Neo-Mars. Year: 2876.
Kael Voss hated Tuesdays.
Which was unfortunate, because this Tuesday had already brought him two things: a broken orbital pistol and a bounty hunter with six arms choking him over a table full of synthetic noodles.
"You're a dead man, Voss!" the bounty hunter snarled, four of his arms wrapped around Kael's neck. "You shorted Rengo Corp. two million credits and a hoverbike!"
Kael grinned, despite the oxygen deficit. "Correction," he croaked, "I lost the credits. The bike… stole itself."
With a twist of his wrist, he triggered the hidden blade in his sleeve. One clean slash later, the bounty hunter's top-left arm clattered to the floor like a deflated balloon. Kael rolled off the table, kicked a chair into the man's gut, and bolted through the noodle bar window just before a plasma grenade blew out the back wall.
Sirens wailed. Drones scanned. Kael ducked into an alley, heart racing, lungs burning.
Then the alley shimmered.
The world rippled — like reality had just sneezed — and a tall figure stepped from the shadows. Cloaked in stitched black velvet and hexagonal light, their face was a smooth silver mask, unreadable.
Kael's hand moved to his blaster. "No offense, cosplay creep, but I've had a long day."
The masked figure didn't flinch. "Kael Voss. You just disrupted a temporal hinge. A child you bumped into in that noodle bar was meant to lead Earth's unification 60 years from now. Now he won't even pass algebra."
Kael blinked. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm The Weaver," the figure said. "And you've just failed your first mission."
Then Kael's vision inverted. Up became down, and light turned to code. He screamed as the alley peeled away like wallpaper, revealing a glowing white corridor stitched with clock hands and falling stars.
He fell into time.