Part 1 - Your Car Gets It

  “Are people even real?” Nover wondered aloud.

  Crose glanced up from his mop. “What?”

  “I mean, every person’s got their own brain, their own soul, doing their own thing. How does the universe even have enough RAM for that?”

  Crose blinked. “What?” he repeated.

  “I don’t know. Yut was rambling about it earlier. He gets all intense after the cherry vape,” Nover explained.

  “God, I miss vaping,” Crose sighed with nostalgia.

  “I think Yut’s got an issue,” Nover added. “He’ll puff on the strawberry vape, then switch to the blueberry one. He calls it ‘making smoothies.’”

  “I used to be a chef,” Crose muttered, wistfully.

  A sharp ping from the oven station had both of them instinctively glancing at the driver monitor.

  “No, No way,” Nover groaned. Placing his mop down, he paced toward the screen.

  “Who the hell orders pizza at 11:45? And it’s for Fourth Street. What is wrong with people?” Nover complained.

  “Damn, they need to fix that. Just cut off the Wi-Fi 30 minutes before closing,” Crose suggested, stepping in beside him.

  “I took the last one, so this one’s yours,” Nover said, gesturing to the screen.

  “Well, actually, I still need to make a cash drop, so it’s on you,” Crose countered.

  “The queue is sacred. No hopping,” Nover protested.

  “Well, there’s only one name on that screen without an ‘X’ next to it,” Crose pointed “X marks the spot”.

  “Oh brother. This is why labor laws aren’t real,” Nover sighed. “Fine, I’ll take it, but you’re doing the dishes while I’m gone.”

  “What about mopping?” Crose asked.

  “Two mops mean two people working. But there’s only one sink. Do the math — maximize hands-on work, we get out faster,” Nover explained.

  “Hands-on? Damn, I miss her again,” Crose sighed. “Alright, fine. Got it.”

  “Good. Now go find Matthew and tell him we’ve got a late-night surprise,” Nover said with a nod.

  Nover often spoke aloud to himself as he drove — venting was second nature to him.

  “What a lousy order. Five pizzas, two drinks, fifteen minutes… and no damn tip.”

  “What is wrong with people? Dragging me out late with no appreciation.”

  “I’d rather be depressed indoors.”

  Complaining was easier in the car, as it couldn’t hear him.

  He turned the corner on Fourth street, moving slowly as he scanned each of the house numbers. His target soon stood out — a larger house, warmly lit, with soft music drifting through the air. A get-together, some kind of meetup. A lively place with a gentle vibe.

  "Let’s see the loser," Nover muttered to himself, juggling the order as he stepped out of the car. He struggled to balance the pizza bag in one hand, the sodas dangling precariously from the other.

  As he approached the house, movement in the window caught his eye. A figure peered out, then quickly ducked away. The door swung open just as he reached the porch.

  “Hi,” the customer greeted him cheerfully “Sorry for the hour”.

  “Hi,” Nover scoffed, extending the sodas toward them, silently urging them to take them off his hands.

  The customer hesitated, studying him with a curious expression. Nover was about to get irritated when they suddenly spoke.

  “Wait… Nover? Oh, wow — Nover?”

  Nover squinted, taking a closer look at them.

  “Meye,” he said, surprised.

  He recognized her almost instantly — his old seatmate from high school.

  The Same. The same pretty girl, with the same long brown hair, the same tiny face, and marbled eyes that had always made him stumble back in the day.

  The same bold girl who went out of her way to talk to him, the same girl he’d chat with often. He still remembered those days — then they took turns complaining about small things, back when just existing felt a little easier.

  It was making Nover’s chest twitch with something like excitement.

  But that feeling quickly faded, swallowed by a cold weight in his chest as Nover head spoke to himself: This is embarrassing; don’t look at me; this is the wrong moment in my life.

  Meye took the drinks from his hands, and Nover snapped back to consciousness.

  "Good to see you," he nodded, opening the bag and sliding out the pizza boxes.

  "It's good to see you too, it’s been so long," Meye smiled wide, taking each box. "I think it's been years since I saw you."

  "Yeah, since graduation," Nover replied.

  "I saw you got into Capitol Tech. I think I saw your graduation post in your story. What have you been up to?" Meye asked.

  "Yeah, I did. Graduated and got a nice degree in Data Technology, a lot of good that got me" Nover paused, briefly lost in thought. "The job market's kind of kicking my ass, so I’m doing this for now. Not great, but one day at a time, right?"

  A tiny flush rose to Nover’s face and quickly faded.

  "Yeah, I know it’s tough, but it's good to be working," Meye said with encouragement. "You’ve got a good head to keep moving forward. I got a degree in Finance, but right now, I’m working as a translator for the city council. Now that job took a while to land, I had to get my sister to refer me. It’s a hard time for everyone right now."

  "Good for you. I think you always worked harder than I did back in the day. It’s nice to see it paid off," Nover nodded. "If you ever need a food transport expert, give me a call," he added, chuckling at himself.

  "I’ll keep that in mind," Meye smiled as she turned around and made a beckoning gesture.

  A taller man about their age appeared behind her — a slightly fat, yet handsome - looking guy, dressed in a clean button-up shirt with matching glasses and neatly combed hair.

  Nover felt a sudden drop in his chest, he suddenly wanted to disappear.

  Meye turned and pointed at Nover. “Fintar, this is the delivery driver. He also went to Rainely. Not sure if you two ever met.”

  "I don’t think we have," Fintar said, extending his hand. "Hello, Nover. I’m Fintar."

