The shaved head, glasses, and beard were insurance.
Jack Joyce walked toward Beth’s old house. The neighborhood hadn’t been hit as badly as other places, mainly because it was low density. He stopped on the lawn and picked up the For Sale sign, then unlocked the door.
His phone vibrated, again. He checked it: another message from Will. The twelfth. Same as all the others.
Jack. DON’T. We need to talk about this.
He pocketed the phone, opened the door, and went inside.
From across the street, peering down the gap between two houses, Amy watched him pocket the phone, open the door, and go inside. Locking the door behind himself.
The house was empty, devoid of life or furniture. The basement was another story.
In the hours after the disaster Jack had taken advantage of the confusion. This is how the basement of that suburban house came to be equipped with a small amount of bleeding-edge chronon-related technology. Just enough to create a small, but very specific, effect.
Sofia Amaral didn’t look up as he came down the steps. “Are you always going to be this relaxed about timetables?”
Jack took off his hat, hooked it on the bannister. “It got sunny.”
Nick was leaning against the wall, seated on a folding chair. “She’s been fretting. Gave me the third degree because it took twenty minutes too long to get Dad back home. He loves watching those Monarch crews build that bridge.”
Half the space was bracketed off by the placement of four pylons: field generators.
Sofia turned in her seat, facing Jack, all business. “Working with Paul we conducted such… interactions… under much more contained conditions. You’re certain the subject is reliable?”
“Yeah.” Jack took off his coat, laid it across the back of a folding chair. He touched the bullet around his neck, out of habit. “I am. Did you take a reading on the M-J field?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“Where once we had two days to live we now have five years. The field has not been repaired, but integrity has been restored and the rate of degradation slowed.”
“Paul was right then. The end of time hits in five years.”
“We were both correct. Your actions simply bought us more time. Let me point out, yet again, that this only further proves that past events cannot be changed.”
“But you’re helping me do this anyway, right?”
“If past events are immutable, which they are, the only thing that could be lost in this undertaking is your life. Also…” she admitted, “I would like very much to see him again. Even in his current state.”
“So this is it?” Nick sat forward. “I get to see this thing? Pisser.”
Jack stood before the squared-off space. “Okay. Do it.”
Sofia dialed the output of the chronon batteries, popped the idiot shield from the activation switch, and then flipped it.
The space within the pylons hummed, inverted, then popped. Distortion waves pulsed off. The squared-off space held a neatly contained stutter.
Jack waited. “Come on,” he muttered. “You’re four-dimensional. You know you’re supposed to be here.”
Then, just like that, a six-foot fractal humanoid inhabited the space.
“Fuck me!”
“Nick!” Sofia snapped.
“Sorry.”
The Shifter remained still, surveying Jack, outline flickering only slightly, then it raised its shining palm. Jack did the same. It was good to see him.
“Hey, Paul,” he said. “You ready to do the impossible?”
One night in the recent past.
Will took his brother by the arm. “You have to let her go. We have a universe to consider. The dead, the living, and the yet-to-be-born.”
Jack nodded, couldn’t open his mouth to say a single word. He just leaned into Beth, and held her as best he could. Just for a moment.
He whispered something he wished she could hear, but knew she never would.
He whispered, “I’ll come back for you.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sam Lake, Mikko Rautalahti, Tyler Smith, and everyone I worked with in my three years at Remedy. Ad astra.
Dmetri Kakmi, for his friendship and peerless editorial assistance. His acclaimed novel, Mother Land, is well worth your time. I urge you to pick it up.
Syksy Räsänen, theoretical physicist, cosmologist, and activist, with whom we consulted in developing the science for time travel in Quantum Break. His advice was crucial to the design of the machine and to several of its governing principles.
Nikaya Lewis, for architectural advice.
Ian Robertson for his friendship and military expertise.
The author C. R. Jahn for his encyclopedic knowledge of firearms and explosives. I recommend that you check out his horror novel, The Outrider, available on Amazon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cam Rogers is a novelist, game writer, travel journalist, and photographer. He is the author of The Music of Razors (Ballantine Books, as Cameron Rogers) and Nicholas and the Chronoporter (Penguin Australia, as Rowley Monkfish). His articles and photographs have appeared in The Age and a magazine or two.
Born in Cairns, Australia, he lives in Helsinki, Finland. In addition to his own work, he is employed as a writer at Remedy Entertainment (Max Payne, Alan Wake). Their current project is Quantum Break for Xbox One.
