Countdown 1 Hour: The True Meaning of "Rebirth"
---
In the car, Victor Zhou sat in silence.
Even I knew that in moments like this, silence spoke louder than words.
Victor Zhou lacked fighting skills, but his mind was formidable, and he was ruthless enough to enter this car alone—he'd naturally anticipated every countermeasure I might have.
His final speech made me feel that any resistance I offered would be futile, perhaps even suicidal.
With Damian's death, the timeline had shifted. I had no idea what Victor Zhou had become, how much power he held, or whether he had armed forces.
What about my teacher?
The tracker was still active, so Captain Reeves would come for me, right?
No—even if he came, it wouldn't matter. He was a cop. Morally, legally, and by instinct, he couldn't drive a police car through a crowd of people surrounding me.
Was I supposed to count on Jessica?
She stood in a gap between the bodies, dusk fading, the car headlights casting dappled shadows across her face. She kept her head slightly lowered, watching me, but her eyes were utterly flat.
She'd lost every trace of an eighteen-year-old girl's anxiety, fear, or panic.
What remained was a numbness forged by unimaginable trauma.
Then Victor Zhou tapped his finger against the door handle.
A soft "thunk."
But ice crept through me from the pit of my stomach.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Think one step ahead. Remember—think one step ahead.
Thunk-thunk.
Thunk.
What the hell was I supposed to think!? He'd already seen through everything, consumed everything.
I'd been manipulated for a decade. My hatred was constructed by Victor Zhou, my vengeance directed by Victor Zhou. Ten years of memories, nightmares, grievances, and fury—all orchestrated by him.
Ten years of my life was nothing but a blade in his hand.
Now I wanted to rebel. How was I supposed to rebel?
A wave of nausea washed over me.
Because I suddenly realized that as I thought back on my laughable decade-long revenge plan, even my anger at Victor Zhou had evaporated.
I didn't even dare to be angry anymore.
Thunk-thunk-thunk... thunk-thunk-thunk...
"I'll join."
Victor Zhou smiled.
"Figure it out?"
I nodded.
With a more solemn voice, and a sob I couldn't suppress.
"I'll join. You."
---
The two of us opened the doors and stepped into the crowd.
The believers began chanting again, some raising their right arms, responding to Victor Zhou from afar.
Victor Zhou said nothing. He slowly spread his arms and faced the crowd. He wasn't tall, but as he opened his arms, every single person knelt.
On the dark plain, Victor Zhou became the highest peak. He tilted his head back, facing all who bowed.
Like a god on a hilltop.
Then he turned slightly and glanced at me. "And you?"
I nodded, walked into the crowd, and knelt beside Jessica on one knee.
Jessica kept her head down, murmuring softly.
But she wasn't chanting the same tune as the others.
"Seven o'clock, ten o'clock, twelve o'clock, three o'clock, seven-thirty, seven o'clock, ten o'clock, twelve o'clock, three o'clock, seven-thirty, seven o'clock, ten o'clock, twelve o'clock, three o'clock, seven-thirty..."
---
"Marcus, give it up."
In the car, Jessica said it to me.
At the same time, she took my hand, spread my palm open, and traced two words with her finger: TRUST ME.
I slowly shook my head.
Suddenly, thunder rumbled in the sky, and the dark clouds shifted, pulsing with purple-red light.
"You can't beat him," Jessica said, looking up at the churning sky.
At the same time, she wrote on my hand: BUGGED.
"This is a time-space disturbance," she said aloud. "It takes many, many 'Gates' opening, many people time-traveling, to cause this."
Then I heard the low chanting sound all around. It was like singing and not singing—low-pitched, eerie melodies that made the empty, pitch-black wilderness feel like hell.
She wrote on my hand: I'M YOUR ONLY CHANCE.
"My father has new parameters," Jessica murmured.
Just then, a bonfire ignited in the distance.
Then another, and another. More and more fires sprang up, until the flames surrounded our car.
Behind the fires stood hundreds of people—men, women, old and young. In the firelight, their mouths moved in strange, synchronized patterns.
They were chanting.
"This marks Damian's actual death in the new timeline. He died, but the last possible moment for resuscitation just passed, so the world has adjusted accordingly."
As she explained, the strokes on my hand grew faster, more urgent.
"At first, Dad only wanted to resurrect Mom, but now he's changed..."
I asked, "Changed into what?"
Jessica answered, "I don't know, but it looks like the first step of my father's plan is complete."
At the same time, she wrote on my hand: INTO A GOD.
I didn't understand her written words, but I couldn't ask directly.
"What the hell first step? Surrounding me with a bunch of people singing?"
"Can't you see?"
The chanting grew louder, more forceful. Maybe it was my imagination, but the fires seemed to burn brighter, and their eyes grew more savage.
She wrote: THE GATE AMPLIFIES ALL DESIRES. MY FATHER WANTS TO BE A GOD.
"Who are they?"
I turned her hand over and slowly wrote: WHY HELP ME?
"Believers," Jessica's voice trembled. "My father's believers."
Then she wrote: APART FROM YOU, NOBODY LOVES ME.
---
She said, "Run."
Writing: OR, WORK WITH ME.
I said, "Why should I?"
Writing: I DON'T NEED YOU. I CAN HANDLE HIM ON MY OWN.
She said, "It's the only way you'll survive."
Writing: TRUST ME ONE MORE TIME.
I shook my head.
She said, "Marcus, there are things you can't stop."
Writing: LIKE HOW I'M NOT THE SAME JESSICA ANYMORE.
She paused.
Victor Zhou slowly climbed into the car.
Writing: BUT I STILL WANT TO STAND BESIDE YOU.
---
"Seven o'clock, ten o'clock, twelve o'clock, three o'clock, seven-thirty, seven o'clock, ten o'clock, twelve o'clock, three o'clock, seven-thirty..."
---
"Among these believers, some of my father's bodyguards are stationed in the dark. I need to get in there first and identify them."
"There's another way."
"No, there isn't."
"I'm not letting you go in there—it's too dangerous."
"Marcus... I went in a long time ago."
"..."
"We went in a long time ago."
"Fine, then wait for me in there."
"Okay."
"Wait for me."
"Of course. In the darkest place."
---
I stood up and sprinted for my first target.
The 7 o'clock position. The man was young—even before time-traveling, he probably wasn't thirty. I had no time to wonder why he'd traveled back ten years, why he'd choose to bow before Victor Zhou—no doubt, before thirty, he'd suffered some fate he'd had to change.
I stopped in front of him, grabbed his thrusting fist with both hands, twisted his arm against the joint, and forced the bones of his forearm through the skin.
The 10 o'clock position. A beautiful woman, even in this darkness, wearing striking makeup so pale it reflected the firelight. But a burn scar covered a third of her face, her hair failing to hide it, making it worse.
I was taller. Before her dagger reached me, I'd already struck her throat.
The 12 o'clock position. A pudgy middle-aged man in shabby clothes, kindly-faced, but with swift, vicious fists.
The 3 o'clock position. An older man in an expensive suit, every detail refined. As I approached, he took two deep breaths, coughed blood into a handkerchief, and then became the most elegant and lethal fighter of the group.
But I disabled them all.
Each of them had a reason to go through the Gate, didn't they?
Each of them attacked without hesitation, with the conviction of true believers.
They truly believed in Victor Zhou.
But I dismantled them quickly, brutally, without pause.
The doubts, the reasoning, the flicker of pity—all buried under the crunch of breaking bones and the spray of blood.
Until I turned and ran toward my 7:30 position.
I saw my teacher. Captain Reeves.