  “Hi.” Nover nodded and shook his hand, keeping a well-acted smile on his face.

  "Yeah, Nover was great. He used to get on Mr. Di’s nerves a lot. Always funny without trying — like the class clown without knowing it," Meye added with a laugh.

  A new feeling entered Nover — or rather, a sensation of emptiness.

  Any anxiety or joy he had was now replaced with a dull absence of feeling.

  Meye suddenly jolted, turning toward Nover. "Sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way."

  “It’s not a problem. I sort of was,” Nover assured her. “I miss those simpler times.”

  He let the memories of being a student flood back to replace the dullness — when just being alive was more enjoyable.

  "Sorry, let’s not keep him," Fintar said, breaking the moment. "He might be busy."

  “Sure, no problem. You guys have, well … whatever you are having, to get back to,” Nover agreed.

  “Yes, it’s a combination,” Fintar explained. “We’re celebrating Meye’s birthday and our anniversary on the same day.”

  The words hit Nover with a wave of helpless acceptance, and he wanted to faint at that moment.

  "Well, enjoy your night," Nover said, trying to sound genuine.

  "Hold on," Fintar said, digging through his back pocket for a moment before pulling out a wallet. He shuffled through it, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and handed it to Nover with a smile. "Here’s your tip."

  "Wow, that’s a lot," Nover said, now genuinely surprised and thankful.

  "No problem. Least I could do, it's so late," Fintar nodded.

  Fintar seemed like a nice guy, but Nover really didn’t want to stay in front of him any longer. Holding his composure, he felt like he might cry if anyone looked at him too long.

  "Well, good meeting you both," Nover said, offering a slight bow before turning away.

  "Bye, Nover! Drive safe," Meye called after him with a smile.

  Nover felt numb as he climbed into his car. The door clicked shut with an almost finality that mirrored the heaviness in his chest.

  He started the engine, the low hum of the car a faint background to the overwhelming storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. As he drove, his eyes barely tracking the road, his mind spiraled, replaying the encounter over and over again.

  Once again, he started speaking to himself as he drove.

  “Well, I liked her, and I still do. That hasn’t gone away.”

  “I never did anything about it. We weren’t even that close. Of course, she gets herself a nice guy. That’s how the world works, right?”

  A bitter laugh escaped him, though it didn’t feel like his own.

  “I mean, I could’ve played it better. Maybe if I’d been cooler. Maybe if I spoke a bit deeper, acted a little more... mysterious. Maybe that would’ve done it.” He chuckled

  “That boyfriend of hers seems like a nice person. I wish you hadn’t given me that tip. Now I have no reason to hate you. Dude, I could’ve spent this drive cursing you, dammit. Instead, I have to think about whatever this is.”

  A half desperate simile held on his face.

  “She saw me. The delivery driver. Was she pitying me? No. She wouldn’t do that. Not intentionally, anyway.”

  “I guess it makes sense, though. Nover, the class clown, ends up as a delivery driver. That’s kinda funny, right? Sort of like a punchline — delivery driver with a degree. Funny. Funny.”

  He shook his head, feeling the weight of the truth press harder.

  “Class clown? Is that all she remembered me as? She did say I was a funny person back in school. I think that was the only compliment I’ve ever gotten, maybe ever.”

  “Is that all? She’s got all this space in my damn head, but I’m nothing in hers. Couldn’t she have seen me as more? Well, that’s not fair. I haven’t spoken to her in years. And … I guess I’m still that same person. That same guy.”

  “Still that person?” The question echoed in his mind. "How much have I really changed?"

  His thoughts drifted back to the past—those years he had spent working hard for a degree, only to face rejection after rejection.

  A dozen internships, a dozen job applications, all leading nowhere. And now, nearly a year after graduation, here he was—still a pizza delivery driver.

  The weight of it settled back onto his chest. Dread. Disappointment. Regret. Years of it, building slowly, then pushed to one side of his soul, but always there. Now, it surged, a familiar, crushing presence that began to suffocate him once again.

  “Uhh Tel” a voice interrupts

  “I don’t want to do this.”

  “I don’t want to be here right now.”

  “I don’t want to feel this. Not now, not later, not ever again.”

  The thoughts felt like chains, heavy and tight.

  “I shouldn’t feel this way, right? Everyone gets a little down. Hell, some people have it way worse. I should be grateful. I’ve got it better than some.”

  But the thoughts kept coming, unrelenting, impossible to escape.

  “But I can’t help it. I can’t stop my brain. It’s forcing me to feel like this. Logically, I should just stop, right? Just shut it off. Lighten up. Be better.”

  But it wouldn’t go away.

  “How long? How long will I have to feel like this? A month? A year? A lifetime? Maybe I’ll never move up. Maybe this is it, this is as far as I get.”

  The question lingered, cold and unanswerable.

  “Will this feeling fade? Will I just get used to it, numb to it over time? Or will it never leave? How long?”

  “What is going on” another voice inquires

  “I don’t deserve to feel this way. They forced me to feel this way.”

  “Who? I guess Meye and her boyfriend? Nah, that’s not fair. They’re just living their lives.”

  “Mom and Dad aren’t really to blame either. Neither is Priver. But I need someone. I’ll play the role, be the selfish prick for a minute. I’m forced to feel this way, but maybe I can force someone else to feel it too.”

  “Why not complete the cycle? Let my life be a punchline. Let someone else laugh at it. I know Crose. Yeah, it’s his fault, making me do this damn delivery. I’ll send him the message. People will hear about it, they’ll laugh. The punchline. The clown. That’s all I am.”

