You wake up in the middle of the street.
There's no memory of how you got there - no past, no context, just the cold pavement beneath your hands.
The air smells like rain, but the roads are dry.
Streetlights flicker. Buildings stretch into the distance, endless and unfamiliar, yet eerily familiar at the same time.
You stand up, heart pounding. There are people walking by, going about their lives like actors in a play. No one looks at you.
Then, you see it.
A letter tucked into your pocket.
The paper is creased, as if you've unfolded it a hundred times before.
The handwriting is yours.
Youarenotreal. Wakeupbeforetheynoticeyou.
A shadow flickers across a glass storefront. You turn—
Thereisnothingthere.
The paper trembles in your hands.
It's your handwriting, but you don't remember writing it. You don't remember anything.
A chill creeps down your spine. You look up. The city stretches endlessly in every direction - silent, massive, unknowable. Neon signs flicker, but their words blur if you try to read them. The people on the sidewalk move like clockwork, walking with empty expressions, their eyes never meeting yours.
You swallow hard. Something is wrong.
The streetlight above you flickers once. Twice.
Then, for just a second, the entire city blinks out.
Darkness.
An abyss.
And then—just as suddenly—the city is back. The buildings stand. The people walk. But something is different.
A woman across the street stops mid-step. Her face is turned away from you, frozen in place like a glitch in a broken video.
Then, her head twists slowly in your direction.
Her eyes are empty. No pupils. No irises. Just black voids staring at you.
The paper in your hand feels heavier now. You lower your gaze to read the last line again.
Wake up before they notice you.
A cold breath curls against your ear. A voice, barely a whisper:
"Too late."
Your pulse slams in your throat. You run.
You don't know where you're going—just away. Away from the frozen people, away from the thing that spoke, away from the city that blinked out of existence and came back wrong.
Buildings stretch higher as you sprint. The alleys are too dark. The streetlights hum with something alive. The pavement feels unstable under your feet, like you're running across something that's barely holding together.
You duck into an alley and press your back against the cold brick, gasping for breath.
The city is quiet.
Too quiet.
You peek around the corner. The streets look normal again. The people are moving like nothing happened. The woman is gone.
Did you imagine it?
You look down at the letter, heart still hammering. But now, there's something new on the page.
Words that weren't there before.
Scrawled in your own handwriting, as if something just wrote them while you were running.
Findtheclocktower.
Your stomach drops.
There are no clocks in this city.
The letter shakes in your hands. The ink looks fresh, as if the words just appeared—as if someone, somewhere, is still writing to you.
Findtheclocktower.
A pit opens in your stomach. There are no clocks in this city. You know that without knowing why. You've never seen one. No watches, no timepieces, no numbers ticking down. Just the eternal dusk, the unchanging streets, the people moving in their endless routine.
But now the city wants you to believe there's a clock tower.
You glance around the street. Everything looks normal. If normal means perfectly wrong.
People walk past without noticing you. They don't blink. They don't acknowledge anything. It's like they're placeholders in a dream—or something pretending to be human.
You swallow hard. There's only one thing to do.
You start walking.
At first, you don't know where you're going. The street names blur when you try to read them. The buildings seem to shift slightly when you're not looking.
But you keep walking. Turning corners. Cutting through alleys. Something tells you to move in a direction you don't understand.
And then—
You see it.
A massive silhouette rising above the rooftops, hidden behind the fog. A clock tower.
Your breath catches in your throat. It shouldn't be there. You've walked this city—there's no way you could've missed it. And yet, there it is. Looming. Waiting.
And the worst part?
The hands on the clock are moving.
You don't know how long it takes to reach it. The streets don't make sense. Some roads loop back on themselves. Some alleys lead somewhere new. But eventually, you stand before the tower's massive doors.
The stone is cold. Ancient. Wrong.
The second your hand touches the door, someone speaks behind you.
"You're not supposed to be here."
You spin.
A man stands at the base of the stairs, watching you. He's dressed like everyone else—plain clothes, neutral face—but there's something off about him. He isn't moving like the others. He's aware.
You grip the letter tighter. "Who are you?"
The man exhales slowly. "You don't remember me, do you?"
Your chest tightens. "Should I?"
His expression darkens. He steps closer, lowering his voice. "Listen carefully.** If you go inside that tower, you'll start to remember. But if you do—"** He stops, glancing around as if someone is listening. His voice drops to a whisper.
"They will notice you."
A shadow flickers at the edge of the street.
You turn—
And the city blinks out again.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for something to change.
Darkness. Nothingness.
Then, just as suddenly, it's back.
But something has changed.
The air feels heavier. The streets seem… stretched, like they were pulled apart and stitched back together wrong. The neon signs no longer flicker. The distant hum of the city is gone.
The man in front of you stiffens. His head tilts, just slightly, like he's listening to something you can't hear.
Then, in a low whisper, he says:
"They noticed you."
Your pulse slams in your throat.
A shadow shifts at the edge of the street. Not a person—something else. Something tall, watching from just outside your field of vision. Your breath catches, but before you can react—
The man grabs your arm.
"Inside. Now."
He shoves the tower doors open and pulls you in just as the city blinks out again.
Inside the Clock Tower
The doors slam shut behind you. The sound echoes wrong. Like it's traveling through something deeper than just an empty room.
You stumble back, catching your breath. The man releases you and locks the door. You're in a massive chamber—dusty wooden floors, spiraling iron staircases, and walls covered in gears, wires, and strange, glowing runes.
But at the very top, where the clock face should be—
There's nothing but an empty void.
A circular window into absolute blackness.
And yet, the clock's hands are still moving.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The sound makes your skull ache. Like it's counting down.
You turn to the man, pulse racing. "What the hell is this place?"
He watches you carefully. His expression unreadable.
"You don't remember."
You grip the letter in your pocket. "Why do people keep saying that?"
"Because you've been here before."
The words hit you like a knife to the chest. Something inside you resists them. Your mind screams no, but your body—your instincts—already know it's true.
Something familiar about this place. About him.
Your gaze flickers to the stairs. The higher levels of the tower feel like they're waiting for you.
The man follows your glance, then sighs. "If you want answers, you have to go up. But if you do—" His eyes darken.
"You'll start to remember what you were before this city."
A chill cuts through you.
Before the city?
That implies you weren't always here.
That implies you had a life before this.
That implies…
That the city is hiding something from you.
Your heartbeat pounds. Your choices are clear:
1. Go up the stairs and uncover what the city wants you to forget.
2. Stay and question the man - who is he? Why does he remember you?
3. Ignore it all and escape - if escaping is even possible.
The ticking grows louder.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
And for the first time since you woke up here—
You see something move inside the black void where the clock should be.