The rain fell in sheets.

It hammered the corrugated tin roof.

A rhythmic, deafening drum.

Silas stood in the doorway.

He held his umbrella.

The fabric was torn.

Wind whipped his coat.

He looked back into the house.

The room was dark.

Only the radio glowed.

Static filled the air.

Crackling. Hissing.

Like a dying lung.

His wife, Elara, sat by the fire.

Her hands were still.

Resting on her knees.

She did not look up.

"You are leaving," she said.

Not a question.

A fact.

Cold. Hard.

"I have to," Silas said.

His voice was a rasp.

"Who sent you?"

Elara finally looked at him.

Her eyes were gray.

Like the sky outside.

"Command," Silas said.

"Command is a liar."

"Command is my duty."

"Duty is a cage."

She stood up.

She was small.

Barefoot on the cold floor.

She walked to him.

She took his face in her hands.

Her skin was warm.

His was cold.

"Promise me one thing," she said.

"I promise."

"Do not listen to the voices."

He frowned.

"What voices?"

"The ones in the walls."

"Elara, there are no voices."

"There are always voices," she whispered.

She kissed him.

It tasted of salt.

And iron.

He turned away.

He stepped into the rain.

The door slammed shut.

He walked down the street.

The streets were empty.

The lamps flickered.

Orange light.

Shadows danced.

He walked faster.

His boots splashed in the puddles.

The town was asleep.

Or dead.

He did not know which.

He reached the station.

The building loomed.

Black stone.

Windows like blind eyes.

He pushed the door open.

Inside, it smelled of dust.

And old paper.

A man sat at the desk.

Captain Halloway.

His face was long.

His eyes were dead.

"Late," Halloway said.

"I was detained," Silas said.

"Detained."

Halloway smiled.

It was not a smile.

It was a crack in a mask.

"Sit down, Silas."

Silas sat.

The chair was hard.

Wood.

Scratched.

"What is the order?" Silas asked.

Halloway leaned forward.

"Go to the Tower."

"The Tower is closed."

"It is open now."

"For whom?"

"For you."

"Why?"

"Because you are ready."

Silas stood up.

"I am not ready for anything."

"You are ready for the end."

Halloway slid a key across the desk.

It was brass.

Heavy.

Cold.

Silas took it.

The metal bit into his palm.

He looked at the key.

It was simple.

No teeth.

Just a loop.

"A blank key," Silas said.

"A key for a door that has no lock," Halloway said.

"That makes no sense."

"Sense is for the living."

Silas left the desk.

He walked out into the night.

The rain had stopped.

The air was still.

Too still.

He walked to the Tower.

It stood in the field.

Black against the moon.

Tall.

Thin.

Like a finger pointing at God.

He climbed the stairs.

Stone steps.

Wet.

Slippery.

He reached the top.

A single door.

Wood.

Dark.

He held the key.

He looked at the door.

There was no lock.

He pushed the door.

It opened.

A click.

Soft.

Final.

Inside, there was a room.

Circular.

Walls of glass.

Through the glass, he saw the sky.

Stars.

Many stars.

But they were wrong.

They moved.

Slowly.

Like fish in water.

A figure sat in the center.

Back to him.

Silas stepped closer.

The floor was soft.

Like moss.

He walked around the figure.

The figure did not move.

Silas reached out.

He touched the shoulder.

The figure turned.

It was him.

Silas.

But older.

Hair white.

Face gaunt.

Eyes hollow.

The other Silas looked at him.

He did not speak.

He just stared.

Silas felt a chill.

"Who are you?" Silas asked.

His voice shook.

"I am you," the other said.

"No. You are a ghost."

"I am your future."

The other Silas smiled.

Sad.

Tired.

"You came to the door," the other said.

"Yes."

"You will never leave."

Silas stepped back.

"What do you mean?"

"The loop," the other said.

"The loop is unbroken."

"I do not understand."

"Look."

The other pointed to the glass.

The stars stopped moving.

They froze.

The sky turned black.

Then white.

Then black again.

Silas looked at his hands.

They were trembling.

He looked at the other Silas.

The other was fading.

Becoming transparent.

"Elara," Silas said.

The other nodded.

"She knows."

"Knows what?"

"That you are a prisoner."

Silas felt a pain.

Deep.

Sharp.

In his chest.

"I want to go back," Silas said.

"You cannot."

"Why?"

"Because you chose this."

"I did not choose."

"You chose the uniform."

"I chose duty."

"Duty is a lie."

The other Silas was gone.

Only his voice remained.

"Go back, Silas."

Silas blinked.

He was in the station.