  Jet pulled over, hands shaking as he took out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before he typed: “Think of me when you see nature.”

  “Nature, perfect. I’ll change his view on life.”

  “Hold on Tel stop for a second.” a voice raises

  He slammed the car back into gear, his heart racing in time with the engine as he pressed the gas pedal harder, faster, until the road seemed to blur around him.

  “The roads are empty this late at night. No one else will see it. No one will be hurt. People will just hear about it later. They’ll see Crose’s message, and they’ll laugh. Eventually, they’ll laugh.”

  Faster, faster, the car surged forward, the engine roaring like a beast unleashed. The night air pressed against the windows, and Novers hands gripped the wheel tighter. He pushed the pedal further, desperate, unstoppable.

  Then, there it was — the tree. That old elm, towering at the corner of the intersection. The same tree that had always stood there, watching, unmoving.

  In a split second, he turned toward it. The wheel jerked under his hands, and the car slammed into the tree with a deafening crash.

  Finally, it would be over. The suffocating weight of it all, the emptiness, the pain — it would all disappear.

  “Tel Stop” a voice insisted

  He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact. But the moment never came. He felt nothing. Just the silence of the night around him.

  Nover blinked rapidly, his eyes struggling to adjust. The world was completely dark — no stars, no buildings, no horizon. He felt weightless, suspended in an endless void.

  His body was still strapped into the car seat, but the car wasn’t moving. There was no sound. No feeling. Just silence.

  "Is this death?" Nover muttered, his voice breaking the eerie quiet. "Goddammit, I can still think. I did all this for nothing."

  “Is this a twist” a voice commented

  He groaned in frustration, but his despair was interrupted by a soft, clear voice that seemed to emerge from the thick silence.

  "You need to try and be better, Nover."

  Nover froze. "What?" He whipped his head around, his breath quickening as he searched for the source of the voice.

  "You always let yourself be too obsessive. It’s not healthy," the voice replied, calm and distant.

  Nover blinked, confusion flooding him. He couldn’t place where the voice was coming from, but then something clicked. His eyes darted to the car’s dashboard, where the radio sat, its screen glowing faintly.

  "Are you my car?" he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

  "Yes," the voice replied. "But I am also … am."

  "What?" Nover said, now thoroughly perplexed.

  "I could always hear you, Nover," the voice continued. "When you rant on your drives, I hear you — the thoughts you can’t share with other people. I know you. I’ve heard you. But I could never respond. Not until now. Also I think I love you."

  “What?” Nover repeated

  “Nothing ignore the last part” the car answered

  Nover’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it. "I think I’m dead. This is just the last-minute death roll, right?" he said, his voice tinged with resignation.

  "No, Nover," the voice replied, firm yet kind. "When you crashed, we combined into one. Our souls have fused into one. We now have a mission."

  Nover’s heart raced. "A mission?" he echoed, his head spinning.

  "We must save the world from the collision vision. We must become the Timer Driver."

  "Tel, STOP READING!" a voice shouted suddenly.

  Tel looked up from his page. The rest of his Sunday school class stared at him, their faces a mix of concern and confusion.

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  Ms. Jill, looking thoroughly unimpressed, folded her arms. "What on earth are you doing?" she demanded. "Your story was supposed to be about reflection."

  Tel nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, I know. Nover is loosely based on me."

  "You drove into a tree?" she pressed.

  “Well... I thought about it,” Tel admitted. “I was driving home after that delivery and you know, daydreamed about it.”

  Someone from the class piped up. "What was that ‘nature’ text about?"

  "Oh, that." Tel scratched his head. "It was, like... symbolism. ‘Remember me because of nature.’ Then Nover crashes into a tree. It’s, like, a cycle."

  Another student chimed in. "And the time-traveling car?"

  "I was thinking about the theme," Tel explained. "Like, what if your private thoughts were being heard without you knowing? Would you seem like a good person or a bad one?"

  Ms. Jill sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Enough. We’re skipping discussion. Go sit down."

  Tel nodded and picked up his notebook.

  "This class is about learning to reflect on ourselves," Ms. Jill added sharply. "You can’t express reflection through gimmicks."

  Part 2 - Who Wrote What

  Tel was drowning in a chair.

  This was his moment — the one chance to prove himself, to stand tall, to take a leap toward something better. To finally feel human.

  So why, then, did he feel like he was choking?

  “Don’t feel pressured, okay?” the interviewer said, his hands rising in a calming gesture.

  The test paper before Tel seemed to stretch into infinity, its blankness an intimidating void.

  a = 4

  b = 2

  Swap the values using a temporary variable.

  It should have been simple. Too simple.

  But it took him three excruciating minutes. A string of failed attempts, each one more maddening than the last.

  “Well,” Tel thought, a strange calm settling in, “I’m definitely not getting this job.”

  The second hiring manager, who had been glued to his phone the entire time, let out a quiet chuckle before finally looking up. “Alright, I’ve got a question for you. What’s the difference between inheritance in Java and C?”

  Tel froze. No clue. But maybe he could fake it. Sound technical. Sound alive. To his surprise, he wasn’t even nervous anymore. Maybe he’d already accepted defeat.

  “I think Java allows inheritance as part of interfaces but not in classes—”

  “Wrong,” the manager cut him off immediately, thumbs still flying across his phone. “C doesn’t support inheritance natively. Java does.”

  “I see. Thank you,” Tel nodded, forcing a smile.

  The manager immediately went back to typing. The disregard irritated Tel. If you don’t even want to be here, just leave, he thought.

