morning. His breath was still uneven, his pulse still racing from the reset. But something was wrong.
Someone was there.
A figure stood at the foot of his bed, half-shadowed by the dim glow of the emergency lights outside the window.
Lester’s body tensed, ready to reach for a weapon—until the figure stepped forward, and his breath caught in his throat.
It was *him.*
An older version of himself.
His hair was streaked with gray. His face was lined with exhaustion, with knowledge Lester didn’t yet have. His uniform was different, tattered and worn, as if he had fought in wars Lester hadn’t lived through yet. But his eyes—his *eyes*—were the same. The same fear. The same determination.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“This isn’t just about Watts,” the older Lester said, his voice firm but edged with urgency. “The real enemy is the *Cycle* itself.”
Lester’s mind reeled. “What—”
“Listen to me,” his older self interrupted, stepping closer. “You have to stop thinking of this as a fight. It’s not. It’s a system. A machine. And it *feeds* on us.”
Lester swallowed, his throat dry. “How do we stop it?”
The older Lester opened his mouth to answer—
But then, the world *snapped.*
The air fractured like shattered glass. The walls dissolved into a blur of motion. A force stronger than gravity yanked Lester backward, dragging him through time itself.
He hit the ground hard.
The briefing room.
Again.
The same dim lights. The same map. The same General Jones standing at the front.
Lester’s hands shook as he clenched them into fists. He could still feel it—the weight of the older version’s words lingering in his chest like an echo.
*The real enemy is the Cycle itself.*
Across the table, Franklin was staring at him.
“You saw something, didn’t you?” Franklin asked quietly.
Lester exhaled, steadying himself.
“Yeah,” he said. “And this time, we’re going to break it.”
