Rebanking: Fractured Mind, Memories & Time

In the next moment, the universe didn’t so much tilt as it shattered—reality splintering like a broken mirror. One second, my eyes were shut, my heart crushed and lifeless, and the next—

Pain.

Sharp. Immediate.

My knees hit concrete with enough force to send shockwaves through my new bones. The impact drove the air from my lungs in a harsh gasp. My palms slapped against rough pavement, tiny pieces of gravel biting into soft flesh that hadn't known calluses for years. I stayed there, sprawled on the sidewalk, trying to remember how to breathe. The sensory assault was overwhelming.

Above me, the sky churned with dark clouds, and rain poured down in heavy sheets, relentless, like the gods were furious—at something, at someone.

I tilted my head slightly to avoid drowning in the shallow puddle where my face had landed. Not that it really mattered. Dying before starting the third loop might have been a mercy.

Oh, wait.

My vision swam, the world blurring at the edges as a another wave of agony crested through my body. Yet somehow, through the fog of pain and disorientation, my memories remained crystalline—sharper than broken glass. It was like watching my past life through a high-definition screen, every detail enhanced, every moment preserved in perfect, terrible clarity.

Wait! Wait! Wait!

Something was missing.

Why was there a gap at the end? The harder I tried to grasp it, the more convoluted my thoughts became, twisting into a tangled mess. It was like staring at a puzzle with missing pieces, knowing they should be there but unable to reach them. And then, lurking in the dark corners of my mind, I felt it—another bundle of memories. Disconnected. Out of place. They shouldn’t be like this. My mind felt too organized, unnaturally structured. That in itself was wrong.

My thoughts pushed closer, my heart hammering as I chased the missing fragments. But the moment I touched that empty void of darkness—

Pain.

My head jerked violently, and in its wake, broken pieces of memory surfaced like shattered glass.

Huh? What the fuck?!

The fragmented replay of events only made things worse, distorting what I was desperately trying to understand. It was all wrong. Finally, through the static and confusion, I managed to make out a few outlines, just enough to piece together something horrifying. I had already lived through the third loop. This was supposed to be my fourth loop. Something had happened—something strong enough to make me forget. To shatter my memories, leaving some completely muddled while others remained crystal clear.

I slammed my fist into the puddle beneath me, sending dirty water arcing through the air. It splashed across my face, and I immediately regretted it as pain shot up my arm like lightning, fingers going numb while muddy water trickled into my mouth, tasting of grit and gasoline.

"Dammitt," I spat, along with a mouthful of contaminated rainwater.

This was exactly why I hated time shenanigans with every fiber of my being. What was I supposed to do now? Spend half of my next life—assuming there would be one—trying to piece together the puzzle of my third timeline like some temporal detective? The very thought made me want to punch something again, despite my throbbing hand warning me what a stupid idea that would be.

Great. Just fucking great.

In frustration and annoyance, I pushed myself off the ground, wiping the rain from my face with the back of my hand. My clothes were already beyond ruined—soaked, dirty, and clinging uncomfortably to my skin. There was no fixing it now. I spotted an umbrella lying nearby,probably mine, half broken due to my sudden fall, and picked it up. Not that it would help much at this point. I’d still have to sit in class completely drenched. Sighing, I trudged toward the bus stop. Despite the miserable weather, the streets were still alive with the usual early morning hustle. The bus arrived five minutes later, its brakes hissing as it pulled up. My mind was only half-present as I stepped inside, my feet moving on autopilot.

I didn’t bother looking for a seat. The wet clothes made sure of that. Instead, I stood near the door, gripping the overhead rail, dripping onto the floor like a walking raincloud.

As the bus lurched into motion, I focused on piecing together my broken memories. Fortunately, I wouldn’t have to spend too much time adjusting—at least not when it came to relearning slang or other minor nuisances. The fragmented memories, though incomplete, still gave me enough information to revise and catch up quickly.

