A red light started to blink ominously among the rows of computers, followed by a sharp ding. The girl reached over and pushed a button. The main computer screen went dark for a second before a faint click signaled its return. A low hum filled the room, followed by a thin, flickering line of light that cut through the dark screen horizontally. The glass glowed faintly as the whirring noise intensified, leading the display to show a set of static-laced horizontal lines. The speakers crackled, their aged components struggling to deliver the incoming transmission.
If I thought this girl was going to be like Spock from Star Trek, I was grossly mistaken.
"Selene, can you copy?" The voice came through, distorted and distant, as if traveling through decades of interference. Selene—apparently that was her name—hit a button on the keyboard and grabbed a microphone perched on a metal stand.
"Selene, copy. Transport is ready. Mission deemed a success."
"So others know about the kidnapping? I didn’t know you had a whole squad for this stuff. I wonder how much you’ll be able to sell me for." I leaned back in my chair, watching for a reaction. She got up from the computer and started walking toward the shadowed corner of the room, the side obscured by the blistering light shining directly into my eyes.
"We already put a price tag on you," she said without looking back. "Set it at zero dollars. The buyer said that was too much."
My mouth dropped open. Had Selene just made a joke? I would say hell must’ve frozen over, but in a way, it kind of already had.
She sat down in a chair molded from concrete, securing two thick belt straps over her lap. The stark industrial look of the seat fit the room’s brutalist design, like something out of an abandoned Cold War bunker.
"What are those for?" I asked as a new countdown began over the speakers.
"We’re being transported. If you’re not bolted to the floor, there’s a good chance the force will splat you into the wall." She adjusted another strap around her head, making sure it was tight.
I twisted in my chair, glancing at my restraints. Just as I expected, there were none.
"Wait, what about—" I stopped mid-sentence as the whole room started to shake, dust lifting from the floor like a ghostly mist. The countdown reached zero, and a deafening sound erupted from the computers. The flashing lights intensified, and the words TAKEOFF IMMINENT scrolled across the main screen in angry red letters. I shut my eyes, bracing for the force that was about to hit me.
And then… nothing. The tremors ceased, the violent force I had been expecting reduced to the gentle lift of a broken elevator moving between floors.
I opened my eyes, shaking with exasperation. Selene didn’t say a word, but the smirk on her face was unmistakable.
"When you untie me, I’m going to make you pay for that!"
She simply rolled her eyes and walked toward a large metal door with a keypad.
"Good thing I’m not going to untie you then." She punched in a code, and the door slowly swung open. The bright light spilling from the beam in front of me obscured my vision, making it impossible to see the numbers she entered.
5369.
The numbers flashed in my mind like a brand seared into my thoughts, impossible to ignore. A sharp tingle shot down my neck, right at the base where my spine met my skull. 5369. The numbers echoed in my head, relentless and clear, as Selene stepped out and the door sealed shut behind her.
Once she was gone, I immediately slipped my wrists free from the ropes. Rubbing at the sore, reddened skin, I stood up and switched off the blinding overhead light.
The room was just as bleak as I had imagined. The most noteworthy features were the aged, humming computers, a plain bed with gray sheets, and a small desk—also made of concrete. Scattered across it were a handful of odd trinkets, little artifacts she must have picked up through her travels as a Timewalker.
Curious, I meandered to the desk, flipping through a messy stack of notebooks. Pages filled with dense mathematical scribbles about wormholes, black holes, and paradoxes. Way beyond my pay grade. Beneath the stack lay a nondescript, leather-bound book. Something about it felt… different.
"It’s her journal," I murmured, intrigued. My fingers traced the edges. I knew I shouldn’t, but having dirt on her could be useful.
Prick.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
A sharp sensation shot through the base of my neck, like the jab of a needle. My body tensed as if responding to an invisible force.
"Don’t you dare touch that book." I imagined her voice resonating in my head, as if she were standing right beside me.
I immediately let go, stepping back as if the journal might bite. "What the hell is with this pricking?" I muttered, rubbing my neck as I turned toward the door.
"What was the code again? Something like… 5, 3, 6, and 9?" I keyed in the numbers, and the door slid open.
"Cool." Still talking to myself. After spending so long alone, I’d gotten used to it.
The hallway stretched out in two directions. To the left, an endless corridor lined with identical doors. To the right, the same—except something about it screamed, You will 100% die if you go this way.
After years of watching horror movies, the choice was obvious. Right it was.
The numbers on the doors slowly decreased as I walked. 250… 203… 179…
I stopped at 132. Something about this door hummed with an unnatural presence. Another keypad. Another prick at the base of my skull.
