I sat on the edge of the bed, hands pressed into the mattress, breathing slowly until my thoughts stopped racing.
Inside my mind, I reached for them.
Can we… I asked quietly.
Can we save ourselves?
Their presence stirred — attentive, focused.
You’re thinking about that night, one of them said.
About your mother, the other added.
“Yes,” I replied silently.
About all of us.
The room felt smaller suddenly — not suffocating, just intimate — like it was waiting for a decision.
With this power, I continued, is it possible to stop them before anything happens?
They didn’t answer right away.
I felt them thinking — not guessing, not hoping — analyzing.
Direct confrontation isn’t necessary, one of them said at last.
And it carries unnecessary risk, the other agreed.
That was enough.
A thought formed — sharp, simple, terrifying in its clarity.
What if we don’t fight them at all?
I said.
Their attention sharpened instantly.
What are you thinking?
I closed my eyes.
What if we teleport them, I said slowly.
Not away… but somewhere they can’t escape from?
Images surfaced in my mind.
Bright lights.
Open doors.
Uniforms.
Cameras.
A police station, I finished.
Silence followed — not rejection, not fear.
Calculation.
In theory, one of them said carefully, the spatial transfer function could do that.
But there are limits, the other warned.
Distance.
Targeting.
Energy.
I nodded slightly, even though they couldn’t see it.
I know, I replied.
That’s why we don’t do it recklessly.
I opened my eyes and looked around the room, grounding myself in what was real.
If we can move ourselves, I said, then we can move others.
If we can convert matter into energy, I continued, then we can reposition it.
Another pause.
Then—
It could work, one of them said.
If the conditions are right, the other added.
My heart beat faster — not with fear, but with something steadier.
Hope.
Then we don’t change fate by force, I thought.
We change it by removing the danger.
I exhaled slowly.
No blood, I said.
No confrontation.
Just relocation.
The presence in my mind settled, heavier now — more serious.
If you choose this, they said together, then timing will matter.
I nodded to myself.
“I know,” I whispered aloud.
For the first time since everything began, the path forward didn’t feel impossible.
It felt precise.
The room grew colder.
Inside my head, their presence shifted — more cautious now.
Moving people like that… one of them said carefully, would require far more energy.
And it would leave traces, the other added.
I clenched my fists.
“What if they don’t come for us?” I whispered.
“What if they never intended to hurt us this time?”
Silence.
I swallowed.
“And if we send them to a police station…” I continued, my voice quieter now, heavier,
“what would they even be arrested for?”
They hadn’t done anything yet.
Not in this loop.
The thought pressed down on my chest.
“But I remember,” I said.
My voice trembled — not with fear, but with certainty.
“I remember what they did to us.”
What they will do.
The images surfaced in my mind — fragmented, incomplete — but heavy enough to hurt.
I took a slow breath.
Then the thought came.
Dark.
Sharp.
Unwanted.
“What if…” I began, then stopped.
My throat tightened.
“What if we didn’t move them?” I whispered.
The silence inside my head turned tense.
“What if…” I forced the words out, my voice low and unsteady,
“…we converted them into energy?”
For the sake of the world.
For safety.
For prevention.
The moment the thought fully formed, something inside me recoiled.
The power in my chest reacted — not eagerly, but in resistance.
That’s not relocation, one of them said quietly.
That’s erasure, the other finished.
I felt sick.
My hands shook as I pressed them against my knees.
“I know,” I said.
“I know.”
A soft laugh escaped me — hollow, broken.
“I can hear how wrong that sounds.”
I stared at the floor, my voice barely above a whisper.
“If I choose that path,” I said, “then I’m not saving anyone.”
I swallowed hard.
“I’m deciding who deserves to exist.”
The room remained silent.
Not judgment.
Not approval.
Just truth.
I closed my eyes.
“No,” I said at last.
“I won’t do that.”
The power inside me settled — heavy, restrained, relieved.
“Saving the world,” I whispered,
“can’t start with becoming something worse than the danger.”
Inside my mind, they didn’t argue.
They didn’t need to.
I stood slowly.
The room felt different now — quieter, as if it were listening.
I reached out with the weapon, not firing it, not forcing it — just feeling.
The faint traces left behind by what had been converted earlier responded immediately.
Energy gathered.
Not violently.
Not greedily.
It returned the way a tide does — patient, inevitable.
The gun warmed in my hands. New chapters come out on g.com first.
Inside my mind, their voices sharpened.
Something just changed, one of them said.
Another function unlocked, the other confirmed.
But this one…
They hesitated.
It needs more energy than teleportation.
My grip tightened.
“How much more?” I asked.
A lot, they answered honestly.
I didn’t look away.
“Let’s try,” I said.
There was no excitement in my voice.
Only resolve.
They guided me carefully.
Don’t aim forward, one of them instructed.
Upward, the other added.
Into open space.
I raised the weapon toward the ceiling.
No targeting.
No hostility.
I pressed the trigger.
There was no sound.
No flash.
Nothing happened.
For a moment, I thought it had failed.
Then—
The room felt wrong.
Not broken.
Paused.
I frowned, scanning the space — the curtains, the dust in the air, the faint light near the window.
And then I saw it.
On one side of the room, a thin line — barely visible — where motion simply stopped.
Dust hung suspended.
Light refused to shift.
Sound did not pass through.
Time itself had frozen — but only partially.
Only within a narrow boundary.
My breath caught.
“…That’s—” I whispered.
Temporal restriction, one of them said quietly.
Localized, the other added.
Very small.
I lowered the gun slowly, my heart pounding.
“If it can do this,” I murmured, staring at the frozen edge of reality,
“with this little energy…”
I swallowed.
“…then I can’t even imagine what it truly does at full power.”
The frozen space didn’t crack.
It didn’t resist.
It simply existed — waiting.
The gun in my hands felt heavier now.
Not because of its weight.
But because of what it represented.
I hadn’t stopped time.
I had touched it.
And time had responded.
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