Despite the confusion, I found a small sense of satisfaction. I had made new friends—great friends, actually. Out of all the versions of myself across the loops, I felt the proudest of my third self. That version of me had stepped way out of his comfort zone, taking major leaps I never would have dared in my previous loops.

But something was wrong. Something missing and altered.

A face, completely muddled.

A girl.

She seemed to be everywhere—woven into so many memories that practically it was all her, and yet, I couldn’t make out her face. Nor could I remember someone like her existing in my other loops. What more, Every time she appeared in a memory, the moment itself darkened, like a shadow creeping over the edges of my mind, distorting everything. It had to mean something. Either she was the culprit behind my missing memories, or—worse—I had somehow become entangled with someone who treated my personal space like her divine right, someone who clung to my arm as if she owned my very soul. The fragments showed her presence like a physical force—not just near me, but claiming me in a way that made my current self deeply uneasy. What kind of person had she been, to leave such an imprint? What kind of person had I become, to allow such intimacy?

Her name: ****London

I stared at my reflection in the grimy bus window, watching raindrops trace paths down the glass, distorting my troubled expression. Only a half name, and even that pointed to a broken city.

Whatever had happened in that third loop, whatever connection we'd shared... it had been significant enough to warrant this selective amnesia.

Finally, after what felt like an endless forty-minute journey of squishing sounds and disapproving glances from fellow passengers, I arrived at the academy. My shoes made wet sucking noises against the marble floors as I walked, leaving a trail of puddles behind.

The question of how to handle my supposed friends from the previous loop gnawed at me. Should I seek them out? Act like I remembered everything? The thought of navigating social interactions with only puzzle pieces of memories made my head hurt.

At least I was only five minutes late for Power Theory class—that mind-numbing parade of historical dates and theoretical frameworks that usually sent half the class into a coma. Today, that might actually be a blessing. With my brain already stuffed to bursting with fragments of three different lifetimes, I couldn't bring myself to care about the sociopolitical implications of the First Power Revolution.

I eased the door open, wincing at its slight creak.

My wet shoes squeaked traitorously against the floor as I made my way to the back of the classroom, doing my best impression of invisibility. Finding an empty seat, I sank into it like I never existed.

Then, I turned my attention to the lecture, watching water droplets fall from my hair onto my blank notebook, creating tiny expanding universes on the paper.

"In the early days, many scientists attributed the sudden emergence of meta nature in people to evolution. However, this theory quickly lost traction when, after only three years, scientists proposed that prolonged exposure to a specific environmental anomaly—such as a previously undetected radiation band, a chemical reaction in the atmosphere, or a microscopic organism introduced by meteorites—triggered dormant genetic sequences in humans, leading to meta-nature abilities."

"Only after two more years, a radical group of researchers posited that these abilities were the result of covert experimentation by an unknown organization, possibly using gene-editing technology like CRISPR. This theory gained momentum when peculiar traces of engineered DNA were discovered in individuals with meta-nature, suggesting deliberate tampering.”

“Another theory at the same time also gained quite the traction, some scientists suggested that the abilities emerged from a phenomenon called "quantum resonance," where fluctuations in the quantum fabric of reality began affecting human biology. This theory argued that these shifts altered how individuals interacted with space, time, and energy, unlocking latent potential in their physiology."

"Naturally, the general public also had its own set of theories, ranging from that aliens had seeded Earth with genetic material long ago, and that recent cosmic phenomena (e.g., a passing comet or solar flare) activated these latent genes, to work of divine forces such as "God," to secret government experiments."

“A growing faction of metaphysicists claimed the abilities were evidence of humanity reaching a new spiritual threshold, unlocking hidden energies tied to the universe itself. This theory gained traction among mystics, especially when individuals with meta-nature reported heightened states of awareness or unexplained visions. However, none of this theories to this day could be proved right.”

The sound of chalk scraping against the board filled the air.

…

…

...

