Coolos3

Trapped in a locked concrete room with no memory, Lukas awakens to a chilling note: “You have 24 hours to confess.” A raspy voice from a rusted speaker delivers cryptic clues every hour, each one unraveling a dark past he can’t fully grasp—blood-stained hands, a river’s edge, and the faint echo of a scream. Amid the chaos of his fractured mind, one name shines through the fog: Raisa, a woman tied to him by love, betrayal, or something far worse. As glimpses of her warmth clash with visions of violence, Lukas struggles to piece together the truth. Is he a victim, a killer, or a pawn in a game he doesn’t understand? With time slipping away, the line between guilt and innocence blurs, and the final confession may leave more questions than answers—about Raisa, about himself, and about the door that waits beyond the 24th hour.

Echoes of 24 Hours

The ledge trembled beneath me, its stone groaning under the flood's relentless tide, rust and blood lapping at its edge, clawing the air with a howl of 13 years unbound. I gripped the necklace, its heart pendant pulsing—or slipping—in my fist, my breath ragged as I teetered, Raisa's form flickering below, her green-hazel eyes glinting through the water—or shadow—her hand reaching, then sinking, her voice sharp, "You're trembling—still you." The 13 glinted on the stone, a scar of time I couldn't erase.

"Hold on!" I roared, my voice a thunderclap against the flood's snarl, leaning down—or falling—my arm stretching toward her—or the tide—its surface rippling with Mara's glare, Toren's growl, Lira's cry. The ledge cracked, a sharp snap splitting the air—or my spine—and I lunged, my fingers brushing her hand—or water—its touch warm, then cold, then gone. "Raisa!" I shouted, my voice breaking, the stone buckling as the flood surged, a wave crashing—or coiling—its rust-stained grasp yanking my legs.

Her laughter pierced the chaos—or drowned—wild and raw, "Hold on? You're falling, Lukas—falling with us!" The ledge shattered, stone crumbling—or exploding—hurling me down—or up—the flood swallowing me whole, its tide a vortex of faces and screams. I thrashed, my arms flailing—or clawing—the necklace swinging as I kicked, the water surging around my chest, its weight a shroud of guilt I couldn't shed. "I won't fall!" I bellowed, my voice raw, shredding the tide's roar, "I'll pull you up—watch me!"

The current twisted—or broke—a geyser erupting from below—or above—tossing me against wood—or stone—the flood's howl fading—or swelling—as light stabbed through, thin and gray. I grabbed it—or nothing—the tide spinning, my hands scraping splinters—or air—the necklace catching—or slipping—as I pulled, my muscles screaming, the water buckling beneath my defiance. "Raisa!" I yelled, my voice a spear, her form flickering ahead—or beneath—her scar vivid, her eyes alive—or empty—her whisper cutting, "Pull me? You're breaking, Lukas—breaking us!"

The flood surged, wood snapping—or rising—a frame looming through the tide, not the shed, but a bridge, its planks warped, glinting with 13. The ledge's last shards sank—or flew—the tide crashing against it—or through it—its roar a chorus of the drowned—Mara's "You promised," Toren's "You broke us," Lira's "You left"—dragging me toward—or away. I lunged, my hands grasping the bridge—or air—its edge slick, the necklace swinging as I hauled myself up—or down—my voice steady, "I'll break the flood—not you!"

The bridge shuddered, the tide rising—or falling—Raisa's hand breaking the water—or sinking—her voice echoing, "Break it? You'll drown in it," as the planks cracked, the flood roared, leaving me clinging, her touch—or its echo—slipping through my grasp, the 13 glinting in the tide's unyielding rush.

The Ledge That Shatters Beneath