Chapter Text
The kitchen was warm with light, the late afternoon sun pooling across the tiled floor in long golden slants. Jonathan stood barefoot, one hand tapping thoughtfully against the countertop as he stared into the pantry.
“Pasta or soup…” he murmured to himself, squinting slightly. “Jamie’s been eating light lately, maybe something easy. Junior’ll want garlic bread. Definitely garlic bread.”
He exhaled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It had been a good day. Quiet. Jamie had taken Junior out shopping—some cool uncle-friend's son bonding he wasn’t invited to, but that was okay. He needed the time to clean. To breathe.
Maybe he'd light a candle before they got back. Just something soft. Lavender, maybe.
He was reaching for a can of diced tomatoes when—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Sharp. Not frantic. But firm. Not like Jamie’s knock, or the impatient rhythm Junior sometimes used when he forgot his key. This one was…controlled.
Jonathan blinked. Frowned.
He hadn’t been expecting anyone. He placed the can down, brushing his hands off on his jumper, and walked to the front door.
The moment he opened it, his heart stopped.
Alice.
Standing in her usual heels, crisp as ever. A perfectly ironed coat. Lips pursed in polite disapproval. That look in her eyes he remembered all too well—the one that peeled apart your spine before you even opened your mouth.
“Hello, darling,” she said smoothly. “You weren’t answering your phone.”
He hadn’t even known she was in town.
“I… didn’t know you were coming today,” he said carefully, already stepping out slightly, blocking the view of the hallway behind him. “Jamie took Junior out. They’re not back yet.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Did he now? How interesting. You’ve been letting strange men spend time with our son.”
“It’s not like that,” Jonathan muttered, instantly curling inward. “Jamie’s just… he’s good with Junior. He’s kind. It’s not what you think.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And what do I think, Jon?”
He didn’t answer.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Alice’s gaze drifted past him into the house.
“May I come in?”
“No.” It came out too fast.
Her eyes flicked back to his face.
He tried to soften it. “Sorry. It’s just—we weren’t expecting you.”
Alice took a step closer, still smiling, but her tone dropped.
“Don’t be silly. You’re not doing anything. Just cooking for your friend, right? Honestly, Jonathan, you always did have a flair for dramatic little routines.”
He flinched.
Then—something changed. Her voice didn’t raise. But it sharpened, curling like wire.
“I don’t like him being around my son. You never did know how to pick people. You made me look like the bad one in front of the lawyers, and now look at you. Playing house again.”
He swallowed hard. His fingers curled into his sleeves.
“Alice… please just come back another day.”
“I don’t think so.”
That was the last thing he remembered.
A sharp sting in his neck—something cold flooding his veins—and the world tilted sideways. His knees buckled. The tiles rushed up to meet him, his fingers twitching as he tried to grab something, anything.
He heard her footsteps. The door closing behind her.
Her voice, soft and mocking near his ear:
“You’re so adorable my dear.”
Darkness.
× × ×
There was a distant, high-pitched ringing in Jonathan’s ears—sharp and thin like a wire pulled tight. It faded in and out, warped by something… colder. Metallic.
The light above him buzzed.
He blinked.
His vision was a blur of white and grey. His mouth was dry. His arms—
Tied. His arms were tied.
The panic hit so fast it nearly choked him. He pulled, weakly at first, then harder—but the restraints didn’t budge. Thick cuffs, cold against his skin. His breath caught in his throat.
Where was he—?
Not his house.
Not his kitchen.
Not with Junior. Or Jamie.
There was a click. A soft mechanical hum from behind the glass wall that framed half the room.
And then—
He saw her.
Alice.
Sitting beside a small metal desk. Her coat was gone now, replaced with a lab coat that didn’t suit her, but she wore it like it was tailored. Her hair was tied up. Her clipboard rested neatly on the table.
She looked… peaceful.
“Good morning,” she said brightly.
Jonathan flinched. “Wha—what—what did you do?”
Alice tilted her head. “You fainted, sweetheart. Well. Collapsed, really. Stress does awful things to a man.”