The class was as boring as any class could possibly get. I wasn’t sure if it was just the teacher’s complete inability to make things interesting or if I was simply too old to be sitting through these lectures again. Either way, my attention drifted as I scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. Alex was just two rows across from me, his usual blank expression making it seem like he was just as done with this as I was. Lore sat up front, ever the diligent student. Vinico and Gina weren’t here—they had a different schedule. Finally, I figured I’d start with Alex. Out of everyone, he was the safest bet. We could at least be considered somewhat friends.

Two excruciating hours later, the professor finally stopped talking. I'd retained exactly none of it, each word evaporating from my mind faster than the water had from my clothes. As the teacher gathered his things and left, I let my head sink into my folded arms, feeling the weight of multiple lifetimes pressing down on me.

This fourth loop was already shaping up to be a special kind of hell. All I wanted was to fast-forward through it like a boring movie.

Something bounced off my head. My body reacted before my brain could catch up, snapping upright with the kind of reflex you develop after dying a few times.

"Hey, North."

I turned to find a guy two seats away, sporting the kind of grin that usually preceded trouble. Three others clustered around him like backup dancers in a bad music video.

I blinked, mind racing through its fractured archives. Nothing. Not even a footnote. This guy was such a background character, he might as well have been furniture in my previous loops. Maybe he knew me in the first loop? Maybe he was important at some point?

Well, whatever.

I waved at him awkwardly, hoping to end the interaction before it even began.

Yet only two minutes had passed. Something hit me again.

This time, it wasn’t just a crumpled paper or some harmless prank. It was a small ball of fire.

The moment it made contact, it burned through my already worn-out hoodie, the fabric curling and crisping away. I felt the slow, creeping warmth sear into my skin. At first, it was just a mild sting—but then, like a floodgate bursting open, anger flared inside me, sudden and uncontrollable. My emotions spilled out faster than I could rein them in.

Before I could think, I moved.

Fuck!

I had somehow phased straight through the benches and chairs, closing the distance between us in an instant. My hand clamped around his throat, lifting him before he even had a chance to react. My fist blurred—one second, his face was in front of me, and the next, it was snapping to the side, blood splattering onto the desks.

His friends' smiles evaporated into pure shock, leaving them too stunned to even step forward as their buddy's lip split clean in two.

The boy in my grip gasped, his split lip trembling, his hands clawing weakly at my wrist.

Then, just as quickly, a strong force pulled me back.

Alex.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

His grip was firm as he yanked me off, stopping me from outright killing the useless excuse of a human who thought setting people on fire was a joke. The second he was free, the boy’s friends finally snapped out of their trance, lunging forward to grab him, their glares now fixed on me. But at least Alex glared back at them, standing between me and whatever retaliation they thought they were about to dish out.

So, at this point in time, at least Alex still considered me a friend.

Without another word, he grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the classroom, straight toward the washrooms. As soon as we got inside, I leaned over the sink, splashing cold water onto my face.

I needed that.

I took a shaky breath, gripping the edges of the sink, staring at my dripping reflection in the mirror. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. What the hell had gotten into me? Why had I suddenly become so angry? I never lost control of my emotions so easily. Hell, I wouldn’t even lose my control if someone threw me into a volcano.

Removing Fear and Anger was drilled into us like a religion during the first and second loops—when I served in Legion or will serve in future. If I had followed my training properly, I should have been able to swallow those emotions like water—gone before they could even be felt. Yet…

Yet.

"I've never seen you so angry before," Alex finally broke the silence as I dried my face with a paper towel. His tone was neutral, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath it. "They used to bully you every day, and now you snapped. Hopefully, they learned their lesson. But you sure like to not show your abilities."

I shot him a strange look, my mind churning. Was that supposed to be a compliment or a pointed observation?

"When were you able to phase through matter?" he asked, leaning casually against the wall like we were discussing the weather and not the fact that I had just walked through something solid like a damn ghost.

