Chapter 1: Time Police

Jacob Swing awoke to chaos. The remnants of a half-eaten bag of chips crinkled under his shifting weight, while a sticky puddle of spilled soda spread across the once-white rug, turning it a grimy black. Beside him, the nightstand lay overturned, its two wooden legs splintered and broken, a casualty of some unknown nighttime calamity. The soft morning light poured in through the open window, highlighting the wreckage. Outside, the distant cacophony of chirping birds clashed with the impatient honks of traffic below, a symphony of life he felt wholly detached from.

Groggily, Jacob groped under his body and fished out his phone. Squinting at the screen, he checked the time: 6:50 AM. Relief washed over him—he had an hour before work. Enough time to linger in the comforting embrace of his memory foam mattress. It clung to him like a lifeline, urging him to stay cocooned in warmth and forget the world outside.

But the universe had other plans. Right on cue, his alarm blared, jolting him from his brief reverie. The familiar opening theme of his favorite video game filled the room, a melody that usually brought joy but now grated against his fatigue. Groaning, he slapped at his phone to silence it, muttering under his breath. Even cherished tunes were unbearable when faced with the cruel demands of the morning.

With a resigned sigh, Jacob sat up, peeling the blanket away. His eyes landed on the broken nightstand and the mess littering his floor. Rubbing his temples, he tried to piece together the events of the previous night. Bits of memory surfaced: a bar outing with friends, laughter turned to shouting, the metallic taste of cheap beer. The pile of empty bottles near his bed confirmed the rest. He’d been drunk, again.

Navigating his room was the first challenge of the day. It was a battlefield of discarded food containers, paper plates, and empty soda cans. Each step was a calculated maneuver to avoid the shards of broken glass or other hazards hidden beneath the chaos. For a fleeting moment, the idea of cutting his foot and skipping work seemed appealing. But today was non-negotiable; he had conferences to attend.

He shuffled out of his room, the floor creaking under his weight. The bathroom was just a few paces away, one of the few perks of his cramped apartment. Standing before the mirror, he took in his reflection. It was not a pretty sight. His once-bright green eyes were dulled by exhaustion, framed by dark circles that hinted at sleepless nights. His shoulder-length hair hung limp, begging for a trim. He stared at himself with a mixture of disdain and pity.

“This is my life,” he muttered, turning on the faucet to splash cold water on his face.

Jacob was in his mid-twenties, a tall, wiry figure with more regrets than accomplishments. He had no girlfriend, no diploma, and a dead-end job teaching math to teenagers who barely cared. Yet, beneath the cynicism, there was a flicker of hope. His laptop, perched on a makeshift desk in the living room, held the draft of a fantasy novel he’d been painstakingly crafting. It was his one escape, his ticket to something better.

After a quick shower and a haphazard attempt at grooming, Jacob dressed in his usual work attire: a suit jacket and tie over blue jeans. He looked marginally better but felt the same hollow ache inside. As he poured himself a cup of coffee, he turned on the news, letting the monotonous drone fill the silence. He didn’t care much for current events but watched out of habit, convincing himself it was the responsible thing to do.

Settling into his beanbag chair, he sipped his coffee and opened his laptop. The words of his novel greeted him like old friends, offering a brief reprieve from reality. He scrolled through a few pages, tweaking sentences and jotting down ideas. This was his passion, the thing that kept him going. But time was not on his side. A glance at the clock showed it was already 7:20. With a sigh, he closed the laptop, downed the rest of his coffee, and grabbed his keys.

The drive to work was unusually calm. No music today, just the hum of the engine and the swirl of his thoughts. He mulled over his story’s characters, their struggles, and triumphs, wishing he could trade places with them. The blaring honk of a car behind him snapped him back to reality. The light had turned green, and he hadn’t moved. There was enough bad drivers in Jacksonville, Florida already. He didn’t need to add onto that. Muttering an apology to no one in particular, he pressed the gas pedal and continued on.

Morning sunlight sliced through the windshield, casting fleeting patterns across the dashboard as Jacob navigated the usual traffic. The low hum of the engine was the only companion to his thoughts until the Bluetooth system buzzed to life. A name flashed across the screen: Mom.

He tapped the button to answer, just as he signaled to turn left into the faculty parking lot.

“Hello? Jacob?” Her voice crackled through the car’s cheap speakers, warm yet distorted by static.

“Ma.” Jacob’s tone softened as he glanced around, searching for an open parking spot.

“Jacob, are you driving?” Concern laced her words, even though she already knew the answer.

He smiled despite himself. “Yeah, heading to work.”

There was a pause, a sharp inhale that betrayed her hesitation. “Well, I can call later if you’re busy—”

“No, it’s fine,” Jacob interrupted, finding a spot near the faculty section. He turned off the engine and leaned back in his seat. “I just parked. No need to worry.”

Faint yelling and muffled voices echoed from her end of the line—his brothers, undoubtedly stirring chaos even at this early hour.