Sitting in the chair.

Halloway was at the desk.

"Sit down, Silas," Halloway said.

Silas looked down.

He was holding the key.

Brass.

Heavy.

Cold.

His heart pounded.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"I am late," Silas said.

His voice was hollow.

"Detained," Halloway said.

He did not look up.

Silas stood up.

He walked out.

The rain had stopped.

The air was still.

He walked to the Tower.

It stood in the field.

Black against the moon.

Tall.

Thin.

Like a finger pointing at God.

He climbed the stairs.

Stone steps.

Wet.

Slippery.

He reached the top.

A single door.

Wood.

Dark.

He held the key.

He looked at the door.

There was no lock.

He pushed the door.

It opened.

A click.

Soft.

Final.

Inside, there was a room.

Circular.

Walls of glass.

Through the glass, he saw the sky.

Stars.

Many stars.

But they were wrong.

They moved.

Slowly.

Like fish in water.

A figure sat in the center.

Back to him.

Silas stepped closer.

The floor was soft.

Like moss.

He walked around the figure.

The figure did not move.

Silas reached out.

He touched the shoulder.

The figure turned.

It was him.

Silas.

But older.

Hair white.

Face gaunt.

Eyes hollow.

The other Silas looked at him.

He did not speak.

He just stared.

Silas felt a chill.

"Who are you?" Silas asked.

His voice shook.

"I am you," the other said.

"No. You are a ghost."

"I am your future."

The other Silas smiled.

Sad.

Tired.

"You came to the door," the other said.

"Yes."

"You will never leave."

Silas stepped back.

"What do you mean?"

"The loop," the other said.

"The loop is unbroken."

"I do not understand."

"Look."

The other pointed to the glass.

The stars stopped moving.

They froze.

The sky turned black.

Then white.

Then black again.

Silas looked at his hands.

They were trembling.

He looked at the other Silas.

The other was fading.

Becoming transparent.

"Elara," Silas said.

The other nodded.

"She knows."

"Knows what?"

"That you are a prisoner."

Silas felt a pain.

Deep.

Sharp.

In his chest.

"I want to go back," Silas said.

"You cannot."

"Why?"

"Because you chose this."

"I did not choose."

"You chose the uniform."

"I chose duty."

"Duty is a lie."

The other Silas was gone.

Only his voice remained.

"Go back, Silas."

Silas blinked.

He was in the house.

Standing in the doorway.

He held his umbrella.

The fabric was torn.

Wind whipped his coat.

He looked back into the house.

The room was dark.

Only the radio glowed.

Static filled the air.

Crackling. Hissing.

Like a dying lung.

His wife, Elara, sat by the fire.

Her hands were still.

Resting on her knees.

She did not look up.

"You are leaving," she said.

Not a question.

A fact.

Cold. Hard.

"I have to," Silas said.

His voice was a rasp.

"Who sent you?"

Elara finally looked at him.

Her eyes were gray.

Like the sky outside.

"Command," Silas said.

"Command is a liar."

"Command is my duty."

"Duty is a cage."

She stood up.

She was small.

Barefoot on the cold floor.

She walked to him.

She took his face in her hands.

Her skin was warm.

His was cold.

"Promise me one thing," she said.

"I promise."

"Do not listen to the voices."

He frowned.

"What voices?"

"The ones in the walls."

"Elara, there are no voices."

"There are always voices," she whispered.

She kissed him.

It tasted of salt.

And iron.

He turned away.

He stepped into the rain.

The rain fell in sheets.

It hammered the corrugated tin roof.

A rhythmic, deafening drum.

Silas stood in the doorway.

He held his umbrella.

The fabric was torn.

Wind whipped his coat.

He looked back into the house.

The room was dark.

Only the radio glowed.

Static filled the air.

Crackling. Hissing.

Like a dying lung.

His wife, Elara, sat by the fire.

Her hands were still.

Resting on her knees.

She did not look up.

"You are leaving," she said.

Not a question.

A fact.

Cold. Hard.

"I have to," Silas said.

His voice was a rasp.

"Who sent you?"

Elara finally looked at him.

Her eyes were gray.

Like the sky outside.

"Command," Silas said.

"Command is a liar."

"Command is my duty."

"Duty is a cage."

She stood up.

She was small.

Barefoot on the cold floor.

She walked to him.

She took his face in her hands.

Her skin was warm.

His was cold.

"Promise me one thing," she said.

"I promise."

"Do not listen to the voices."

He frowned.

"What voices?"

"The ones in the walls."

"Elara, there are no voices."

"There are always voices," she whispered.

She kissed him.

