He looked around his own office. It was identical. The mug was his. The chair was his. But the "feed" was delayed by exactly 56,421 milliseconds—nearly a minute.
The file was titled . No extension details, no metadata, just a five-digit string that looked like a forgotten zip code or a corrupted timestamp. 56421.rar
Then, a shadow appeared in the doorway of the video feed. A figure Elias hadn't seen in his own room yet. The figure reached into its pocket and pulled out a small, silver flash drive labeled with a new number: . He looked around his own office
A cold realization set in. If the file size dictated the delay, he wasn't just looking at a recording; he was looking at a countdown. He began deleting the files, but the progress bar wouldn't move. He tried to shut down the computer, but the power button stayed lit. The chair was his
It was a small, windowless office. In the center sat a desk with a monitor, a half-empty mug of coffee, and a spinning chair. Elias froze. The coffee was steaming.
On the screen, the "Past Elias" was now looking at the steaming coffee.
He watched the screen as "Past Elias" leaned forward to click a file. On the monitor within the monitor, he saw himself opening the RAR.