“Alright then,” she said after a moment. “I just wanted to let you know your father’s planning to stop by later today. What time do you finish work?”

Jacob’s hand froze mid-reach for the door handle. His father? That name carried weight—questions and memories he wasn’t ready to unpack.

“I’m done at four,” he replied cautiously. “But… Dad? Why? I thought he was still working that case in Chicago.”

“He was. But he called last night, saying he needed to talk to you in person. Didn’t say why, and I didn’t push. You know how he is.”

Jacob frowned, his mind racing. His father’s cryptic nature had always been both frustrating and fascinating, but this sudden visit felt... off.

“Why didn’t he just call me himself?” he asked, his voice tight.

She chuckled softly. “That man and his secrets. It’s why I married him, you know. Always keeping me guessing.”

Jacob swallowed, his throat dry. “Alright, Ma. I gotta head in. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetie. Have a good day.”

Ending the call, Jacob stepped out of the car. He adjusted his tie as a cool breeze swept through the lot, carrying with it the faint scent of morning dew. The school loomed ahead, a familiar structure that suddenly felt heavy with an unknown weight.

Stolen story; please report.

He sat at his desk, writing up a few emails as the clock struck 8:05. Teaching math was the easy part of his job; the hard part was the kids that followed. At 8:10, students would flow through his classroom, and he’d have to teach. Today felt weirder than usual—his mind still caught up in his own writing, as well as the matter of what his dad could be doing showing up at his place later.

His dad worked as a detective and had been all the way in Chicago a few weeks ago. Something about a new breakthrough in some case he was working on. Every time Jacob prodded the man, he’d shoo him away. What felt like minutes passed as he wrote up emails, all while thinking about what was going to happen. What plot point to add next for one of his main characters, if he should go to the store after work or not, the case his father had been working on for the last few years.

All this time passed. Yet… 8:05. He raised a brow as he got sudden goosebumps. No time had passed. He wearily looked at his computer time, then at the clock. For a minute, he waited… No time ticked up. 8:05.

“How are they both broken?” he muttered to himself, standing up to go check the clock on the wall. He pulled out a chair, planning to stand on it and check it himself. That’s when it happened.

He felt someone standing next to him. A puff of hot air blew across his face as his hair swept right. He barely had time to see the man, but got a good look. Wearing what looked like metallic armor—no, it was like the armor was integrated into the man’s skin, as if he glowed silver. He wore a gas mask and goggles, as if he was ready to snowboard down a hill. His physique was round as well. And what is that he’s holding—

A shotgun.

Bang.

His entire being fell apart. Time seemed to move slower for some reason, as he felt his eyes push deeper into his skull until his brain exploded with a crimson pop.

Darkness.

Thoughts… Thinking. He thought. He saw darkness. What just happened? Did he die? A million thoughts went through his mind as he saw nothing but a black screen. If he was dead, how could he think? How did he die again?

Then light. Too much light; it surrounded his entire being, as if he was being born for the first time. So much light that it physically hurt him to look at it. He put an arm over his eyes until the light slowly seeped away. Within moments, he put his arm down and saw blue sky. Clouds. He was sitting on the top of his school building. Surrounded by fat, dead bodies, scattered about the building in piles. He didn’t blink for a good second, taking it all in. He only blinked when he realized he got his head shaved off by a shotgun. After he realized that, it felt surreal—he had eyes. He immediately felt at his head, touching it as his entire body went through a sense of relief.

“God’s— you are going to get me so in trouble,” a voice sounded in front of him. Sitting up and looking, he saw a short woman, with blood streaked across her face, and her large, oversized tan cloak she wore over her body. She had gold pupils, with long peach-colored hair. She looked straight out of a fantasy story.

Pacing back and forth, she bit at her fingernails, only now noticing him when he was gawking at her. He didn’t realize how much of a fool he probably looked—his mouth wide open, hair all messed up. Before he could speak, his mouth absurdly shut, as his head began to ache. An excruciating pain emerged out of his brain, causing him to hold his head with both hands and grunt.

“What are you— Oh, right. Head got blown off.” She clicked her teeth, waving it off as if it was nothing. The pain, after about a minute, was eventually subdued. He knelt on the ground, sweat dripping from his forehead. He remembered it all now. The fat man with the creepy mask, shotgun pointed right at him. Buckshot to the face—he couldn’t avoid it. Nobody could—his entire head was blown clean off.

He looked up at the girl, who was now sitting cross-legged on the railing of the roof. She sighed. “You done, bud? I got things to say.” He gawked again. He wanted to speak, but the words didn’t come out. He grabbed his suit tie, yanking it out and pounding on his chest. With the fourth pound, the words flew out of him like a bullet train.

“AM I DEAD?” he yelled out. He didn’t even mean for it to be a yell, nor was that what he wanted to say. But that’s what he was thinking; after such a rough encounter, that’s all he could think about in the first place. The cloaked girl sighed again, as if annoyed. As if she was the one who just got their head blown off.

