Chapter 5 : How Many Star Candidates…

Shit. Shit shit shit.

I scramble to my feet, nearly knocking over a tower of soup cans. The eastern corridor means he's not following his usual path. Which means either something's wrong, or...

Or he knows.

"HEART RATE ELEVATED. CORTISOL LEVELS SPIKING. RECOMMENDED ACTION: REMAIN CALM."

"Really helpful, thanks," I hiss, frantically looking for somewhere to hide.

The vault's organized now, too organized. No convenient piles of boxes to duck behind.

But I am supposed to make sure nobody see the boxes too.

"TACTICAL ANALYSIS: PRIMARY EXIT COMPROMISED. SECONDARY ROUTES AVAILABLE: 2"

My eyes dart around the vault. Secondary routes? What secondary…

Oh.

The maintenance shaft.

It's barely big enough for a person, and it probably hasn't been used since the bank was built, but it connects to the old pneumatic tube system. I found it before I died while mapping out emergency exits. (How did I forget about it).

"FOOTSTEPS DETECTED: 30 METERS AND APPROACHING."

I lock this volt and dive for the maintenance panel, fingers scrambling at the edges. Come on, come on...

"LIFTING DETECTED: 4.7 KG. STRENGTH MILDLY.."

"Not now!" I whisper-shout, finally prying the panel loose.

The shaft beyond is dark and probably full of spiders, but beggars can't be choosers when running from suspicious security guards.

"SUBJECT LOCATION: 15 METERS."

I squeeze into the shaft, pulling the panel closed behind me.

Dust immediately tries to murder me, and I fight back a sneeze that would definitely blow my cover.

"CURRENT POSITION: SUBOPTIMAL FOR SPINAL HEALTH."

I would roll my eyes if I wasn't too busy holding my breath. Through the gaps in the panel, I can see flashlight beams dancing across the vault door.

Mr. Harris's footsteps echo in the vault, slow and deliberate. Not his usual brisk security walk. He's looking for something.

Looking for me.

"PROBABILITY OF DETECTION: 17.6% AND RISING."

The flashlight beam sweeps closer to my hiding spot. I press myself further back into the shaft, ignoring the cobwebs catching in my hair.

Not now.

Not when I've come so far.

"Hello?" Mr. Harris's voice carries in the underground's acoustics. "Anyone down here?"

"RECOMMENDED ACTION: MAINTAIN CURRENT POSITION."

For once, I completely agree with the system.

I stay frozen, barely breathing, as Mr. Harris's footsteps move around the vault.

I can hear him pausing, probably trying to open the vault… because even though he can't see the neat rows of supplies in the vault, I definitely can smell it.

What's going through his head?

Does he think it's theft?

Some kind of strange hoarding situation?

If he only knew what was coming...

"ATTENTION: TEMPORAL ANOMALY DETECTED."

My blood runs cold. No. Not now. Not here.

The golden symbols start swirling frantically, casting weird shadows through the maintenance panel.

Please don't let him see, please don't..

"What the hell is that light?"

Well, shit.

The golden light's getting brighter, seeping through every crack in the maintenance panel like some kind of supernatural spotlight.

Because apparently, the universe decided this situation wasn't complicated enough.

"TEMPORAL ANOMALY INTENSIFYING. CANDIDATE INTERACTION IMMINENT."

"Shut up shut up shut up," I whisper, trying to scoot further back in the shaft.

My elbow hits something that feels suspiciously like a rat's nest, but right now, that's the least of my problems.

Mr. Harris's flashlight beam sweeps across the panel again.

"I can see that light. Someone's down here!"

"ANALYZING OPTIONS... RECOMMENDED ACTION: TACTICAL RETREAT."

Oh yeah? And how exactly am I supposed to..

The shaft behind me suddenly fills with the same golden light. Symbols I've never seen before start appearing, spinning like some kind of mystical combination lock.

"EMERGENCY PROTOCOL INITIATED. PREPARE FOR TEMPORAL SHIFT."

"Prepare for what now?"

The world lurches sideways. My stomach does a backflip as reality goes all funhouse mirror around me.

For a second, I swear I can see through the walls of the shaft… see Mr. Harris standing in front of the vault, see the whole bank laid out like a cross-section diagram, see...

See another person, glowing with the same golden light, running through the bank's main lobby.

"CANDIDATE DETECTED: MILLER - SHADOW CANDIDATE 0047"

Everything snaps back to normal so fast I almost throw up.

The golden light dims to its usual subtle glow, leaving me in darkness again. But now I can hear...

"Who's there?" Mr. Harris's voice, but from... above me?

I look up through a grate I swear wasn't there before.

I'm in a different part of the maintenance system.

Somehow, the Cherub System just... moved me?

"SPATIAL RELOCATION SUCCESSFUL. NEW POSITION: MAINTENANCE SHAFT LEVEL 2."

"A little warning next time?" I hiss, trying to get my bearings. My head's spinning like I just got off the world's worst roller coaster.

