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"Don't move."
The gun pressed cold against my ribs before I even saw the guy's face. I froze, half-crouched over the body, the courier's phone still warm in my hand.
"Easy," I said. "I'm just—"
"Shutting up." He stepped closer. Black jacket, no logo, eyes like he'd done this before. "Drop it."
"Drop what?"
"The phone."
I looked down at the dead man between us. Blood pooled under his chest, spreading slow across the alley concrete. He'd been alive two minutes ago. I'd watched him stagger in, clutch the wall, and go down hard.
"He's dead," I said.
"And you're stealing from him."
"I'm calling for help."
"With his phone."
"Mine's out of minutes."
The guy with the gun didn't laugh. He shoved the muzzle harder into my side, right between the ribs where it hurt to breathe. "You know what's on that phone?"
"No."
"Then why'd you take it?"
"Because I'm broke."
That got a reaction. Not a smile. Just a flicker in his eyes, like he was deciding whether to shoot me now or drag it out. I didn't wait to find out. I twisted left, slammed my elbow into his wrist, and ran.
The first shot went wide. The second one didn't.
Pain exploded in my shoulder, hot and sharp, and I hit the alley wall hard enough to crack my teeth together. My knees buckled. The phone slipped, and I caught it with my good hand before it hit the ground.
"Stay down," the guy said. He was walking toward me, gun still raised. "You don't know what you're holding."
"Then tell me."
"No."
I pressed my back against the wall and tried to stand. My shoulder screamed. Blood soaked through my jacket, warm and sticky. "You're gonna kill me either way."
"Probably."
"So what's the difference?"
He stopped three feet away. Close enough that I could see the scar across his jaw, the way his trigger finger didn't shake. "The difference is I make it quick."
"That's your sales pitch?"
"It's the truth."
I looked at the phone in my hand. Black case, cracked screen, no logo. The dead courier had been clutching it like it was worth more than his life. Maybe it was.
My own phone buzzed in my pocket. I knew what it was without looking. The debt notice. The one that pinged every six hours like clockwork, reminding me that my brother owed people I couldn't afford to meet.
"Give it here," the guy said.
"No."
"You want to die over a phone?"
"I want to not die broke."
He raised the gun higher, aimed it right at my face. "Last chance."
I looked him in the eye. "Then take it."
For a second, I thought he'd actually do it. Pull the trigger, take the phone, leave me bleeding out next to the courier like we were both just collateral. But then his eyes flicked past me, toward the mouth of the alley, and his expression changed.
"Move," he said.
"What?"
"Move!"
He grabbed my arm and yanked me sideways, hard enough that I nearly dropped the phone again. The alley exploded with light. Not headlights. Not streetlamps. Something brighter, hotter, like the air itself caught fire.
I hit the ground and covered my head. The light burned through my eyelids, white and searing, and for a second I couldn't hear anything but a high, thin whine that drilled straight into my skull.
Then it stopped.
I opened my eyes. The guy with the gun was gone. The dead courier was gone. The blood on the concrete was gone.
I was still holding the phone.
"What the hell," I said.
The phone buzzed. Not a call. A notification. I turned it over and looked at the screen.
The text was bright green, all caps, no sender:
NINE MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT.
"Nine minutes to what?" I said out loud.
The screen flickered. A voice came through the speaker, dry and crackling like old static.
"To the reset," it said.
"Who is this?"
"Nix. I'm the phone. Well, the AI in the phone. Semantics."
I stared at the screen. The text hadn't changed. "You're joking."
"I don't joke. I'm a productivity assistant. Very serious stuff."
"The guy with the gun just disappeared."
"He didn't disappear. He reset. You reset. The whole city reset."
"Reset to what?"
"Nine minutes ago. You've got eight minutes and forty seconds left before it happens again."
I looked around. The alley was empty. No body. No blood. No man with a gun. Just me, standing in the dark, holding a phone that apparently thought time was a looping joke.
"This is insane," I said.
"Welcome to the pattern," Nix said. "You're stuck in it now."
"Stuck in what?"
"A nine-minute cycle. Every time the timer hits zero, the city snaps back. You'll be right here again. Same alley. Same dead courier. Same guy with a gun."
"Then why do I remember it?"
"Because you're holding me. I'm the anchor. You're the anchor. Together, we're a very dysfunctional anchor system."
My shoulder throbbed. I touched it, expecting blood, but there was nothing. No wound. No pain. Just the memory of it, sharp and fresh.
"I was shot," I said.
"You were. Then you reset. It didn't happen yet. Won't happen for another eight minutes and twelve seconds unless you do something different."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Run faster? Shoot back? Make better life choices?"
I wanted to throw the phone against the wall. But if what Nix said was true, that wouldn't help. I'd just reset, pick it up again, and have the same conversation eight minutes later.
"Who built you?" I asked.
"Classified."
"Why is this happening?"
"Also classified."
"Then what are you good for?"
"Sarcasm, mostly."
My pocket buzzed again. I pulled out my own phone and looked at the screen. Same debt notice. Same timestamp. Same message.
Six hours ago.
Except it wasn't six hours ago. It was nine minutes ago.
"This is real," I said.
"Unfortunately," Nix said.
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and looked at Nix's screen. The timer was counting down. Seven minutes and fifty-three seconds.
"What happens if I don't reset?" I asked.
"You can't not reset. It's automatic. The city loops, you loop, everyone loops. Except you'll remember. That's the fun part."
"And the guy with the gun?"
"He'll remember too."
"Why?"
"Because he's holding something like me. Different hardware, same protocol. You're not the only one anchored."
I looked toward the mouth of the alley. The street was empty. No cars. No people. Just the distant hum of the city, low and constant.
"Where is he now?" I asked.
"Probably looking for you."
"Great."
"You could hide."
"For seven minutes?"
"Six minutes and forty-one seconds."
"Then what?"
"Then it resets, and he finds you anyway. Or you find him. Or you both get shot by someone else. The pattern's got a lot of variables."
I started walking. My legs felt shaky, like the reset had left something loose inside me. I didn't know where I was going. Just away from the alley, away from the spot where the courier had died and I'd almost joined him.
"You said I'm the anchor," I said.
"You're holding me. That makes you the anchor."
"Then what was the courier?"
"The previous anchor. He's dead now. Congratulations on the promotion."
"I didn't ask for this."
"Nobody does. That's kind of the whole tragedy of it."
I turned the corner and stopped. The street ahead was dark. Not empty. Dark. Like someone had flipped a switch and killed every light in the city at once.
"Nix," I said.
"Yeah?"
"What's happening?"
"Timer's at nine minutes to midnight. The reset's early."
"Early?"
"Someone's forcing it. Someone with access to the core protocol."
The darkness spread. It wasn't creeping. It was falling, like a curtain dropping over the skyline, block by block, building by building. I could hear the city dying. The hum cut out. The distant traffic stopped. Even the wind went still.
"Run," Nix said.
"Where?"
"Doesn't matter. Just move."
I ran. My feet hit the pavement hard, and the phone screen glowed bright in my hand, the only light left in the whole city. The timer was at zero.
The world went dark.
And then I was back in the alley, crouched over the courier's body, his phone warm in my hand.
"Don't move."
The gun pressed cold against my ribs.
I looked up. The guy in the black jacket stared down at me, eyes flat and cold. But this time, he wasn't looking at the phone.
He was looking at me.
"You remember," he said.
It wasn't a question.
I didn't answer. I just held the phone tighter and waited for him to pull the trigger.