Chapter 1

The flickering cursor on my monitor was the only thing moving in the dark apartment. Code, lines and lines of it, filled the screen, a language that was supposed to build worlds but for me, only built debt. I was Liam, an indie game developer, which was a nice way of saying I was broke and chasing a dream that was running away from me.

A new window suddenly popped open on my screen. It wasn't one of mine. It was a simple, black box, like an old command prompt, with a single green line of text blinking at the top: `Cosmic Stream Initialized. Observing Universe C-782.`

I thought it was a virus, another problem I couldn't afford to fix. I tried to close it, but the window wouldn't respond. Then, the black box flickered and an image resolved within its borders. It was a live feed, grainy and unstable, of a college dorm room.

And in that room was Chloe.

Not the Chloe I knew now, the sharp, cold woman who shared my last name but not my life. This was Chloe from ten years ago, her face bright with an idealism I hadn't seen since our own college days. She was hunched over a textbook, her brow furrowed in concentration. My heart ached. This was the Chloe I fell in love with.

My fingers trembled over the keyboard. Was this a hack? A cruel prank? On a desperate impulse, I typed into the black box.

`You' re studying the wrong chapter.`

I hit enter.

In the small window, Past Chloe jumped. She looked around her empty dorm room, her eyes wide with fear. She clutched the textbook to her chest.

I watched, holding my breath. It was impossible.

She slowly relaxed, shaking her head as if dismissing a strange thought. She turned back to her book.

I had to be sure. I typed again.

`The test is on cellular automata, not quantum mechanics.`

This time, she shot out of her chair. She physically looked for the source of the voice, her expression a mix of terror and confusion.

"Who's there?" her voice, thin and young, came through my speakers. "Is this a prank?"

My God. She could hear me. Or at least, she could read the text as a thought. This stream, whatever it was, it was real. I could see her, and somehow, I could talk to her across a decade of time.

The black box was a bridge to the past. A bridge to her.

"Don't be afraid," I typed, my mind racing. "I am not here to harm you."

She was breathing heavily, scanning her room one more time before her eyes landed on her own computer screen. "Who are you? How are you doing this?"

I couldn't tell her the truth. Hi, it's your future husband, the man whose heart you're going to grind into dust. I' m contacting you from a miserable future to fix our past. She'd think I was insane.

I needed to be something she could understand. Something she might even trust. In my games, when a player needed guidance, what did they get?

A system.

"I am a System," I typed, the words feeling foreign and powerful. "A guidance protocol designed to help you achieve your optimal future."

She stared at her screen, her fear slowly being replaced by skepticism.

"A... system? Like in a video game?"

"A much more advanced iteration. You can call me System."

"This is crazy," she muttered, but she didn't log off. A part of her, the brilliant, curious part, was hooked. "You say things like 'our future' and you mention someone named Mark. I don't know any Mark."

The name felt like acid on my tongue. Mark. The man who had been the architect of her downfall, and mine. "You will," I typed. "The purpose of this system is to help you navigate pivotal choices."

"Prove it," she challenged, her chin lifting. That was the Chloe I remembered, always demanding proof. "If you're some all-knowing system, tell me something only I would know."

I thought for a moment, dredging up a memory from the good days, a story she'd told me on one of our first dates.

"When you were seven, you had a golden retriever named Rusty," I typed. "You told everyone he ran away to a farm upstate, but you know the truth. He was hit by a car on your street. You buried him under the old oak tree behind your childhood home."

The live feed showed her face paling. Her hand flew to her mouth. No one knew that. She had never even told her parents the real story.

"Your favorite book isn't the classic you tell everyone it is," I continued, pressing my advantage. "It's a worn-out copy of 'The Last Unicorn' that you keep hidden in your bottom drawer."

Tears welled in her eyes. She slowly walked to her dresser, pulled open the bottom drawer, and lifted out the tattered paperback. She looked from the book to her computer screen, her expression one of pure shock.

"How...?" she whispered.

"I am the System," I typed again, letting the statement hang in the air. "I am here to guide you."

She sank back into her chair, all skepticism gone, replaced by a wide-eyed awe. She believed me. This young, trusting Chloe, the one the world hadn't broken yet, she believed in me.

"Okay," she typed back, her fingers clumsy. "Okay, System. What do I do?"

A sense of power, terrifying and exhilarating, washed over me. I had a chance. A chance to undo it all. A chance to save her from the future that awaited her, the future that was my present.

I had to start with him. The source of the poison.

"Your first directive is this," I typed. "A man named Mark will approach you within the week. He will offer you a business partnership. I want you to listen to everything he says. Observe him. But do not, under any circumstances, trust him."