Beep! Beep! Beep!
I rolled over, groaning as the alarm drilled into my skull. 06:00.
Still too early. But not early enough to ignore.
I smacked the clock quiet and sat up with a sigh.
"Guess I have to go to work," I muttered, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
A rushed bite of toast and coffee later, I was out the door. The sun had already crept up, and traffic was surprisingly light — a rare win.
I pulled into the lot and stepped through the glass door of Winston's Workshop, the same way I had for the past year.
07:00.
Right on time.
Nice.
I strolled up to the front desk.
"Morning, Sherry. Any tough customers today?"
She looked up from her monitor with the enthusiasm of a wet sponge.
"Yep. And now he's your problem."
Before I could respond, she stood, grabbed her purse, and made for the door.
"Good luck, Kairo," she called over her shoulder. "He's a real piece of work."
The bell above the door jingled as she disappeared.
I blinked. "…Cool."
Dropping my bag behind the counter, I made my way toward the workshop floor.
The familiar smell of sawdust and machine oil hit me the moment I opened the door.
Electric drills whirred. Saw blades spun. Sparks flew from a corner polisher.
Three rows of five workbenches stood in formation like workhorses — worn, but ready.
A few regulars were already hunched over their projects, deep in concentration.
As safety manager, my job was basically that of a glorified lifeguard. I walked around telling people to shut off saws, wear gloves, and not treat live wires like toys.
Not glamorous. But it paid the bills.
And more importantly, I got two free hours of workshop time every day.
That was enough.
"Hey, Mr. Veldt!"
I turned to see Silas, one of the regulars — average build, late thirties, black hair, about 170 centimeters tall. He waved a gloved hand at me.
"Hey Silas. What's up?"
"Not much," he said, smiling. "Just wondering if you'd wanna help out with a little project I've been messing around with."
A grin crept across my face.
"Sure, I'd lo—"
I stopped mid-sentence.
Winston stood directly behind Silas, arms crossed, looking like someone had just sanded his soul the wrong way.
"—oooove to do it when I'm off shift," I finished, forcing a chuckle.
Silas winced sympathetically and stepped aside. Winston didn't say a word. He didn't have to.
I kept moving through the shop, half-listening to Winston bark something about power cords.
Same old Winston.
I turned a corner, heading toward the back of the workshop — the part no one used much. Dust-coated shelves. Bent nails. A half-broken band saw humming to itself like it wanted to be put out of its misery.
That's when I saw it.
One of the benches — my favorite one — had a crack running across the top I didn't remember.
Weird… That wasn't there yesterday.
I ran my fingers over the wood. Dry. Splintered. Like it had aged a decade overnight.
Then—
CRACK.
Something snapped behind me. Loud. Sharp. Like a board splitting under pressure. I turned, but nothing was there.
And then—
A splash. Cold. Violent.
Water.
I staggered backward, soaked. Someone had thrown it, maybe. Some prank.
"Seriously?!" I wiped my eyes, blinking through the sting. "What the hell—?"
My vision swam.
Not from the water.
The lights above me flickered. My hands — once steady — trembled like I hadn't eaten in days. My heartbeat kicked. Too loud. Too fast.
The workshop floor warped under my boots.
Why… does the air feel heavy?
One of the saws began to hum again — slowly at first, then rising in pitch like a siren. No one moved. No one spoke. Silas was still across the room, frozen mid-laugh. His eyes were glassy. His mouth open, unmoving.
I tried to speak, but the words never left my mouth.
The world unraveled in silence.
One by one, the lights blinked out. My hands trembled around the chisel I didn't remember picking up.
The machines. The benches. Even my name began to blur.
Then came the whisper.
Not from the air. Not from outside.
From somewhere deeper.
Create.
And then—
Nothing.