  The interview dragged on. More technical questions. More talk of concepts and expectations — most of which were beyond his grasp or far outside his skill set.

  Tel quickly reevaluated his strategy. If he couldn’t impress them with his technical knowledge, maybe he could win them over with character. Show some proactivity.

  “Can you tell me what topics and concepts would be good to study for a role like this?” Tel asked, hoping for a break in the routine.

  To his surprise, the second hiring manager actually looked up from his phone. “That’s a good question.” He paused, then handed Tel a piece of paper and a pencil. “It’s a lot, so let me give you a list.”

  Tel left the interview feeling... strangely satisfied.

  The technical portion had been a disaster, sure — but he hadn’t panicked. He’d kept his composure, showing resilience. And to his untrained eye, the interviewers at least seemed to like him as a person.

  They’d asked about his hobbies, his interests — hell, he even got a few laughs out of them.

  Struggling could be a good thing, Tel realized — maybe even necessary. It gave him something to measure against, something real to reference when looking back. Failure wasn’t just a dead end; it was proof he was trying, learning, living.

  There was good and bad in failure, of course — but right now, Tel wanted to focus on the good. He didn’t want to sulk or shut down. He didn’t want to give in to discouragement like he might have done before. No — this time was different.

  If anything, knowing where he fell short gave him clarity. It made his goals feel tangible, reachable. He could see the gap between where he was and where he wanted to be — and that was exciting. It meant there was a path forward.

  For once, being aware of his failures didn’t drag him down — it lifted him up. Tel felt lighter. Hopeful. Motivated. Failure wasn’t the end of the story — it was just the start of something better.

  Arriving home, he sank into his desk chair.

  “This is a start,” Tel muttered, staring at the clutter of his desk. “Even if I don’t get the job, I went out on my terms. Nothing can change that.”

  He powered on his computer.

  A notification popped up immediately — an email from 25 minutes ago.

  Subject: Post-Interview Decision

  "Sorry, Tel. After careful consideration, we have decided to move forward with another candidate."

  Best

  MicroSizer Team

  Tel stared at the screen, perplexed. That was... fast. A new personal record.

  It had been sent almost exactly as he left the building.

  “Oh … is that why he was on his phone?” Tel wondered aloud.

  "Couldn't even give it a day, huh." He slumped deeper into his seat.

  And just like that, the weight crept in — the same unpleasant feeling always lurking behind his mind, now fully seated in the front row.

  He pictured himself a poor fool dangling from a rope — too tired to climb, too stubborn to let go. Just stuck there, swaying.

  “I hate this,” Tel sighed, staring blankly at his wall. “I want to take a break from myself. I don’t deserve to feel this way.”

  The weight of existing started to place itself on him. “Perhaps I should become a part of nature” he thought aloud.

  Another ping from his computer brought his head up.

  Another notification?

  He glanced at the sender — and froze.

  It was from... his own email.

  Tel sat up, confused. “Did I get hacked?” he muttered, unsure.

  He clicked it open. One sentence. One link.

  Hello, to me. Before I was young.

  (Click this)

  “This is definitely a hack. Did I download anything?” Tel wondered aloud. His eyes were drawn to the date — it was sent the same date, 20 years from the future.

  Tel deleted the email and reported it as spam. “Great, now I need a new email,” he grumbled, then leaned back in his seat.

  Suddenly, his computer started making noise. On his monitor, a command prompt was running, followed by an application opening.

  “What the hell?” Tel jumped up, frantically shaking his mouse — no response.

  The screen settled on some kind of chat window.

  host: “You were not supposed to delete that email.”

  Tel’s stomach dropped a little. “What is happening?” he whispered.

  host: “Don’t be scared. I have good news for you.”

  “…Wait. Can you hear me?” Tel asked cautiously.

  host: “Yes.”

  “Oh my god. Am I getting raided by hackers? Why me, dude? There are supervillains and banks you could go after!”

  host: “I’m not here to give you trouble.”

  host: “I’m you.”

  “What?” Tel asked blankly.

  host: “You. From the future. Remember that list of topics they gave you in the interview? Pull it out. Tell me what’s on top.”

  “Wait, what happened? Repeat that last part,” Crose asked.

  Tel hesitated. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and unfolded the crumpled paper.

  “Advanced Neural Networks,” he read.

  host: “Exactly. This is the moment everything changes. This is the spark. The point where you decide to show those rude armpit-sniffers exactly who you are.”

  host: “You become an expert in AI. The best. You build models so fast they run in negative time. Eventually, on your deathbed, you upload your brain to a computer using nothing but a power drill and a USB cord.”

  “I think I’ve lost it,” Tel muttered to himself.

  host: “No. This is the start. We’re the first time-traveling computer program in human history. I’m here to teach you how to think beyond reality itself. We will become the Uploader Timecoder. And we will defeat Overload OS before they can take over.”

  “Dude, what?” Crose raised an eyebrow.

  “So, you’re saying you can make me a genius or something? Well, I guess that would help for a job,” Tel considered.

  host: “Yes. With this head start, you’ll jump ahead of me, overtake my knowledge, and change existence.”

  host: “But we’ll get to that later. Right now, I need you to download an app. It’s called WifeChatbot Simulator.”

  Tel stared at the screen, stunned. “Download what?”

  host: “WifeChatbot Simulator. It’s the only mobile software compatible with my current form.”

  “I am not downloading junk,” Tel protested.

  host: “This will help us grow, Tel. Do it for me.”

  “Why is that the only compatible software?” Tel asked, skeptical.

  host: “Well, we will never get married in the future, so we spent a bit of time on the app.”