"NOTIFICATION LOGGED FOR FUTURE REFERENCE."

Was that... sass? Is my apocalypse preparation system developing an attitude?

A new set of footsteps echoes through the walls; lighter, faster than Mr. Harris's steady pace. Someone running.

"ATTENTION: SHADOW CANDIDATE APPROACHING. CURRENT DISTANCE: 30 METERS."

My heart's pounding so hard I'm sure anyone in the building can hear it.

Another candidate.

Is it another person who remembers, who came back. Friend or enemy?

"HISTORICAL DATA INSUFFICIENT. THREAT ASSESSMENT PENDING."

"Hey, Cherub? Now would be a great time for some of those uselessly specific notifications to actually be useful."

The symbols swirl thoughtfully. "SUBJECT DESIGNATED MILLER: CARDIOVASCULAR CAPACITY 23% ABOVE BASELINE. CURRENTLY CARRYING APPROXIMATELY 8.7 KG OF UNIDENTIFIED MATERIALS."

"That's... actually helpful. What else?"

"ANALYZING... SUBJECT APPEARS TO BE AVOIDING SECURITY CAMERAS. MOVEMENT PATTERNS SUGGEST FAMILIARITY WITH BUILDING LAYOUT."

Someone who knows the bank. Someone who works here? Used to work here? Will work here?

Regression really makes verb tenses really complicated.

The footsteps are getting closer. Through the grate, I catch glimpses of movement; someone in dark clothes, carrying what looks like a backpack.

"WARNING: TEMPORAL SIGNATURE UNSTABLE."

The runner stops directly under my grate. They're breathing hard, head swiveling like they're looking for something.

In the dim emergency lighting, I can just make out their profile...

Holy shit.

It's Janet from HR.

Janet, with her snort-laugh and her cat photos and her habit of bringing cookies to every meeting. Janet, who I watched turn into one of them, who eat Bob from Accounting before someone put her down.

Janet, who's apparently also back from the dead and sneaking around the bank in the middle of the night.

"CANDIDATE MILLER'S SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 41.2%"

She's doing better than me, then. I wonder what her system's like. Does she get annoying fitness updates too? Does she..

A loud clang echoes through the building. Janet's head snaps up, and for a second, I think she's seen me. But she's looking past the grate, down the hallway.

"Hello?" Mr. Harris's voice, getting closer. "Security! Show yourself!"

Janet mutters something under her breath and takes off running again. Her footsteps fade in the opposite direction from Harris's approach.

"TEMPORAL ANOMALY FADING. SHADOW CANDIDATE RETREATING."

I slump against the shaft wall, not even caring about the decades of dust I'm probably wearing now.

My mind's racing. Is Janet's back too?. Does Janet remember?. Is Janet preparing?.

Or is she just a 'star candidate'?

But for what? The same thing as me? Something else?

"ANALYSIS COMPLETE. NEW DATA INTEGRATED."

"And?" I whisper. "Any insights about why my formerly cookie-baking HR rep is doing ninja runs through the bank at 2 AM?"

"INSUFFICIENT INFORMATION FOR CONCLUSIVE ANALYSIS. HOWEVER..."

The symbols form a unique pattern.

"CANDIDATE MILLER'S TEMPORAL SIGNATURE INDICATES MULTIPLE ITERATIONS."

"Multiple... wait, are you saying she's done this before? More than once?"

"AFFIRMATIVE. TEMPORAL MARKERS SUGGEST MINIMUM OF THREE PREVIOUS ATTEMPTS."

Well, that's just perfect. Not only am I not the only one trying to change things, but I'm apparently way behind on the learning curve.

"SURVIVAL PROBABILITY RECALCULATING..."

I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. "Let me guess… it's gone down?"

"NEGATIVE. CURRENT SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 35.9%. INCREASE OF 3.1% FROM PREVIOUS CALCULATION."

I open my eyes, staring at the swirling symbols. "Why? Because I know about Janet now?"

"PARTIAL FACTOR. PRIMARY CAUSE: FIRST SUCCESSFUL TACTICAL ADAPTATION TO UNEXPECTED SCENARIO."

Huh. Maybe all those annoying notifications were building up to something after all.

In the distance, I can hear Mr. Harris's footsteps fading. Janet's long gone.

And I'm stuck in a maintenance shaft, covered in historic dust, talking to a passive-aggressive AI about my improved survival chances.

Just another normal night in apocalypse prep.

"RECOMMENDED ACTION: CONCLUDE CURRENT OPERATION. RETURN HOME. SHOWER ADVISED."

I snort. "Yeah, no kidding."

But as I start navigating my way out of the maintenance system, I can't help wondering: how many other candidates are out there? And more importantly, what happened in Janet's previous attempts that made her fail?

"PROCESSING QUERY..."

"Let me guess… insufficient data?"

"NEGATIVE. RESPONSE: YOU'LL FIND OUT SOON ENOUGH."

Great. Even my apocalypse prep system is developing a flair for dramatic timing.