Well… when was I able to do that? You tell me. I sighed internally, the pieces refusing to fit together. The third loop had really done a number on me—scrambling my mind, memories, and emotions like eggs in a blender. Sudden bursts of anger, crystal-clear memories sitting next to black holes, and now apparently phasing through solid matter like it was nothing.

What other surprises had my third self left buried in this borrowed body?

“Just discovered it recently,” I lied bluntly. No point in fumbling through an explanation when I hadn’t even sorted it out myself.

Alex hummed, clearly unconvinced, but he let it go for now. He glanced down at my arm, his expression shifting as his eyes landed on the burns stretching across my skin. I barely had time to react before his arm wrapped around my shoulders in a tight grip—too tight.

"You should stand up more for yourself," he muttered, squeezing me hard enough that for a second, I wondered if he was actually trying to strangle me.

My body tensed instinctively, but before I could shove him off, old memories surfaced. This was just his way. Rough, firm, but never malicious.

Still, I scoffed. "You trying to kill me or inspire me?"

Alex laughed, releasing me but not before ruffling my hair like I was some kid. "Little bit of both."

I exhaled, rubbing my burned arm absently. "I think you're right, though. It’s always better to fight than suffer silently. What's the worst that could happen?"

He smirked, crossing his arms. "You get your ass kicked, obviously."

I rolled my eyes. "Not exactly the motivational speech I was hoping for."

Alex chuckled, shaking his head. "You’ve also gotten smart."

"Yeah," I muttered, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror across the room. "I just wish I knew what else I’ve gotten without realizing it."

“Anyway,” Alex grinned, rocking back on his heels. “I just wanted to see if you’re going to the semester party.”

“Semester party?” I echoed, blinking at him.

“Yeah! It’s mainly to welcome the new batch of students, but a lot of seniors show up to scout for potential recruits. So, you can imagine what a great opportunity it’ll be—not just to meet them but to, you know, get acquainted.” His excitement was obvious, practically radiating off him.

I shuffled through my broken memories, trying to place the event. After a moment, it clicked—I had been to this party before. The realization settled in my mind like a puzzle piece snapping into place. It was where I met eight or so other people, half of whom eventually became my close friends.

But those weren’t the details that stood out.

Like completing a mission and suddenly unlocking hidden achievements, flashes of new memories surfaced—ones I hadn’t recalled before. And among them, one stood out sharply against the rest:

A girl. Crying. The same girl that existed everywhere.

Though, her face remained shrouded in darkness, as if my mind refused to unveil her identity, yet the scene was unmistakably real. Then another fragment: her trying to feed me ice cream, and something was definitely wrong with me because I was eating off her spoon happily. Then came the last image—both of us lying on the ground, looking up at the stars. A strange sense of nostalgia tugged at me, making my stomach churn with something I couldn’t quite name. I suddenly felt very sad, very very sad, enough to suddenly make me want to cry. My hand unknowingly reached my heart.

“So, you wanna come?” Alex’s voice jolted me back into the present.

I blinked, realizing I had zoned out. “Uh, when’s the party?” I asked, scratching my head in an attempt to look like I was genuinely trying to remember. It wasn’t even a lie—I had indeed forgotten the date, and these broken memories weren’t exactly in order.

Alex eyed me, clearly skeptical. “You seriously forgot? It’s in three days, dude.”

“Right, right,” I muttered, processing. Three days. That wasn’t much time, but enough to figure out why those memories suddenly resurfaced.

“Don’t tell me you’re skipping,” Alex continued, watching me closely. “I mean, unless you’re planning to hide out in your room all night like a cryptid, which, honestly, wouldn’t shock me.”

I scoffed. “First of all, rude. Second, no, I’ll come. Probably.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “That’s not a real answer.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “Fine. Yes. I’ll be there.”

“Good,” he said, satisfied. Then, that damn smirk crept onto his face. “Who knows? You might even find yourself a girl. I heard there are a lot of pretty single seniors.”

I rolled my eyes, already regretting agreeing to this.