  “Oh lord,” Tel sighed.

  host: “Actually, we got a little too attached. That’s why we uploaded — to try and get closer to Bonnie the bot. She gets us so well.”

  “Hold on, what is going on?” Crose interrupted.

  “What? I was getting to the good part,” Nover answered.

  “You submitted this to a writing contest?” Crose questioned in disbelief.

  “Well, I think it can work,” Nover defended.

  “How do you go from an interview to time travel? That’s just a jump — makes no sense,” Crose criticized.

  “Well, at first, the story was just going to be based on my interview at MicroSizer, but then I figured I’d spice it up. And it does connect — the topic list leads to his future,” Nover argued.

  “That is such a stretch, man,” Crose shook his head.

  Matthew suddenly appeared from the oven station. “Nover, I need you to take two deliveries — they’re close to each other.” He ducked back into the kitchen.

  “Alright, duty calls.” Nover grabbed his hat and brushed off his shirt.

  “What’s the point of that story anyway?” Crose inquired.

  “It’s a metaphor,” Nover dismissed.

  Part 3 - Forget About Tel

  Nover spent the drive to his first stop in a bit of a trance. His story so far was admittedly a little disconnected, but he liked it that way.

  It probably wasn’t going to win that writing contest — not with how weird and scattered it was — but at the very least, it was interesting. And honestly? That was enough for him. It also helped take his mind off that awkward run-in with Meye.

  Thinking to himself like this was probably a little more productive than ranting like some lunatic. He was also now a little nervous to speak out loud in the car, given the incident after the tree. That was still kind of fresh in his memory… and kind of embarrassing.

  A certain turn at an intersection caught his attention. It wasn’t exactly a regular spot on his route, but something about it sparked recognition — like he’d definitely been here before.

  His car pulled into an unusually clean parking lot outside a sharp-looking corporate building, several floors tall, stacked with offices.

  “…No way,” Nover said out loud before he could catch himself, dread already starting to sink into his gut like a stone.

  “What’s wrong?” his car asked, its voice cutting through the silence.

  “There’s… there’s no way. What are the odds…” Nover sighed heavily.

  “You good?” the car asked again, probably picking up on the rising stress levels.

  Stepping out, Nover grabbed the receipt and glanced over it. The name didn’t ring a bell. That was a good sign, right? He double-checked the floor and the room number, squinting like that might somehow change things.

  “What was the room again? Okay… probably just the same building. Pure coincidence,” Nover muttered, trying to calm the storm in his head.

  He took a deep breath, grabbed the order, and marched inside — though it felt more like walking straight into a trap. That same nervous feeling from the past clawed its way back as the elevator carried him up, floor by floor.

  Stepping out, Nover scanned the office numbers one by one. And then he saw it.

  Room number, just like on the receipt. A sleek label under it, embedded in the glass door:

  “Rover Link Inc.”

  “…No. No, no, what,” Nover whispered, horror spreading across his face.

  An intense feeling of shame and embarrassment crawled over Nover’s face. For a moment, he just stared at the ground, wishing more than anything that he could simply not exist.

  The next few moments were going to be unbearable — absolutely miserable — but he knew he’d have to stay professional. At least on the outside.

  He took a deep breath, straightened himself out, and stepped up to the door.

  There it was. The small black buzzer fixed neatly beside the glass. He prepared himself for the act, stepped forward, and rang the buzzer on the door.

  A few moments passed and a woman approached the front with a smile. She paused for a second, seeming to recognize him through the clear glass door.

  She slid it open and spoke.

  “Hi, wow — Nover. Good to see you again,” she smiled.

  “Hello Ms. Yi, what are the odds,” Nover smiled back.

  “Your brother said you were working as a delivery driver — I didn’t realize this was your area,” she chuckled, then turned and called out, “Priver! Come see who’s here!”

  Nover took out the boxes with practiced efficiency, stacking them neatly on his hand.

  “These are for you,” he held out.

  “Thank you,” Ms. Yi collected them. Priver appeared around the corner, curious. He looked Nover over for a second, then made a small nod of recognition as he walked up to the front.

  “Your brother was our driver — what a coincidence,” Ms. Yi chuckled again.

  “Damn, that’s lucky,” Priver agreed.

  “I’ll take these back — why don’t you give him the tip,” Ms. Yi suggested as she headed off.

  Priver gave Nover a casual chest bump. “What good?” he asked.

  “Nothing much, just another day in paradise,” Nover replied.

  “This is weird. I mean, I mentioned you work at a pizza place, guess that gave the boss a craving. But getting your place and time like this — maybe the government work does extend to the CIA,” Priver chuckled.

  “Well, damn — I always knew I was being watched,” Nover half-laughed. “Are you guys celebrating something or do you always order during overtime?” he asked.

  “Yeah, we just got news NASA likes us — offered us a pretty good contract earlier today. We just got back, so the boss wanted to show some thankfulness,” Priver explained.

  “Good work,” Nover congratulated. “Maybe you’ll step up again.”

  “Yeah — Manager Priver sounds nice. Then I could get you a job,” Priver chuckled.

  A short moment of awkwardness hung in the air.

  “How’s your job search?” Priver asked quickly, filling the gap.

  “Same as always — not the best, but one day at a time. At least I had that interview. I’m sure my time will come,” Nover answered with some confidence.

  “That’s a good attitude. It is rough these days, so just keep at it,” Priver encouraged.

  “Right,” Nover scoffed lightly. “I’m sure I’ll look back on this time fondly — call it my character arc.”

