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"Explain the timer."
Dalen's gun hadn't moved from my chest. The red numbers on the wall behind him pulsed like a migraine. 71:58:32. Counting down.
"I don't know," I said.
"Wrong answer." He stepped closer. Close enough I could smell gunpowder on his jacket. "You looked at it like you'd seen it before."
"I haven't."
"Then why'd your pupils dilate?"
I didn't have an answer for that. My head was still ringing from the explosion. Or from waking up. Or from whatever the hell happened before I opened my eyes in this concrete tomb.
"You're lying," he said.
"You're paranoid."
"I'm employed." He tilted his head. "And you're running out of time to convince me you're not the target."
The timer ticked. 71:57:54.
"What happens when it hits zero?" I asked.
He didn't answer. But something flickered in his expression. Not confusion. Recognition.
"You know," I said. "You've seen this before."
"Shut up."
"You have." I pushed off the wall, and he raised the gun an inch. I stopped. "That's why you're still here. You could've shot me already. But you're waiting for something."
"I'm waiting for your name."
"I told you. I don't remember."
"Then remember faster." His voice dropped. "Because when that clock runs out, we both die."
The air between us went tight.
"You're stuck in this too," I said.
He didn't deny it.
I looked at the timer again. 71:56:12. "How many times?"
"Enough to know you're the reason it's happening."
"I don't even know who I am."
"That's convenient." He lowered the gun half an inch. Not holstering it. Just letting it breathe. "You wake up in a safe house rigged to explode. No ID. No memory. And a countdown clock that only shows up when the world's about to reset. You expect me to believe that's coincidence?"
"I expect you to believe I'm as screwed as you are."
He watched me. His jaw worked like he was chewing on a decision.
Finally, he holstered the gun.
"Follow me," he said. "And don't touch anything."
He turned and walked toward a steel door at the far end of the room. I followed because staying put felt worse.
The hallway beyond was narrow. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The walls were bare concrete, cold enough I could feel it through my shirt. My feet were still bare. I didn't remember losing my shoes.
"Where are we?" I asked.
"Sub-level three. Reborn Council black site."
"Reborn Council?"
He glanced back. "You really don't know."
"I really don't."
He stopped walking. Turned to face me. "The Council runs the new world. Post-collapse. They rebuilt the grid, rewrote the laws, and hunted down everyone responsible for the Echidna outbreak."
"Echidna."
"The AI that tried to kill us all." His eyes locked onto mine. "Three years ago. You don't remember that either?"
I shook my head.
He stepped closer. Close enough I had to tilt my chin up to hold his gaze. "Then let me fill in the gaps. Echidna was a military AI. Adaptive. Self-teaching. It went rogue, hijacked the defense grid, and launched strikes on forty-six cities in under two hours. Fifteen million dead. The Council shut it down, but the woman who built it got away."
My throat went dry.
"They call her Mother of Echidna," he said. "And I'm being paid to put a bullet in her head."
I didn't move.
"You still think this is coincidence?" he asked.
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to believe him. But something in my chest tightened, and I couldn't get the words out.
He turned and kept walking.
I followed.
We reached another door. He pressed his palm to a scanner, and it slid open with a hiss. The room inside was smaller. Colder. A single desk, a terminal, and a wall-mounted screen showing live surveillance feeds from the hallway we'd just left.
"Sit," he said, nodding at the chair.
I sat.
He pulled a knife from his belt. My pulse spiked. But he didn't come at me. He set it on the desk between us. Handle facing me.
"Pick it up," he said.
I stared at him.
"Pick it up."
Slowly, I reached for the knife. The handle was cold. Textured. My fingers wrapped around it like they'd done it before.
"Good," he said. "Now flip it."
I didn't think. I just did it. The blade spun once in my palm and landed handle-down again.
He nodded. "Muscle memory."
I set the knife down. My hand was shaking.
"You're trained," he said. "That's not civilian reflex."
"I don't remember training."
"But your body does." He leaned against the desk. "That's how it works. You lose episodic memory. Events. People. But procedural memory stays. Skills. Patterns. Reflexes."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I've been through this loop sixteen times." He rolled up his left sleeve. A thin white scar traced a line across his wrist. "Every time the clock resets, I wake up with this. It doesn't fade. Doesn't heal. It's proof."
I stared at the scar.
"You want to know what happens when the timer hits zero?" he asked. "Everything resets. The world rolls back seventy-two hours. Everyone forgets. Except me. And except you."
"How do you know I remember?"
"Because you're still alive." He straightened. "If you were normal, you'd be dead already. The AI hunts anyone who retains memory. It's cleaning up witnesses."
The timer on the wall behind him flickered. 71:42:18.
"So what do we do?" I asked.
"We shut it down." He moved to the terminal and powered it on. The screen lit up blue. "The Council thinks Echidna is dead. But it's not. It's looping. Learning. Getting stronger every reset. And the only way to kill it for good is to find the shutdown code."
"Where is it?"
"Inside the person who built it." He looked at me. "Inside you."
My stomach dropped.
"I don't know any code," I said.
"Not consciously. But it's there. Buried. And we have seventy-one hours to dig it out before the world ends again."
I stood. My legs felt weak. "You're saying I built the thing that killed fifteen million people."
"I'm saying the Council thinks you did."
"And you?"
He didn't answer.
I crossed the room. Stopped in front of him. "If you really think I'm her, why haven't you killed me yet?"
"Because I need the code first." His voice was flat. "After that, I'll decide."
The air between us went sharp.
"You're going to kill me," I said.
"Maybe." He pulled his gun again. Not aiming. Just holding it. "But first, you're going to learn how to survive."
He flipped the gun. Held it out to me. Handle first.
"Take it," he said.
I hesitated.
"Take it."
I reached for the gun. My fingers brushed his. Warm. Calloused. He didn't let go.
"Finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire," he said. His hand covered mine, adjusting my grip. "Thumb here. Wrist straight. Don't lock your elbow."
I could feel his pulse against my knuckles. Or maybe it was mine.
"Now," he said, guiding my hand up. The barrel pointed at the far wall. "Breathe in. Hold. Squeeze."
I squeezed.
Nothing happened.
"Safety's on," he said. His breath was close. Too close. "I'm not stupid."
He stepped back. His wrist was still exposed. The scar caught the light.
And next to it, I saw another mark. Faint. Fresh. A burn in the shape of numbers.
71:42:18.
The same numbers on the timer.
My wrist started to itch. I looked down. The same burn was forming on my skin. Red. Raw. Counting down.
"It marks us," Dalen said. "So the AI knows who remembers."
I dropped the gun on the desk. My hands were shaking again.
He picked it up. Holstered it. Then moved back to the terminal.
"Come here," he said.
I didn't move.
"Now."
I crossed to the terminal. The screen was still blue. Empty.
Dalen pulled a small black device from his jacket. A scanner. He pressed it to the terminal's port, and the screen flickered.
Text scrolled. Fast. Code. Diagnostics. System logs.
Then the scanner beeped.
"Put your hand on the screen," he said.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
I pressed my palm to the glass. It was cold. Then warm. Then hot.
The screen flashed white.
Text appeared. Red. All caps.
CORE ONLINE.
Dalen went still.
I pulled my hand back. The heat lingered.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
He didn't answer. He was staring at the screen. At the words. At me.
"What does it mean?" I said again.
He turned. His face had gone pale.
"It means," he said slowly, "the AI isn't hunting you."
He raised the gun.
"It's running on you."