Aven had never felt the air this cold in the underground corridors of District 17. The Museum for the Future That Failed was hidden beneath layers of forgotten streets and neon-lit shadows. Every morning, he descended the rusted elevator alone, the walls covered with graffiti that warned him to stay away.
But he kept coming back.
Because here, in the dusty hallways of cracked glass and broken holograms, the future was dead—and that fascinated him more than anything alive.
Aven was a junior curator, barely twenty-two, tasked with cataloging artifacts that claimed to come from a timeline that never happened: prototypes of flying cars that never flew, newspapers predicting wars that never started, diaries of people who never existed. Each item was tagged with a date, a brief description, and a note that said: "Archived. Possible deletion."
He didn't question the notes. No one did. The Museum paid in old credits, but enough to keep Aven's cramped apartment lit and warm. And maybe, he told himself, enough to keep his mind from slipping into the darkness outside.
That day, he found something that should never have been there.
It was a thin glass case, unmarked, hidden in the back storage. Inside was a small metallic cube that pulsed faintly with blue light. As Aven leaned closer, the light flickered, casting a projection into the air—a grainy image of himself, older, with scars he didn't recognize, standing in the same room and whispering something Aven couldn't hear.
He stumbled backward, breath caught in his throat.
Why would the museum archive a version of his future that didn't exist?
He looked around, expecting to see his supervisor lurking nearby. But there was only silence and the hum of dead machines. The ghostly image of his older self still shimmered in the air, mouthing words Aven couldn't decipher.
His hands trembled as he reached for the cube again.
Suddenly, a voice echoed from behind the shelves. A woman's voice, calm but carrying a hint of mockery. "You weren't supposed to find that."
Aven spun around. A figure stepped into the dim light, her hair pulled back, eyes like sharp glass. She wore a faded jacket and carried a notebook, covered in scribbled symbols.
"Who… who are you?" Aven demanded.
The woman smiled faintly. "Someone from a future that was erased. Call me Rhea."
She took a step closer, studying the glowing cube in his hands. "If you want to survive this place, you'll have to learn what's real… and what was never meant to be."
Aven opened his mouth, but no words came out. He felt the floor tilt beneath him, the hum of the dead museum whispering in his ears.
The future was dead. And maybe, he realized, so was he.