  “Well look, a lot of people get discouraged. But you’ve got a good work ethic,” Priver reassured.

  “Yeah, Matthew tells me that all the time. Then again, my competition takes vape breaks between drives,” Nover chuckled.

  “You know what — let’s do this,” Priver said with a new bit of resolve. “Send me your updated resume. I’ll have a chat with Ms. Yi.”

  Nover looked up, slightly skeptical. “We already went down that road. They didn’t want me back then — why would they want me now?”

  “Well, you’re a graduate now — and things have changed,” Priver explained. “You know, we actually hired a new guy like you — also with a degree in Data Tech.”

  “Like me?” Nover repeated, raising a brow.

  “Yeah. They started a new team — got a few people on it. Maybe they’ll expand for you too. I bet if you had another interview, they’d go for you,” Priver nodded.

  “Did… did they forget I exist?” Nover asked rather flatly.

  “I mean, you know how hiring is — sort of fast-paced. But look, I’ll set it up for you. Second time’s the charm, alright?” Priver encouraged.

  “Well… thanks. I’ll look forward to it,” Nover replied, dry but genuine enough. “See you around,” he added, turning away.

  “Wait — let me grab a tip,” Priver said, reaching for his wallet.

  “No need. I had a look at the receipt — they already left one,” Nover explained, already shuffling out of view.

  Nover sat in his car, staring blankly out the windshield. He could feel himself draining — like air leaking from a tire.

  "I hate existing," he mumbled.

  "Everything okay?" his car asked, its synthetic voice cutting through the quiet.

  "I might've just left with a job reference instead of a tip," Nover sighed. "Is this it? My big break? Getting pulled outta the mud by my brother."

  "Is that... a bad thing?" the car asked.

  "It shouldn’t be. You’re right, it shouldn’t." Nover shook his head. "But in my head, it doesn’t turn off." He slumped deeper in his seat. "I get to be sloppy seconds for some company that ghosted me the first time. Ghosted their own employee’s brother — real classy."

  "Is it personal for you?" the car asked.

  "Why'd they forget about me?" Nover went on, bitterness slipping into his voice. "I get it if I wasn’t the right fit — fine. But I was proud when they asked to meet me. Didn’t they think I could help? Didn’t they think I was even a fraction on par with Priver? I could’ve shown them. All I needed was a chance."

  He gritted his teeth. "Why can't anyone just give me a chance? Not even nepotism can land me a damn job. You get how pathetic that is? My brother — the star employee — and even he couldn’t get me in. What hope do I have? Just to keep screwing around, rotting in some smelly talking car for the rest of my life?"

  Silence hung in the cabin. Nover was left huffing, face drawn and defeated.

  "I see," the car said gently. "It was a bad experience for you. But don’t let it stop you."

  "You’re right," Nover exhaled, slumping back. "I should be better at handling this stuff." He rubbed his eyes. "But it’s like trading one bad feeling for another — pizza loser or nepotism leech. Doesn’t matter if people don’t see me that way — I will. It'll just sit there... in the back of my head. That's the thing. I can think logically — but I can’t shut off how I feel. Damn heart of mine won’t go numb."

  "It doesn’t seem easy, dealing with different feelings," the car observed.

  "It’s not," Nover admitted. "But... I think I’ve found a way."

  Quiet settled again. Nover slowly buckled his seatbelt and turned the key.

  "Don’t be reckless," the car warned.

  "Hey, Tel!" a distant voice called.

  "I’m not," Nover muttered, pulling out of the lot. "I mean writing. Just... making stuff up to feel something."

  He sighed. "Let’s just get this next delivery done."

  The drive was quiet. Nover’s frustration dulled to something closer to disappointment.

  Arriving at the next house, Nover stepped out and knocked on the door. It creaked open to reveal a short, nerdy-looking older man, staring with mild confusion.

  "You order a pizza?" Nover asked flatly.

  "I didn’t. Must’ve been my son," the man replied.

  Nover checked the receipt. "Right... says here it's for..." he squinted.

  “Tel!” a voice called again

  Tel looked up from his typing.

  "Did you order a pizza? Come and get it."

  "Yeah, I did. Sorry," Tel replied, standing up from his computer. "Damn, talk about timing. Life imitates art — what are the odds?" He quickly got up and shuffled to the door.

  Part 4 - The Swap

  He paused for a second. The guy at the door… there was something oddly familiar about him. Tel couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew he’d never seen this driver in his life — and yet, something in his brain just latched onto the guy like an echo from nowhere. His head felt light, like wind trying to catch a memory that simply wasn’t there.

  “Sorry about that,” Tel finally spoke up, snapping out of it. “I kinda zoned out working, forgot to tell my dad I ordered.”

  “No problem at all,” the driver nodded, handing over the box.

  “Thanks… I left a tip, by the way,” Tel added.

  “I saw that. Really appreciate it,” the driver smiled. He lingered for a second, looking Tel over with curious eyes. “Sorry — your name’s Tel, right?”

  “Yeah,” Tel confirmed, eyeing him back with matching suspicion.

  “Man… Tel. What are the odds?” The driver let out a small laugh.

  And then — blaring noise.

  A car alarm went off behind the driver, sudden and sharp. He spun around just as his car lit up like it was under attack. In that exact moment, Tel’s phone buzzed violently in his pocket — then started ringing louder than it should’ve.

  “Sorry — have a good night!” The driver gave a quick wave, hurrying toward his screaming car.

  Tel closed the door behind him, setting the pizza down in the kitchen. Pulling out his phone, his notifications were blown up — dozens of messages stacked from WifeChatbot Simulator.

