5025, The Future?

The sunglasses felt heavier than they should.

Chris turned them over in his hands, running his fingers along the sleek, matte black frame. They were cool to the touch—too cool, almost like metal that had been left in the freezer. There were no visible logos, no scratches, no wear and tear. They didn't belong here, not in some dusty back corner of an old gaming lounge.

He hesitated.

Something about these shades felt… off.

A small pulse echoed in the back of his mind, a faint hum, like a whisper just outside the range of hearing.

Chris exhaled through his nose. Maybe Ricky was right. Maybe there was nothing back here but dust and bad decisions.

But his fingers had already curled around the frame. And something told him that letting go wasn't an option anymore.

With a shrug, he slid the sunglasses onto his face.

And the world collapsed.

The moment the lenses settled over his eyes, reality itself ripped apart.

A sudden pressure crashed down on his chest, like he had just been launched into orbit without a spacesuit. His vision fractured into countless reflections of himself, like looking into a broken mirror. Colors bled together, neon streaks twisting and turning in ways that defied physics.

And then—the noise.

A thousand overlapping voices, electronic screams, distorted words that had no meaning but felt like commands issued from something far beyond human comprehension.

[ERROR.

TEMPORAL EVENT DETECTED.

DISPLACEMENT IN PROGRESS.]

Chris barely had time to register the words flashing across his vision before his stomach lurched, his body weightless for a single moment. Then the world snapped back into place. Chris landed hard. Too hard.

He hit something solid, momentum carrying him forward, crashing through metal crates before rolling onto an unfamiliar floor.

Pain shot through his back, but it was dulled—like his body hadn't fully caught up with what had just happened. He groaned, pressing his palms to the cold ground and pushing himself up.

This wasn't Chicago.

His surroundings were dimly lit, the walls made of dark steel with glowing blue lines running through them. The air was sterile, with a faint metallic scent, like a hospital but worse. The ground beneath him wasn't concrete—it was some kind of reinforced alloy, smooth but carrying a faint vibration.

A single thought echoed in his head.

Where the hell am I?

He staggered to his feet, head still spinning. That was not a normal trip. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, no idea how far he had gone.

And then—the HUD appeared.

A thin blue interface flickered to life in his vision, hovering just beyond his line of sight. Data scrolled across the screen, feeding him information he didn't ask for.

Chris cocked a brow as his breathing became slow as he took in the messages appearing before him.

[SYSTEM BOOTING…]

[USER IDENTIFIED: CHRISTOPHER CROSS]

[SUIT SYNCHRONIZATION: 100%]

[WELCOME, PILOT.]

Pilot? Chris' stomach dropped. That sounded… responsible. And he was not responsible in the slightest bit. It was simply too much pressure.

Before he could even process what was happening, a voice—deep, mechanical, and a bit aggressive—spoke directly into his mind.

"PRIMARY SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE. ACCESSING PILOT'S NEURAL NETWORK ENVIRONMENT."

Chris flinched. His hands went to his ears instinctively, but there were no earpieces, no speakers.

The voice was inside his head.

"ERROR. ENVIRONMENT UNKNOWN. ADJUSTING TACTICAL RESPONSE PARAMETERS."

Chris' fingers curled into fists. "Who the hell is talking?!"

There was a brief pause before the voice responded.

"DESIGNATION: RAPID ASSAULT GUARDIAN ENTITY. R.A.G.E., FOR SHORT."

Chris blinked.

"Nah." He shook his head. Dismayed that the whatever was in his head talked back. "Nope. That's not real. I'm just concussed. Or hallucinating. Or—"

"HALLUCINATIONS DO NOT HAVE HIGH-YIELD INCENDIARY OPTIONS. WOULD YOU LIKE TO DEPLOY EXPLOSIVES?"

Chris froze. Explosives?

"WHAT."

"CONFIRMING TARGETS. NO IMMEDIATE THREATS DETECTED. SETTING EXPLOSIVE READINESS TO STANDBY."

"No, no, no, no. Don't deploy any bombs. What the f*cl is wrong with me right now?" Chris ran a hand down his face. "What the actual hell is happening?"

Deep breath. Think.

One, he found weird sunglasses and put them on. Two, reality ripped apart. Three, he woke up in some high-tech, unknown place that's possibly a storage facility thanks to the crates and boxes stacked neatly to the sides.

And lastly, there was an A.I. war machine talking in his head. Or maybe it was a demon. Who knows?

Maybe, just maybe, this was his second personality, developed after the ordeal he'd just endured and that was the only way to cope.

