Liam's heart raced as he stumbled back into the familiar confines of his lab. The flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow over the chaos he had left just moments ago—or so he thought. One minute, he was hurtling through a vortex of time, grappling with the enormity of his recent adventure; the next, he crashed onto the cold, sterile floor of his workplace.
The whir of machinery filled his ears, yet it felt wrong, like an echo of tension that undercut the whizzing sounds of his instruments. Groaning, he pushed himself up from the ground to find the lab in disarray—papers strewn across the floor, beakers knocked over, and the unmistakable remnants of an incident gone haywire. Panic bubbled up within him as he remembered: the uncontrolled pulse of energy, the blinding light, and then—darkness.
The transition back to reality was violent.
One moment, Liam was standing in the Archive's obsidian halls, the weight of cosmic knowledge still humming in his veins. The next—
"CRASH!!!!"
Glass exploded outward as Liam Thane rematerialized directly through the institute's holographic display array. The reinforced projector table buckled under the sudden impact, sending shards of tempered glass skittering across the lab floor like crystalline hail. Emergency alarms blared to life, their shrill wail cutting through the sterile air as sprinklers rained down in response to non-existent flames.
Liam groaned, rolling onto his back amidst the wreckage. His vision swam, the overhead fluorescents strobing like dying stars. The scent of burnt circuitry and ozone filled his nostrils—along with something coppery. He touched his nose. Blood.
Of course. The Archive's toll for re-entry.
Then came the footsteps.
Fast. Angry.
"fuck jeez—!"
Liam knew that voice. Dr. Linda Cho, Head of Temporal Physics. He turned his head just in time to see her skid to a halt at the lab's shattered doorway, her crisp white lab coat flaring behind her. Her dark eyes, usually sharp with calculation, were wide with something Liam had never seen in them before: real fear.
Behind her, two security guards fumbled for their tasers.
"Thane?" Linda's voice cracked. "What the hell—?"
Liam tried to sit up. His ribs screamed in protest. "I can explain—"
"!" A voice rang out, sharp and accusing. It was Linda, his supervisor, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She stood at the entrance, flanked by two security guards. Their faces were unreadable, but the disappointment in Linda's eyes was palpable.
"I can explain!" he stammered, taking a step forward, desperation clawing at his throat.
"Can you?" She arched an eyebrow, the tension thickening between them. "You've caused a significant amount of damage to company property. The beakers alone are going to set us back months. Do you realize that?"
He swallowed hard, guilt washing over him like a cold shower. "I... I didn't mean to. I was trying to—"
"Trying to what?" Linda shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You've ruined our most important experiments because of your reckless ambitions! Do you understand what this means?"
Ethan raked a hand through his disheveled hair. Reality crashed down on him as the gravity of the situation settled in. He was in trouble—serious trouble. And even worse, his reckless quest for understanding time could cost him everything: his job, his reputation, a future he had painstakingly built.
"What about the projects we've already pitched to investors?" His voice trembled as the fury of his failure clawed at him. "The time dilation research, the potential… It could change the world!"
"Change the world?" Linda echoed, her tone biting, "You're living in a dream, ! We're not here to fulfill your fantasies. We're running a company. Your experiments were supposed to be controlled, predictable. Now look where that's gotten us!"
He fought against the swell of regret that pressed against his chest, tearing at the last shreds of hope. Panic began to bloom as he looked at the monitors of the failing experiments, realizing they represented not just his work, but a chunk of his identity.
"I… I'll fix it," he pleaded, desperation leaking into his voice. "Just give me another chance. I can make it right. I can prove that this is worth it!"
Linda turned her gaze away, shaking her head. "This is not about another chance, It's about responsibility. You've endangered our credibility. We can't afford to let you continue working here after this."
The words hit him like a punch, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, fighting back the swell of emotion threatening to boil over. His world was crashing down around him, and he felt helpless, unraveling as he processed the magnitude of his failure.
"Liam Thane," Linda continued, softer now, but her eyes were firm, "you're fired."
A hollow sensation tightened in his chest. "Fired…" he repeated, the word feeling heavy on his tongue.
He took a step backward, as if retreating physically could shield him from the emotional storm that raged within. His mind surged with memories—hours spent in this lab, camaraderie with co-workers, the thrill of discoveries unfolding before him. And now, it was all slipping through his fingers like sand, leaving behind an aching emptiness.
"Pack your things," she instructed coldly, motioning to the guards, who stepped forward, not as protectors, but as enforcers of his defeat.
As he turned away from Linda and her suffocating disappointment, the world narrowed to the mess he had made. Each step toward his desk felt heavier than the last, laden with the weight of lost dreams and unrealized potential. He grabbed a box and began to clear his workspace, memories flooding back; the camaraderie, the late nights fueled by coffee and ambition, and the simple joy of discovery. All gone.
Defeat coursed through him, stinging like a bitter shadow. He had thought he was on the cusp of greatness, but here he stood, with a shattered future looming over him. Would anyone believe his tale of time travel and cosmic truths now? Or would he simply be remembered as the reckless scientist who blew up his career?
Liam stared at the remnants of his work, a barren reflection of his hopes now stripped bare. He felt like a ghost caught between worlds—lost, abandoned, and desperately alone.