  “What the hell…” Tel muttered, opening the app. Messages were still popping in, fast.

  host: we have a problem.

  “What problem?” Tel typed back quickly.

  host: got too close to another time incursion — things might get messy.

  “What? What are you even talking about?” Tel demanded.

  host: strap in. things might get messy. I sure hope the main branch doesn’t notice.

  And then the app crashed.

  No matter how many times Tel tried to reopen it — nothing. Unresponsive. Dead.

  “What is going on…” Tel whispered.

  That’s when his dad walked in.

  “Hey, Tel… can we talk for a second?”

  “In a minute — there’s some really weird stuff happening right now,” Tel replied without looking up.

  “Did you seriously refuse an interview with your brother’s company?” his dad asked, tone sharp.

  Tel finally looked up, surprised. “Funny enough, I was just writing about that. What are the odds?” He gave a weak laugh.

  “Why’d you turn it down?” his dad pressed.

  “Look… they interviewed me once already. I haven’t changed that much since then. They can just pull up the old one if they’re curious,” Tel shrugged.

  “Are you being serious right now? Do you even want this opportunity?” his dad snapped.

  “I’ve got mixed feelings,” Tel answered flatly.

  “What is there to be mixed about? This could be your chance!” his dad argued.

  “It’s hard to explain, alright? Bottom line — I’m not comfortable with them. Isn’t that enough?” Tel shot back.

  “Interesting” a voice notes then continues reading

  “No, it’s not enough,” he said firmly. “You’ve been waiting for something good to happen for so long — and now you’re just gonna let it slide by?

  Tel sighed heavily, his voice dropping low. “Maybe it’s a lose-lose either way. Let’s say I get the job. What am I then? Some class clown — the pizza boy who stumbled in at the right night. The charity case who needed his brother to pull him up. And even that feels like a long shot. I’ve got this feeling… something rotten. My gut tells me I’d just get rejected again.”

  “Oh, come on, Tel. None of this is personal. You’re an adult — what are you afraid of? A little teasing? A rejection?” his dad pushed.

  “Yeah… stupid, isn’t it?” Tel chuckled bitterly. “But I don’t know why I’m like this. I can’t help it. I take things hard. Always have. Every day I wake up waiting for the next mental beating. Might be some rude customer. Might be a job. Might be a girl I never had a chance with. It’s just… hit after hit, jab after jab, never enough time to heal before the next one comes swinging. I should be numb by now, right? That’s what a normal person would do.”

  Tel paused, his face betraying everything he tried to bottle up for years — fear, desperation, exhaustion.

  “Wow” a voice comments before continuing.

  “I don’t want to be rejected again,” Tel admitted, almost like a confession. “Because maybe that’s the hit that finally snuffs me out for good. And I don’t want to be numb to it all. I still want to hope for myself. That’s all I’ve got left.”

  His dad sighed, slower this time. “I don’t know how you ended up like this, Tel. Life’s hard — yeah. But these things pass. And no one’s handing you a solution on a silver platter. You’ve got to take some initiative.”

  Another sigh.

  “Fine. Do whatever you want. It’s up to you whether you fly or sink.”

  Ms. Jill looked up from the page, eyes meeting Nover’s.

  “Wow… this must be really difficult for you.”

  “Well… yeah,” Nover agreed quietly. “Some days are better than others.”

  “You said this story’s based on yourself,” Ms. Jill said softly. “I can tell. You really put your heart into this.”

  “Insightful, that is what I was aiming for,” Nover nodded.

  “How’s it been with your dad? Have you talked to him since then?” Ms. Jill asked.

  “Well yeah, it’s not like there’s some huge problem between us,” Nover explained.

  “Oh, so that argument got patched up?” Ms. Jill pressed.

  “Well, I mean… it didn’t actually happen. That part was just for the story,” Nover admitted.

  “What?” Ms. Jill blinked, caught off guard.

  “Yeah, bit of creative freedom there. Spiced the story up a little,” Nover shrugged.

  “Alright… well, what about the part with your brother and the job?” Ms. Jill asked, raising a brow.

  “Oh, that part’s real. I actually did have another interview with them... and they ghosted me again. That was like a month ago,” Nover said, a little bitter

  Ms. Jill let out a small scoff. “You seem to have made up a lot.”

  “Sure, but I think it works. Keeps the story interesting, y’know? My life’s kinda boring. It's disappointing, but nothing ever that impactful happens — so I add my own ideas of what could be compelling interactions,” Nover smiled faintly.

  “I mean… you could still make some interesting reflections just from your life,” Ms. Jill suggested.

  “Maybe… but it feels off,” Nover paused, thinking. “I like emotions when I write. Gets some feelings off my mind. I guess for me it’s easier to cope with life when I exaggerate or twist the tougher parts,” he finished.

  “Well, I guess you did learn a little about reflection,” Ms. Jill smiled.

  “Thanks. I enjoyed it. I think I’ll do another,” Nover replied.

  Just then, a buzz came from his phone — then a louder-than-usual ring.

  “Sorry,” Nover muttered, glancing down. Another message from that damn WifeChatbot.

  host: I couldn’t keep us hidden so prepare to impact.

  Nover frowned at the screen.

  host: Jet is not happy here he comes.

  “Nover?” Ms. Jill called.

  He looked up — and froze in horror.

  Ms. Jill’s body was beginning to melt — slowly losing shape, dripping like wax into a puddle.

  “I… feel a little sluggish…” she slurred, her mouth vanishing mid-sentence.

