The first day… for the second time.
I decided to break the script. Instead of walking toward the main square like every other day, I turned into a narrow back alley hidden behind a row of glasshouses.
The alley was darker and more silent than it should have been. The wall on the left was covered with spider-web-shaped cracks, each fissure glowing with a faint, pulsing light. I pressed my ear against it and, to my surprise, heard the sound of machinery — not the rough hum of an engine, but a perfectly steady rhythm, like the heartbeat of something metallic yet alive.
At the end of the alley stood a steel door, tightly locked. But the moment my fingers touched the cold metal, the memory fragment I carried from Wind began to vibrate violently, glowing through the fabric of my pocket. The lock clicked open with a dry, deliberate snap.
Inside was a staircase leading down into a wide basement. The metallic chill rushed out to greet me, smelling faintly of rust and old circuits.
In the center of the room stood a mechanical construct, almost my height, its alloy surface worn with age. Glowing lines ran across its body, expanding and contracting in sync with a deep, measured beat — just like the fragment of memory I held.
As I stepped closer, a voice echoed from nowhere:
“Signal matched. Identification… complete.”
Light flared. The metal frame shifted open, revealing an artificial face — not fully human, but not entirely machine either.
“You’re trapped in a six-day time loop,” it said, its voice a blend of electric resonance and near-human tone. “So am I. But I’ve found a lead… and I need an external signal to break it.”
Its metallic gaze fell upon the memory fragment in my hand.
“That object,” it continued slowly, “does not belong to this layer of reality.”