"Oh, ever-powerful universe, grant me thy knowledge to open this door to my certain demise." The sharp sensation returned. A flood of emotions entered my body, like the universe was trying everything in its power to stop the numbers from emerging. Alas, my request was too strong. I grinned, then punched in the numbers gifted to me.
The door opened dramatically, revealing an expansive chamber, its vastness amplified by the cold emptiness that swallowed every sound. Yet, unlike the purely utilitarian feel of the previous rooms, this space held onto a sense of grandeur—a prideful relic of a bygone era.
The dim, flickering glow of wall-mounted sconces cast long, wavering shadows across towering concrete columns, their edges softened by the passage of time. The chandelier hanging in the center, though tarnished and dulled, still clung to its former elegance, its thick brass frame supporting countless crystal fragments that shimmered faintly in the low light. The air carried a strange mix of dust and machine oil, yet beneath it lingered something else—aged wood polish, the ghost of cigars long extinguished, a faint reminder that this space had once been occupied by people who mattered.
Large murals of unknown figures decorated the walls, not in decay, but in a way that suggested reverence, as if those who walked this room still saw themselves as the inheritors of something greater. The entire space exuded the weight of history, its brutalist design imposing but not lifeless—rather, it stood as a monument to a forgotten authority, a time when those who sat at this table believed they shaped the fate of the world.
At the far end, I spotted massive high-definition screens displaying an ultra-realistic backdrop of space. The detail was impeccable—deep, endless blackness, the eerie stillness, the faint, delicate wisp of nebulas in the distance. Someone had really gone all out with the visuals. Then it hit me.
No one had gone all out with the visuals.
Because these weren’t screens.
They were windows. Massive windows.
And beyond them lay the raw, unfiltered universe, stretching infinitely in every direction. Silent. Immovable. Absolute. It was like looking into something that wasn’t meant to be seen—a sight so impossibly vast that my brain struggled to wrap itself around the sheer scale of it. Beautiful? Sure. But in the same way a tsunami is beautiful when you’re watching it roll in from the shore. Mesmerizing, but deeply, deeply unnerving.
But the real centerpiece was the long, concrete table stretching across the room. It could seat thirty, yet only five figures sat at it. At the head of the table stood a tall man, his posture rigid and commanding. His finely etched beret sat at a calculated angle, lending an air of authority that was only reinforced by the deep lines carved into his face—lines that hinted at a lifetime of discipline, hard choices, and a lack of tolerance for nonsense. His uniform, though subtly worn, was immaculately maintained, the fabric stiff and pressed as if he had stepped out of another era where decorum was everything.
The man was locked in a heated argument with someone I immediately recognized—Selene. Of course. If there was one thing I had learned in the short time I had known her, it was that she had an impressive talent for getting under people's skin. This poor guy just happened to be the latest victim.
The other figures at the table, rather than stepping in, sat back with the air of spectators watching a familiar performance. Some of them looked amused, others simply resigned, like they had seen this play out countless times before.
I almost felt bad for him.
Almost.
"Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice deep and commanding.
I straightened my back instinctively, the countless war movies I'd watched kicking in, reminding me of the proper etiquette when addressing an officer. And now, time to play my cards. "Felix Carter. I am Selene’s deeply devoted lover, and she whisked me away to this ship because she simply couldn’t bear to be apart from me any longer. The passion, the longing—it was unbearable, really. A true interstellar romance—"
Prick. A sharp jab stopped the words in my throat, but it wasn’t just the sensation—I felt a rush of emotions that weren’t mine. Heat, frustration, and pure mortification surged through me like an electric shock.
"Is that so?" The captain’s gaze shifted to Selene, his sharp eyes drilling into her like he was peeling back layers of excuses she hadn’t even thought up yet. The weight of his stare was almost tangible, and for a split second, I swore she looked like she'd rather launch herself into the vacuum of space than be standing there under his scrutiny.
Selene’s face turned bright red. "He’s not… we’re not…" Her flustered reaction sent waves of secondhand embarrassment that were palpable. The feeling sent shivers down my spine.
"Please, Mr. Carter." The captain motioned to the table. "Have a seat."
I gave him a crisp, respectful nod because I suddenly respected him for being on the same anti-Selene wavelength as me. Then, with a satisfied grin, I strode forward and dropped into a seat at the table. Selene took her seat again, taking on a silent resolve.
The captain continued his debrief as nothing happened, and I turned to look at Selene. She refused to look at me, her face still a delightful shade of mortification.
"I hate you," her voice whispered in my mind, thick with irritation.
I smirked. "I guess you could say I’ve gotten under your skin. Literally."
I don't know what ESP mess I had found myself in, but one thing was certain. This was going to be fun.