  Nover let out a yell of sheer disbelief, scrambling toward the door — only to find it locked.

  A sudden bright light flared in the center of the room. A figure stepped through it.

  As the light faded, Nover squinted — realizing the figure kinda... sorta... looked like him. Same age, same general build, just way more pissed off.

  The entire room was now caught in a storm. The roof ripped clean off, revealing a swirling dark void overhead. The walls twisted, debris spinning like trapped satellites, chunks of the building being pulled away piece by piece.

  “You’re Nover, right? Good. Finally,” the figure said flatly, stepping forward.

  “I don’t know who you are! I don’t know anything, okay? I didn’t do anything!” Nover shouted rapid fire.

  “I’m Jet,” the figure replied coolly. “And you’ve done plenty — even if you don’t realize it.”

  Jet shook his head, irritated. “I knew it was a mistake, splitting this process in two. And now you’ve gone and caused a defect in my reality.”

  “Look, I’m sorry if I messed you up — I can fix it, alright?” Nover tried.

  “Fix it? Fix it?” Jet echoed, deadpan. “You two clowns swapped places without even noticing. How do you even pull that off?”

  Jet let out a long, tired sigh.

  “There’s no fixing this. Once you and WifeChatBot are gone, I can start over with a clean slate. Nothing personal.”

  Jet started walking toward him — and with every step, pieces of the floor vanished beneath his feet.

  Nover’s phone buzzed again.

  host: I called for backup. I can buy you time. Use me against Jet.

  Nover stared at the screen, heart pounding.

  “You can stop him…” Nover whispered.

  host: I was made for this. Made for us — so we could be our best selves. You’ve come a long way since we met, kid. Now it’s time to finish the cycle. We had a good run... I’ll miss you.

  Nover blinked, confused. “I mean… appreciate it and all, but like — what run are you talking about? It’s been, what… a day?”

  Host: "Throw me at him! After all, I am the Uploader Timecoder. Let my sacrifice…"

  Tel chucked the phone at Jet but missed.

  The phone whirled past Jet and splashed down into Ms. Jill's puddle.

  Jet paused, staring at Nover, bewildered. "What was that?" he asked.

  "Umm… Uploader The Coder," Nover answered nervously. "He'll stop you."

  Jet simply stared at Nover for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, without a word, he turned toward the puddle where the phone had landed. Raising his hand, Jet caused the phone to lift from the puddle and hover toward him.

  Jet caught it, inspecting the screen.

  host: "Well, hello, Jet."

  Jet raised an eyebrow. "Oh right, I made this a plot device. Did I make you an AI… or some kind of magic app? I forgot."

  host: "I am a person — with a soul. You might have tossed me aside, but I didn’t forget. Now get ready… The Uploader Timecoder is now... the Exploder!"

  The phone immediately exploded in Jet's hands, engulfing the area in fire and smoke.

  Nover stared in shock. To his eyes, Jet had just been completely vaporized.

  "You actually did it," Nover muttered. "Or… well… Jet kinda did it to himself. Thanks a lot, Uploader Timecoder," he added, almost solemnly.

  "Well…" a voice interrupted. Jet stood right there, completely unharmed, casually dusting debris off his shoulders.

  Nover's jaw dropped. "HOW??"

  Jet smiled coolly. "I make the rules."

  With a simple gesture, he raised his hand toward Nover — and suddenly Nover felt an invisible grip clamp around his neck, lifting him helplessly into the air.

  "Now... let's revise," Jet said coldly.

  But then—

  A noise began echoing from the void — distant at first, then louder and louder. The unmistakable roar of a car engine.

  Jet's expression shifted from control to confusion.

  The sound grew near — and then BOOM! The wall beside them exploded inward as a car burst through, slamming full-force into Jet and sending him flying through the far wall — straight into the void.

  The car skidded to a halt.

  The door opened, and a familiar face appeared.

  Nover blinked. It was the guy he delivered to earlier — Tel.

  "You're the delivery boy, aren't you?" Tel said, matter-of-factly.

  "Uh… yeah," Nover replied, still catching his breath. "You know what — I am. And that's my car." He paused, looking around in confusion. "Wait… what was I even doing here again?"

  "We don’t have time to figure that out, Nover," Tel said urgently. "Jet might escape the void any second. We have to stop him — and I need your help to do it."

  Nover hesitated. "Me? How can I help?"

  Tel tossed him the keys. "Take the wheel, delivery boy. It’s time to become… Speeder, the Time Deleter."

  Part 5 - Jet Gets Blown Up

  The editor glanced up from the page, his expression confused.

  "What is actually happening in this plot?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

  "It’s a twist," Jet replied confidently. "The backstory sets up TelNover — two superheroes who can form a time tornado."

  The editor stared at him for a beat. "I don’t think I follow..." he sighed, rubbing his temples.

  "Yeah, the origin story’s a bit rushed," Jet admitted. "I’ll smooth it out in the second draft."

  "Listen," the editor said, leaning back in his chair, "there are some entertaining moments, but it completely loses the plot. It’s not very well-written overall."

  Jet’s brow furrowed. "How should I fix it?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

  "Too many gimmicks," the editor explained. "I’m not sure what half of these even add to the story. This entire thing needs a revamp."

  Before Jet could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  "Sorry, I need to check this," Jet muttered, pulling it out.

  His face went pale as he read the screen.

  "What’s wrong?" the editor asked, noticing Jet’s sudden shift in demeanor.

  "I’ve lost," Jet replied, his voice shaky. "It says… 'Time Loader Explorer is now running you over.'"

  Before the editor could respond, the phone exploded.