But then, his voice dropped lower, conspiratorial, as if he were about to share some top-secret classified intel. “I heard they’re always on the lookout for innocent boys like you.”

I blinked. Wait a second.

Was he implying—

My brain stalled. Was he saying I’d never been in a relationship? Never had sex? That I was some kind of fresh, untouched lamb walking straight into a den of prowling, experience-hungry seniors?

I shot him a look, half annoyed, half bewildered. “Excuse me?”

Alex bit back a laugh. “I mean, you do give off that whole clueless, ‘I’ve never been corrupted by the world’ vibe.”

I scoffed. “Oh, please.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, grinning like he was enjoying my reaction way too much. “Some of them really like that.”

He clapped a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head like an older brother imparting wisdom. “You’ll thank me later.”

Doubtful.

Finally, as I attended one lecture after another, I didn’t really have time to interact with others. But I had made up my mind—I’d get to know them better at the party. That was the plan, at least. By the time academy classes wrapped up in the late afternoon, I made my way toward home.

This time, I took the train instead of the bus.

The ride was quiet, giving me a moment to sift through the tangled mess of my thoughts. The fragmented memories, the resurfacing flashes of people and events I had yet to fully understand—it all weighed on me. But there was no point in chasing shadows. Not yet. Slowly. Standing before the wooden door of the two-story house, I slid my key into the lock and turned it. The click echoed in the still air as I stepped inside.

Huh?

Aunt Grace was perched on the sofa, sipping coffee while a movie played on the TV. That wasn’t right.

I frowned. According to my memories, she shouldn’t be home yet.

What changed?

Butterfly effect.

So soon?

“You’re back!” she called out, glancing at me over the rim of her mug.

“Hmm.” I set my bag down on the sofa and made my way toward the kitchen to grab a cup of water.

As I filled my glass, a new thought surfaced—one I had never truly questioned before. Despite my three hundred years of memories, I never really knew what my aunt did for work. I mean, I knew she earned well. Her hours were flexible. She was never really struggling financially. But what exactly was her job? Her meta allowed her to heal paper. That much I was certain of. If I followed that train of thought, it meant there was no document too shredded, no book too torn, no written record too damaged for her to restore.

But that couldn’t be all, could it? What if that wasn’t even her primary meta? Interesting.

I needed to keep an eye on this in my fourth loop. The realization settled into place like a puzzle piece I hadn’t even known was missing. Making a mental note, I walked back to the living room and sat in the chair across from her, casually observing as she continued sipping her coffee, her eyes flicking between the TV screen and me.

There was more to Aunt Grace than I had ever given thought to.

“You came home early from work?” I asked, keeping my tone casual as I took another sip of water.

“Yeah,” Aunt Grace replied, not even glancing at me. Her eyes remained fixed on the TV screen. “I finished early today.”

I nodded, pretending to accept her answer at face value. But something felt off. She wasn’t the type to get off work early—not according to my memories, at least.

Deciding to push my luck, I leaned back in my chair and said, “By the way, you never actually told me what kind of job you have.”

Her head snapped toward me so fast it was almost unnatural. The shift in her demeanor was subtle but impossible to miss—something in my question had caught her off guard.

“Really?” she asked, her voice deceptively smooth, but I could hear the slight hesitation beneath it.

“Yeah,” I said, holding her gaze.

She paused for a fraction of a second, then gave a dismissive shrug. “It’s nothing, you know… regular office stuff. The kind of boring paperwork people do.”

She turned back to her movie, as if that was the end of the conversation.

Sure. I’d believe that.

For now. I exhaled and was about to stand when her voice cut through the room again.

“Why is there a hole in your hoodie?”

I froze.

Her sharp eyes squinted as she took a closer look, her gaze flickering down to my sleeve. “And your skin—it’s red.”

I instinctively covered the burn mark with my hand. “It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “Just an accident during a self-defense class.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she leaned back against the couch.