It tasted of salt.

And iron.

He turned away.

He stepped into the rain.

The door slammed shut.

He walked down the street.

The streets were empty.

The lamps flickered.

Orange light.

Shadows danced.

He walked faster.

His boots splashed in the puddles.

The town was asleep.

Or dead.

He did not know which.

He reached the station.

The building loomed.

Black stone.

Windows like blind eyes.

He pushed the door open.

Inside, it smelled of dust.

And old paper.

A man sat at the desk.

Captain Halloway.

His face was long.

His eyes were dead.

"Late," Halloway said.

"I was detained," Silas said.

"Detained."

Halloway smiled.

It was not a smile.

It was a crack in a mask.

"Sit down, Silas."

Silas sat.

The chair was hard.

Wood.

Scratched.

"What is the order?" Silas asked.

Halloway leaned forward.

"Go to the Tower."

"The Tower is closed."

"It is open now."

"For whom?"

"For you."

"Why?"

"Because you are ready."

Silas stood up.

"I am not ready for anything."

"You are ready for the end."

Halloway slid a key across the desk.

It was brass.

Heavy.

Cold.

Silas took it.

The metal bit into his palm.

He looked at the key.

It was simple.

No teeth.

Just a loop.

"A blank key," Silas said.

"A key for a door that has no lock," Halloway said.

"That makes no sense."

"Sense is for the living."

Silas left the desk.

He walked out into the night.

The rain had stopped.

The air was still.

Too still.

He walked to the Tower.

It stood in the field.

Black against the moon.

Tall.

Thin.

Like a finger pointing at God.

He climbed the stairs.

Stone steps.

Wet.

Slippery.

He reached the top.

A single door.

Wood.

Dark.

He held the key.

He looked at the door.

There was no lock.

He pushed the door.

It opened.

A click.

Soft.

Final.

Inside, there was a room.

Circular.

Walls of glass.

Through the glass, he saw the sky.

Stars.

Many stars.

But they were wrong.

They moved.

Slowly.

Like fish in water.

A figure sat in the center.

Back to him.

Silas stepped closer.

The floor was soft.

Like moss.

He walked around the figure.

The figure did not move.

Silas reached out.

He touched the shoulder.

The figure turned.

It was him.

Silas.

But older.

Hair white.

Face gaunt.

Eyes hollow.

The other Silas looked at him.

He did not speak.

He just stared.

Silas felt a chill.

"Who are you?" Silas asked.

His voice shook.

"I am you," the other said.

"No. You are a ghost."

"I am your future."

The other Silas smiled.

Sad.

Tired.

"You came to the door," the other said.

"Yes."

"You will never leave."

Silas stepped back.

"What do you mean?"

"The loop," the other said.

"The loop is unbroken."

"I do not understand."

"Look."

The other pointed to the glass.

The stars stopped moving.

They froze.

The sky turned black.

Then white.

Then black again.

Silas looked at his hands.

They were trembling.

He looked at the other Silas.

The other was fading.

Becoming transparent.

"Elara," Silas said.

The other nodded.

"She knows."

"Knows what?"

"That you are a prisoner."

Silas felt a pain.

Deep.

Sharp.

In his chest.

"I want to go back," Silas said.

"You cannot."

"Why?"

"Because you chose this."

"I did not choose."

"You chose the uniform."

"I chose duty."

"Duty is a lie."

The other Silas was gone.

Only his voice remained.

"Go back, Silas."

Silas blinked.

He was in the house.

Standing in the doorway.

He held his umbrella.

The fabric was torn.

Wind whipped his coat.

He looked back into the house.

The room was dark.

Only the radio glowed.

Static filled the air.

Crackling. Hissing.

Like a dying lung.

His wife, Elara, sat by the fire.

Her hands were still.

Resting on her knees.

She did not look up.

"You are leaving," she said.

Not a question.

A fact.

Cold. Hard.

"I have to," Silas said.

His voice was a rasp.

"Who sent you?"

Elara finally looked at him.

Her eyes were gray.

Like the sky outside.

"Command," Silas said.

"Command is a liar."

"Command is my duty."

"Duty is a cage."

She stood up.

She was small.

Barefoot on the cold floor.

She walked to him.

She took his face in her hands.

Her skin was warm.

His was cold.

"Promise me one thing," she said.

"I promise."

"Do not listen to the voices."

He frowned.

"What voices?"

"The ones in the walls."

"Elara, there are no voices."

"There are always voices," she whispered.

She kissed him.

It tasted of salt.

And iron.

He turned away.

He stepped into the rain.

The door slammed shut.