The tension is thick. Almost electric.
Like a wire pulled tight, ready to snap under the slightest pressure.
Every second is soaked in suspicion, unrest, and bitterness.
The group of Anomalies is on the verge of exploding, like a shard of glass waiting to shatter.
And I'm right there, in the center.An intruder in a ruined world.
Every move I make feel like it stirs a flame that's already flickering.
My very presence is a disruptor, a catalyst that stirs up hopes and fears I don't even understand yet.
And I can feel it.
This is going to cost me.
Whispers rise… brief, sharp, buzzing with an unspoken language that crackles in the air.
Their eyes lock on me. Every stare is a weapon, every thought a threat.
Me.
I see phones from different eras—around their necks, clutched in their hands, strapped to their belts.
Each one has one.
Their trembling hands grip them like relics.
Each one searching for something beyond the present moment.
I spot an old Nokia 3310.
A dented BlackBerry.
An abandoned Palm Pilot.
These aren't just devices—they're fragments of lost worlds, windows to other realities.
And I start to realize… maybe this place, this chaos, isn't just a dystopia.
It's an interdimensional dumpster.
An asylum for those who failed to hold their place in an already shattered multiverse.
William (thinking):
— What the hell is this? It's like the 'Special Mobile Force' museum in Vacoas... except it's all phones here!
I stifle a nervous laugh, but the moment the thought finishes forming, a cold beep rings in my ear.
Iris's synthetic voice slides into my mind.
Iris (synthetic voice):
— Confirmation: high probability of temporal distortion. Hypothesis reinforced: these individuals originate from different times and realities.
William (muttering, bitter):
— This is not good news…
A heavy silence drops.
All eyes slowly turn toward me. Suspicion and challenge burning behind them.
Tension chokes the room.
Érode, the colossus, stares at me, his eyes like iron hammers, ready to strike.
Scarred Man (deep, threatening voice):
— We don't need another problem here. He draws attention. SCOD attention.
William (thinking):
— Is this a group hobby now? Did you all agree to vote me off the island?
A kid, clutching a dusty BlackBerry, suddenly speaks. His voice trembles, tinged with both fear and a strange flicker of hope.
Kid (hesitant voice):
— Maybe… maybe he can help us?
Maho (snapping in rage):
— Help us get killed, you mean!
Scribe (lowering his eyes, then insisting):
— But… don't you think… maybe…
Maho (deep breath, then louder):
— Remember what it's like out there, Scribe? Or are you too busy playing Snake?!
The room ignites.
Voices explode. Each fighting to decide my fate.
Sides form.
The tension becomes a silent war, loud in its weight.
I just stand there.
Hands in my pockets.
William (bitter, thoughtful):
— Same old story… Wait for the rain to pass. Always stuck in the storm… without an umbrella.
But deep down, I know this storm won't ever pass.
Because it's already inside me.
It has a name, a face, and it's hunting me.
Only one question matters now: How do I survive this place?
A tired voice pulls my attention.
An older man, beard thick, eyes worn by too many years, looks up from a blue-tinged phone.
Bearded Man (weary voice):
— Young man… have you heard of the Anomaly Paradox?
William (surprised):
— Sir, I literally found out I was one yesterday at around 4PM. So, no. But please, feel free to re-educate me.
Another whisper cuts through the chaos.
A woman, leaning against the wall, eyes sharp like tinted glass.
Her voice is calm, but slicing—like every word is a scalpel.
Ansuya (cool and firm):
— These phones… they're tied to each bearer's Nexus. They carry fragments of the worlds we come from. Some are from a forgotten past. Others from a future that would melt your brain.
I fall silent.
What if… what if all of this—all these Anomalies—are just echoes of dead, lost realities?
A sharp laugh pierces the room.
A figure steps forward, spinning an iPhone X like a knife.
Her braided hair falls to her shoulder blades.
Braided Woman (mocking voice):
— And you? What do you got, little man?
I answer her with silence.
Then slowly, I pull out my phone.
It glows strangely—like a heartbeat pulsing in my hand.
The screen vibrates… flashes… then slowly opens.
A logo appears, pulsing like a living thing:
"Intelligent Strategic Search Interface."
Braided Woman (taken aback):
— A prototype?
Scribe (excited):
— See, Françoise? I told you!
The murmurs stop.
All eyes lock on me.
The room tightens.
Silence becomes suffocating.
My phone.
To them, it's more than a Nexus.
Much more.
Iris (analytical, prompt):
— You are a unique entity, Master William.
William (thinking):
— Great. I'm stuck in a world I don't even understand.
Stryker raises a hand. Then, in a low voice, as if confessing to something sacred, he says:
Stryker (grim whisper):
— That's not a phone…
— That's something else.
I feel the room closing in.
Stares turn heavier.
Suspicion inches toward fear.
Ésha (stepping forward, commanding):
— We don't have the luxury of dividing ourselves. He's here now. Whether you like it or not.
She turns to me, eyes softening just a bit.
There's a glint in them—curiosity, maybe.
Ésha (calm, piercing):
— And you? You gonna run like the others? Or are you ready to figure out what the hell you're doing here?
I breathe in.
The weight of the moment crushes my chest.
My mind spins in chaos, but I'm out of time for doubt.
William (resolute):
— I want to understand.
Understand who I am.
And how to make these psychos stop chasing me.
A flicker—a ghost of a smile—crosses Ésha's face.
But before she can speak, a deep, muffled beep fills the room.
All phones vibrate.
At once.
Red. Flashing.
Suddenly, the air turns cold.
The silence thickens.
Synthetic Drone Voice:
— ALERT. ANOMALIES DETECTED. PROTOCOL INITIATED.
Outside, a rumble—
Headlights pierce the mist like fangs, ready to tear us apart.
Armored vans burst from the shadows.
Their engines growl like mechanical beasts in hunt mode.
Doors slam open.
Black-armored figures leap out, visors glowing red.
Their weapons hum with a promise of death.
William (thinking):
— OMG… Not now. Not like this.
Ésha (shouting):
— Positions! Prioritize evac for non-combatants!
Panic spreads through the group.
But two figures remain still.
Érode. And the scarred man.
They don't flinch.
They never planned to run.
And somehow, I know.
This is going to get very, very bad.