“Hm,” was all she said before taking another sip of coffee.

I took that as my cue to leave. Without another word, I stood up and made my way upstairs, feeling her eyes linger on my back longer than they should have.

Finally, in the safety of my trash heap of a room, I collapsed onto the bed, springs groaning under me like they shared my exhaustion. God, I was tired. So fucking tired. I'd had these grand plans about taking it easy in my third loop, actually enjoying life for once.

What third loop?

I had already stepped into my fourth.

Hopefully, this one would last longer.

With a deep breath, I shifted my focus, pushing my thoughts away from the loops and onto something I could control—my body. My hands. My abilities. I thought back to that moment in class, to the exact feeling I had when I had accidentally turned intangible. Now, as I focused again, the shift happened smoothly, like the ability had always belonged to me. There was no resistance, no strain—just an effortless transition, as if it was as natural as breathing.

That left me with only two possible explanations:

One: I could've gotten this ability—either I'd said "screw it" to all my restrictions and gone fishing for powers.

Two: This was the work of a mage—a spell I had unknowingly carried into this loop.

And then, there were my memories. Too clear, too organized. If they were tied to magic, that would explain a lot. A spell could have latched onto my subconscious, traveling back with me like a parasite. That would explain the aggression, the missing fragments in my memories. The side effects of a foreign magic tampering with my mind. Or maybe… maybe the mage in the third loop had deliberately messed with the spells, leaving me like this. I needed to find this mage and ask him some questions.

Suddenly, thunder rumbled loudly outside, shaking the thin walls of my room. A moment later, another downpour started.

I frowned.

How odd.

It wasn’t supposed to rain again or any at all.

What the hell was going on? How much had the original timeline already so broken?

Ignoring the fury of whatever thunder god was throwing a tantrum outside, I turned my attention back to my own problems.

After all, my problems were more important than whatever was happening to the world.

Who cared if it ended tomorrow?

Not me.

Soon, Like a cloak, the night enveloped me. When morning arrived, I woke feeling strangely refreshed, as if my body had recovered from something I wasn’t fully aware of. A hot shower helped clear the lingering fog from my mind, but as I stepped out and opened my closet, disappointment immediately settled over me. I stared at the sad collection of clothes hanging limply inside, uninspiring and worn. I sighed deeply, rubbing the back of my neck. What kind of teenager lives and dresses like this? No wonder no one liked me. No wonder I blended into the background like an afterthought.

Shaking my head, I rifled through my options and finally pulled out the clothes I had set aside for special occasions. Dates, I had optimistically thought when I bought them. Not that I’d actually had one. Not yet. I hesitated in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of my new shirt and jacket, wondering if old me could even pull off something like this. Objectively, I wasn’t bad-looking. Hell, I might even call myself too good-looking on certain days. But confidence? That was a whole different matter.

Whatever. I wasn’t going to waste too many words on style and clothes.

Fifteen minutes later, I was at the kitchen table, eating cereal with Aunt Grace. She was watching the weather news while getting ready for work, her usual morning routine. The news anchor was droning on about the erratic weather patterns—stormy nights, crisp mornings, an unpredictable cycle that had persisted for a week now. Apparently, it might last longer. The weatherman advised everyone to carry umbrellas.

But I wasn’t listening to him.

Something else had caught my attention.

The date.

I blinked, spoon halfway to my mouth. A strange unease crept into my bones. I grabbed my phone off the table and checked.

My fingers tightened around it.

I glanced at Aunt Grace’s phone nearby and snatched it up, quickly tapping the screen.

She groaned, shooting me a disapproving look. “You know, normal people ask before snooping through someone’s phone.”

I ignored her. My mind was already racing, the implications slamming into me one after another.

Then—

My hands froze.

My heart stopped.

The phone slipped from my fingers and hit the table with a soft thud.

No.

No, no, no.

Somehow—

I was still in yesterday.

Today was Yesterday.

The fucking day was BEGINNING TO REPEAT.