Chris reached up, trying to yank the sunglasses off—except his fingers didn't find them.

Instead, they touched cold, reinforced plating. He wasn't wearing sunglasses anymore. Now, those sunglasses were replaced by a suit. A high-tech, full-body combat frame, smooth and seamless, wrapped around him like a second skin. He hadn't even noticed it at first, but now that he had, he could feel the texture of it.

Chris swallowed hard. "Hey. R.A.G.E., or whatever your name is, wanna explain what the hell I'm wearing?"

The A.I. responded instantly. Almost cheery that this human was not freaking out like his calculations suggested he would.

"YOU ARE CURRENTLY EQUIPPED WITH A MARK-10 OMEGA FRAME. PROTOTYPE STATUS. HIGHLY ADVANCED. NO LONGER IN PRODUCTION."

"Prototype?" Chris repeated, his brain scrambling to process. "Prototype from where? Is this some sort of black technology the government has been working on?"

Chris asked, his mind working overtime. Then, a sudden thought crossed his mind. "What if this is a conspiracy? What if I wasn't meant to have these but someone else instead? And my going to the game lounge was a disruption in plans. So, to get me to shut my mouth, they kidnapped—"

R.A.G.E. interrupts Chris's nonsensical thoughts.

"ARE YOU PERHAPS AN IDIOT? DID I CHOOSE THE WRONG PILOT? YOU ARE CURRENTLY WEARING ME, RAPID ASSAULT GUARDIAN ENTITY. WE ARE NOT IN SOME SECRET GOVERNMENTAL FACILITY. WE ARE—"

Chris cut him off. "Okay, hold on, back up. Where are we?"

R.A.G.E. paused.

Then, almost begrudgingly, the AI responded.

"…UNKNOWN."

Chris frowned. "What do you mean 'unknown'? You don't know where we are?"

"INITIAL LOCATION CALCULATIONS ESTIMATED TEMPORAL DISPLACEMENT TO THE YEAR 4025. HOWEVER, AFTER ATTEMPTING TO ACCESS NETWORKS FOR MORE ACCURATE DATA… THAT ESTIMATION WAS INCORRECT."

Chris felt a cold chill run down his spine.

"…How wrong?"

There was a brief silence. Then, R.A.G.E. answered.

"CURRENT CONFIRMED YEAR: 5025."

Chris's brain short-circuited.

"…Five-thousand and twenty-five?" he repeated, voice almost too calm.

Chris stared at nothing. He could hear the faint hum of electricity in the walls, the distant sound of machinery whirring in some unknown part of the facility. But his brain?

His brain was completely empty.

Five-thousand twenty-five.

That was three thousand years into the future. Not a hundred years. Not even a thousand.

Three thousand.

Chris swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "R.A.G.E.… tell me you're joking."

"DOES THIS UNIT SOUND LIKE IT ENGAGES IN HUMOR?"

Chris rubbed his face. "I dunno, man, maybe this is some elaborate prank? Maybe I'm actually just really high right now?"

"DRUG INDUCED HALLUCINATIONS DO NOT ALTER THE FLOW OF TIME."

Chris let out a long, slow exhale. "Okay. Okay, sure. I've traveled three thousand years into the future. That's fine. Totally fine."

It was not fine.

"PROCESSING PSYCHOLOGICAL DISTRESS. CONCLUSION: YOU ARE BITCHING."

Chris snapped. "Oh, wow, thanks, man! So glad you care. Stupid machine!" He paused as he picks up a sound.

A loud hissing noise interrupted his breakdown.

Chris' head snapped up as a nearby door slid open, revealing a corridor bathed in bright white-blue light. Multiple sets footsteps sounded within the space where Chris currently was, approaching steadily. Chris took a step back while screaming inside.

"R.A.G.E.," he whispered. "You got any useful intel on this situation?"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

Chris waited.

Nothing.

"…Well?" he hissed.

"CURRENTLY CONDUCTING ENEMY ASSESSMENT. THREAT RESPONSE PRIORITY: EXTREME PREJUDICE. LOADING EXPLOSIVE: NAPALM TWISTER 44."

Chris was aghast. What the hell was wrong with this AI and it's wanting to blow stuff up? "Hey, hey, no extreme prejudice! Stand down! No twisting sh*t either! We can't go to jail in the year 5025."

A brief pause.

"STANDING BY. FOR NOW."

Chris clenched his jaw as the footsteps grew louder within the suit's audio feedback speakers.

Wherever he or she is, they're coming and there was not just one.