“Uhm…” She put a finger to her lips, eyes looking up at the sky as she began to think. “Yes… And no.” He raised a brow, staring at her with frustration and now confusion. “What do you mean? I can’t be dead and alive at the same time, can I?” He said that with a condescending tone, one she didn’t seem to pick up on.

“Actually, you can. Let me explain.” She cleared her throat. “You died in your time. Your body is lying in that classroom right now, bits and pieces of your brain probably reaching all the way back to your desk. But I managed to snag your body and consciousness and transport it to another timeline, one where this school isn’t even open yet.”

He stared. The words seemed to process slowly to him, every single syllable hard to digest. His lips quivered as he knelt there, staring at her. She stared back.

“What are we doing? Staring contest? I’m down,” she said, sitting up, opening her eyes more as he started a staring contest. He blinked a second after. Just as she was about to make another witty remark, he barked up a response.

“So… I died?”

“Yep. But you’re alive here, so… no!”

He sunk deeper. He thought about his life, the countless attempts at suicide in the past. This was what he wanted, right? This was what he always wanted. But then he thought of his mom, and of his dad, and of the people that genuinely cared for him. What would they hear? That their son’s head randomly exploded in the middle of a classroom?

“Listen, I know this might be rough for you, but we kinda gotta hurry. Any more questions before I move on?”

He stared at her again, nodding in agreement. His mind wandered from the past to the present. And to multiple other questions he still had that were bugging him, making his head ache even more for answers.

“Well, uh… I guess who shot me? And why and— who are you?”

She rolled her eyes, uncrossing her legs and standing up. The girl looked early twenties and was admittedly easy on the eyes. Her peach-colored hair blew as a gust of wind blew west.

“Well, that’s simple. I’m God.”

His eyes widened.

“I’m just kiddin’,” she grinned, mustering out a little laugh as she adjusted her cloak. “Actually believed me, didn’t ya? Guess nothing is off the table after what happened.” He sighed, this time rolling his eyes. “Get on with the answers.”

“Jeez, fine.” She stretched, sitting back down on the ledge. While keeping eye contact, she pointed to the dead fat men that lay on the roof next to them with her thumb.

“Where do I even start…” She took a deep breath, as if she was about to give him a heavy lore dump. “Okay. Mostly every timeline is controlled by an unknown, all-seeing god. That god controls every event, controls every person, and weaves life through its image. Basically, free will doesn’t exist.” She stopped to give herself a breather, then went on.

“Those fat dudes? Called Time Police. Whenever someone goes off script, they show up and take care of ya. You went off script somehow, and they took your head for it.” He nodded, kind of understanding it but also not having a clue what she just said. Judging by the look on her face, she recognized his confusion.

“So… nobody has free will, I went off script, and died…? Then now what? And who are you?”

“Name’s Kalaf. I’m a paladin. Basically, I jump around timelines fighting against Time Police and saving people from them. Or—more like salvaging them.”

Jacob couldn’t help but put a hand to his face and laugh. This all seemed so ridiculous. One minute he was living a normal life, the next he’s caught up in this. His brain asked him many questions, ones he didn’t want to dwell on for long or else he’d never leave this roof. His writer brain nagged at him as well—this was straight out of a game story or some kind of fiction.

“So now what? You leave me here in this other timeline? “She shook her head, standing up once more. “Won’t be long before more Time Police show up. I got to take you back home.”

“And home is?”

“Mega city. Or, better known as universe 0. The only universe with free will.”

Jacob stood; legs weak as he almost collapsed. But then again, he’d rather get shot in the head again rather than fall flat on his face in front of a girl.

“You probably got more questions, and I’ll answer them all soon, but we seriously gotta go.”

He nodded, wanting to question more and more until he understood everything. Now he just felt tired though, ready to be done with all this. It all felt like a weird fever dream. “One more thing- what do I do once I get there? You can’t just leave me someplace I’ve never been.”

She walked over, touching his chest. “I’ll introduce you to my squad of elites. The jumpers.”

Before he could pry any further, she grabbed his wrist and strapped it on a large, mechanical clock- one that had four hands, all of them being small. Instead of the usual time it had small little lines, with one long black line being at the center. She twisted the knob on the side until it hit the long line, then pushed a button on the same side.

Reality deconstructed. He felt himself fading- his matter decomposing into absolute nothingness. As if he was a PowerPoint presentation, and he was simply transitioning into a new slide, everything came alight again. He stood in the same exact position, with Kalaf’s hand still on his chest. This time she opened her eyes, stepped away and took a long breath.

“We made it.”

He looked to his left, and what he saw was truly spectacular. Sprawling skyscrapers, flying vehicles, neon roads and holograms filling the sky. The neon lights and other worldly effect left him grasping at the concept of it all. He then looked towards a sign close up, which read off four words.

‘Welcome to Mega city.”