“My head is ringing—”
“You’ll be fine.” She stood up, approaching calmly, clipboard in hand. “It’s just the sedative. I asked them to use something gentle. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He recoiled from her touch, pressing his back into the chair. “Alice, what the hell is this? Where’s Junior? Where am I? What did you do?!”
Her expression softened—but in that fake way he remembered from years ago. The one she used when she was about to say something cruel.
“You’re safe. You’re here now. With me.”
He stared at her. “Here where? What is this place?”
She didn’t answer that. Instead, she leaned down, close enough that he could smell the sterile scent of the room on her. “They didn’t deserve you out there. You were always so gentle. So clever. Always fixing things. But no one ever fixed you, did they?”
His pulse was thundering.
She smiled.
“But I will.”
Jonathan shook his head. “You’re sick.”
“I’m in love.” Her voice didn’t rise, but her eyes flared. “Don’t you see that? I watched you fall apart when I left. And now you’ve filled the hole with a stranger? Some man named Jamie? Bringing him into our son’s life?”
He froze.
“Alice—please. Please just let me go.”
She pressed a finger to his lips.
“No.”
Then she turned, making a small note on her clipboard.
Behind the glass, a red light blinked on. Someone was watching.
“Rest up,” she said sweetly. “No experiments today. Just observation. We wouldn’t want you breaking anything too soon.”
She started to walk away—but stopped at the door.
“You always looked so cute with your glasses, love.”
Click.
The door shut behind her.
× × ×
The silence was deafening.
There was no ticking clock. No hum of the fridge. No sound of Junior’s sneakers tapping on the hallway floor, or El’s laugh echoing faintly from the garden. Just the whir of unseen machines, the occasional sharp buzz of the overhead lights—and his own ragged breathing.
Jonathan sat on the narrow bench against the wall, arms still sore from the restraints, now freed but not truly free. His fingers kept twitching. Ghost movements, reaching for his glasses—gone. For his toolkit. For anything familiar.
He didn’t know how long he’d been here. The lights never dimmed. There was no window. No one came in.
But he remembered Alice’s words.
“Rest up. No experiments today.”
His stomach twisted. Experiments.
Jamie. Junior. El.
His eyes widened.
“El—”
El had been in the house. The ghost child who followed him everywhere. Jonathan’s breath hitched as a new fear settled cold and deep in his chest.
Had El seen Alice? Had he seen the injection?
Was he still in the house?
Was Junior okay?
And Jamie—
His throat closed. Jamie had taken Junior out for shopping. That’s what he said. But had they come back yet? Had they—
The door slammed open.
Jonathan stumbled back from the sudden noise, his pulse lurching. Two lab workers in sleek white gear stepped inside. Their faces were covered by dark visors. One had a syringe. The other, a clipboard.
“Subject 052. You’re being reassigned for preliminary testing,” one of them said without looking up. “Please come quietly.”
“I—I’m not—” Jonathan’s voice cracked. “I’m not like the others. I don’t—whatever you’re doing here, I don’t belong here—”
“You’ll be assessed for compatibility,” the other replied flatly. “Cognitive pliability, emotional regulation, trauma response. Everyone is good for something.”
They each grabbed an arm.
Jonathan thrashed instinctively. “Don’t touch me—!”
A sharp pinch at the base of his neck.
The sedative was faster this time. His knees buckled. His vision blurred. As the floor rushed up toward him, he heard them talking:
“Low resistance. Doesn’t fight much.”
“He will. Once the Visionary gets involved.”
× × ×
Testing Chamber 7E
He came to strapped down again. Not in a chair—on a metal table.
A bright light flooded his eyes, making it impossible to see the corners of the room. He could hear murmurs behind glass, the sound of pens scribbling, the low static of intercom feedback. Somewhere, a machine beeped steadily.
He’d fixed clocks his whole life. Now he was in one, ticking down.
And then—
The voice came through the speaker.
Smooth. Reverent.
“Jonathan Hobson. Father. Tinkerer. Survivor.”
He stiffened. The voice was too calm.
“You were not meant for the world out there. They broke you. You were always meant to be part of something greater. You have so much potential, Jonathan.”
A pause. The intercom crackled.
“Let us help you realize it.”
He gasped as something buzzed near his skull. The table tilted. A device lowered toward his face—something like a scanner, but wrong. It was watching him. His vitals. His fear.
