Sirene de Möbius
Como faxineiro da Agência do Tempo, eu atravesso cenários apocalípticos cumprindo frias missões de apagar as origens dos desastres. Na quarta missão, fui enviado para Tóquio na véspera de uma explosão nuclear, com o objetivo de eliminar o vírus "Pandora" e seu criador. Porém, o rosto do alvo era idêntico ao dos três anteriores responsáveis pelo fim do mundo! Ao adentrar o laboratório subterrâneo, a verdade explodiu como um raio: o "Doutor", de cabelos brancos, era nada menos que eu mesmo envelhecido. Ele afirmou que o chamado apocalipse era apenas um "reset" causado pelo câncer do espaço-tempo, e que a Agência do Tempo tecia mentiras. Quando a contagem regressiva para a explosão chegou ao fim, meu eu envelhecido segurou a mão do eu mais jovem e pressionou decisivamente o botão de liberação do vírus: "Desta vez está certo, garoto!" O relógio de bolso na parede iniciou uma contagem regressiva de 71 anos, marcando a formação de um cruel ciclo de ouroboros.
Sirene de Möbius
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Frozen darkness. Thick, cold, like a sea of asphalt sunk deep beneath the earth’s core, forgotten and suffocating. Every crossing tore his soul violently from its familiar vessel, only to be shoved brutally into the festering wound of another timeline. Deep within his marrow, silent screams echoed; every nerve burned in protest against this desecration of existence itself.
Then, the darkness was ripped away abruptly.
Light. Not sunlight, but a blinding white blaze born from hellfire, mixed with rolling plumes of leaden smoke that seared Kane’s retinas instantly. Following came a deafening roar—the dull thunder of collapsing buildings, sharp, inhuman screams from afar, the crackling greed of flames devouring all nearby, and… wind. A wind thick with the choking stench of burnt flesh, sulfur, and decaying organic matter, violently filling his mouth and nose.
Tokyo. The eve of the Third Impact. Coordinates confirmed.
Kane knelt on one knee upon the cold, coarse asphalt; the dull pain of his knee striking the ground was tangible and real. He forced down the bitter acid rising in his throat, sweat mingling with falling ash clouding his vision. Wiping his eyes, the scene before him was a hellish tableau reborn. Twisted, broken rebar like the bones of a colossal beast pierced the polluted sky; skeletal burning buildings in the distance spewed black smoke that blotted out the heavens, smearing the sky with filthy oil paint. The air warped violently under the heat; all he saw was a gray graveyard of rubble and ruins. Desperate cries, dying gr
