Time punishes resistance

Hex wakes up with a floating timer above his head—10:00 minutes left.

The countdown ticks, steady and unyielding. No matter what he does, it never stops.

If it reaches zero, reality glitches apart. The world resets.

Each time, he tries something new—running, fighting, hiding.

Each time, death finds him.

The loop is getting smarter. Something wants to keep him here.

---

8:37 left.

Hex sprints through the dark city streets. The alley where he originally died is behind him. He won't go back there.

He turns a corner—

A cart slams into him at full speed. He hears his ribs shatter, his lungs crushed in an instant.

As his vision dims, a hooded figure leans over him. A whisper crawls into his dying ears—

"You can't outrun fate."

Reset.

---

9:12 left. Hex grips a rusted pipe. If something is hunting him, he'll fight back.

Footsteps. A cloaked figure lunges.

Hex swings. Crack. The body crumples.

But as he looks down—the corpse shifts, warping.

Its face becomes his own.

Hex killed himself.

0:00. Reality implodes.

Reset.

---

9:55 left. Hex doesn't move. Just watches.

The world around him… hesitates.

The buildings flicker like a broken screen. The shadows twitch, like something inside them is writhing.

8:00. A neon sign flickers, displaying words in a language he almost understands.

6:45. A child walks up to him, blank-eyed. Slips a note into his palm.

"The Anchor is watching."

---

9:50 left. Hex steps forward.

9:45. He picks up his pace.

7:12. The timer JUMPS. His vision warps, and suddenly—

3:03. He sees himself dying in multiple timelines. His own screams overlap, fracturing into a chorus of agony.

0:00. Reality shatters like glass.

Reset.

---

9:58 left. Something is wrong.

The walls of the alley inhale. The bricks expand and contract like lungs.

8:30. A voice slithers from the shadows.

"Don't move. It knows."

7:10. A hand emerges from the wall. His hand.

Older. Rotting. Fingernails cracked, skin peeling. It reaches for him.

5:00. The shadows merge together, forming a massive, grinning version of his face.

It laughs.

2:00. The neon sign flickers again. New words.

"You already lost."

0:00. The ground vanishes. Hex plummets into the void.

Reset.

---

10:00.

Hex wakes up—but the world feels different.

His hands are covered in scars. Deep, fresh. Wounds he doesn't remember getting.

The alley is gone.

His status screen flickers. New text crawls across it, slow and ominous—

New Rule Unlocked: The Loop Is Evolving.

Then, a second timer appears. It isn't counting down.

It's counting up.

---

9:50 (Hex's timer) / 2:37 (Awakening Counter).

Hex stares at writing on his arm.

It wasn't there before.

The words are familiar—written in his own handwriting.

"This isn't the first time. You have to let it kill you."

Footsteps.

He turns.

He sees himself.

But twisted.

Pale skin, stretched too tight over bones.

Blackened, hollow eyes.

A smile that doesn't belong on a human face.

3:10 (Awakening Counter). The second timer jumps.

Reset.

---

9:50 / 5:00. Hex runs.

The faster he moves, the faster time accelerates.

Buildings decay. The sky turns red. The city crumbles.

9:10 / 7:42. He sees millions of himself—dying in millions of loops.

8:00 / 9:59. The city vanishes.

A whisper curls in his ear—

"Run again. See what happens."

10:00 / 10:00.

The world doesn't reset.

Hex is somewhere new.

---

He wakes up.

He is not in the alley.

He's in a hospital bed.

The alley has disappeared.

He feels a slight joy.

He tries to smile but can't.

Bandages wrap his body. His skin itches like something beneath it is trying to crawl free.

A doctor looms over him.

Expressionless.

Eyes too dark.

Too empty.

"You weren't supposed to wake up."

The hospital is silent.

The windows show nothing but blackness.

His status screen is gone.

But something new whispers inside his mind.

"The Anchor is near. But so am I."

---

Hex staggers through the halls. The hospital is empty.

Then he finds a room with his name on it.

Inside:

Photographs of him in different timelines.

A wall of notes, all written by him.

A tape recorder. Playing a voice—his own, but distorted.

A final message is scrawled in blood across the wall—

"If you made it here, you're close. But if you hear knocking, don't answer the door."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Someone knocks aggressively.