“We will find out what you’re good for.”
The words echoed through the chamber like a prayer.
And all he could think of—through the haze and fear—was:
Are they hurting my son?
× × ×
Subject 052: Initial Aptitude Trial
Test Supervisor: Alice Rivers
Observers: Second Visionary - Thomas Buckley, James Connor
Experimental Category: Mechanical Intuition / Chrono-Perception Manipulation Potential
.
.
.
Jonathan’s hands twitched involuntarily against the table.
The restraints were tight. Too tight. His fingers ached to move—just to fidget. He needed to do something. He needed his tools. He needed Junior—
The door hissed open.
He flinched at the heels clicking against the tile. But he knew that sound.
He knew that voice before it even fully arrived in the room.
“Hello, love.”
Jonathan’s breath caught.
No.
Alice stood above him now, dressed in the clinical white of a supervisor’s coat—though the shade of her lipstick and the smug smile hadn’t changed since the divorce. Her badge shimmered in the low light.
ALICE RIVERS
Division: Development & Compliance
Role: Lead Overseer, Sector 5
“I missed you,” she murmured, placing a hand gently—lovingly—on his cheek. He flinched away. She didn’t seem to notice. “Look at you. Still such a delicate thing. But I always knew there was something more in you. Something the world just didn’t understand.”
“Alice—what is this—what the hell is this place—”
“Oh, don’t start with that tone. I came here to help you. You were so lost after the divorce. The storms, the nightmares, those little panics. Always needing someone else to fix it for you.”
Her smile grew colder.
“Now we’ll help you fix yourself.”
She nodded toward the tech in the room. A new device lowered from the ceiling—like a dissected metronome, its pendulum glowing with a cold green light. Beneath it was a strange interface of gears and wires, forming a circle around a small, ticking core. Jonathan stared at it.
It ticked in a rhythm just off from a normal clock.
“You like clocks, don’t you?” Alice said gently, watching his eyes. “You always understood how time should move. That rhythm—it’s in your blood. The way you could wind something broken and make it right again.”
Jonathan was shaking now.
“You’re going to fix this,” she whispered. “This beautiful new machine. It’s designed to respond to neurological patterns—yours specifically. Fix it, and we’ll see how far you can go. Maybe even turn back the clock for you. Maybe undo all your regrets.”
“I don’t want this—”
“You didn’t want the divorce either. And look how well that turned out.”
A technician flicked a switch. Electricity buzzed along the metal arch of the interface. The core shifted, ticking faster.
“Test One,” the tech intoned. “Synchronization. Subject must align internal rhythm with device.”
“You want me to become what!?”
“Darling.” Alice leaned down near his ear. “I want you to become more.”
× × ×
Jonathan felt the hum beneath his spine. The pulses of the machine weren’t just noise now—they vibrated with his thoughts. His heartbeat. His memories. Something about the device wrapped around his mind like a vise, like every time it ticked, it dug deeper.
His breath started to match the rhythm.
His vision blurred.
Tick.
Tick.
Ti—ti—tick—tick—
“Subject is aligning,” the tech noted. “Cognitive drift detected. Beginning phase two.”
Alice was beaming.
Thomas stood behind the glass, quiet. Motionless. He watched the way Jonathan’s head lolled, how his eyes darted under closed lids. He felt sick.
He whispered to James—just barely audible:
“Is this what the Visionary wants from him?”
James didn’t answer.
× × ×
Jonathan was limp. Exhausted. But his hands were unbound now.
They had given him a broken device. Some twisted mess of wires and gears and melted steel.
“Fix it,” Alice had said sweetly.
He shouldn’t be able to.
He did.
His fingers moved without permission—guided by some subconscious pull. Something buried. His palms burned as the heat from the machine leaked into his skin—but he didn’t stop.
By the time he realized what he was doing, the thing was whirring again.
Fixed.
The techs were writing it down. Smiling.
Alice clapped gently. “See? Look at you. All that potential.”
He looked at her, horrified.
“I don’t want this,” he whispered. “I don’t want to fix everything.”
“You’ll thank me one day,” she replied. “You always were meant for something more, Jonathan.”