Evening was falling. I took a moment to enjoy the fresh air on my face. Across from the library, a green space stretched between the buildings. I decided to take a walk to clear my mind.

The sight of this small patch of nature was soothing—students chatting in groups, a cyclist honking at a couple, posters pinned to nearby buildings announcing an exciting Saturday night party.

What had happened? The most likely explanation was that I had simply lost track of time. I’d been so immersed in my research that the world around me had ceased to exist. I must have stopped reading to think—probably just for a few minutes—before the librarian spoke to me. The students, used to the closing time, had left during those few moments.

Believing I had sat there for several hours when it felt like only a few minutes was absurd. Yes, it all made sense explained this way. I had simply lost track of time, a totally human phenomenon.

Now, I needed to think about my next move. I widened my stride. It felt good to stretch. My muscles worked with pleasure after being confined to a chair all day. My ribs no longer hurt. I had healed from the assault.

Without really thinking, I started to run. I picked up the pace, breathing in the fresh air deeply. The exercise felt incredibly good. I pushed myself harder, testing my limits and endurance. After days stuck on a rooftop, movement made me feel alive, dispelling worry and uncertainty. I ran for nearly half an hour, stopping just barely out of breath.

I was in excellent physical shape. After all, I had managed to knock out a hulk. My fists traced fighting moves in the air, mimicking how I had subdued Bear the night before. Without much thought, I performed some combinations. I let my body take over. The movements took on an interesting form, resembling martial arts—maybe Krav Maga.

I fought an invisible enemy. Passersby turned to watch me. A young woman smiled. I snapped out of it, realizing I was putting on a show. I walked away.

This physical exercise gave me an idea. I wanted to confirm whether I could also handle a weapon. Sure, I had the memory of being a soldier, but did I really have the skill?

It took some time to find a deserted warehouse. I carefully checked to make sure I wouldn’t risk hurting any kids playing there or disturbing any homeless people. I didn’t want to waste too many bullets during this test; I might need them later. I checked the magazine: ten rounds, full capacity.

I made a mark with my knife on one of the walls and walked almost the length of the building away. I assumed a shooting position. The weight of the gun in my hand felt familiar. I took a deep breath and fired. The shot was decent—not too far from the target. I cleared my mind and tried again. This time, I almost hit the bullseye. If necessary, I could use it.

Human needs suddenly demanded my attention. I hadn’t eaten since morning and was now hungry. I pulled out the remaining money from my pocket—just enough for a good meal. One always thinks better on a full stomach, but after that, I’d be broke.

After leaving the warehouse, it took some time to return to a populated area. I chose a small restaurant in a pedestrian street and enjoyed a delicious gratin dauphinois. Eating something other than energy biscuits and cold canned food was a welcome change.

So what now? Finding money was probably the most urgent task.

I paid the bill and stepped out into the evening. I wanted to find a legal way to earn some cash. Skirting the edge of the law made me nauseous. I was pondering how to do that without papers when it happened.

Once again, the world disintegrated into darkness.

A terrible pain shot through my head and then engulfed my entire body. It felt like I was standing on the edge of a chasm, staring into nothingness. I looked around for something—someone—to hold on to, but everything was gone. The passersby from a moment ago had vanished. The city had vanished. Life itself had vanished. I was alone. Completely alone.

The pain intensified. I was dying. I wanted to scream, but the sound wouldn’t come. This wasn’t just a void of people—it was a void of existence. A crack between two moments, two images, two heartbeats—where the world stopped, and I was about to disappear with it.

What is happening to me?

Fear overwhelmed me, and this time it was unrelenting. The wave hit hard. Was I about to lose my identity again? The terror of being erased flooded me, sweeping away all thought. I lost control. I was drowning in pain and fear.

Then came the tearing.

I felt myself split in two. Literally. My perception doubled. I was two people sharing the same space. My heart was both racing and still. I was kneeling in the street—and I was standing. I saw the small street around me—and I was somewhere else. I was vomiting—and I was facing a man with a knife.

I was fractured. Shattered. And the pain was inhuman.

Then it got worse.

One of the two versions of me opened his mouth in a silent scream. I didn’t know which one I was. I couldn’t hold on to a body, a moment, an identity.

Then suddenly, the wave receded.

The pain ebbed, leaving me nauseous, collapsed on my knees in the middle of the street. There was vomit on the ground. Someone bent down beside me, asking something. I pushed their hand away. I got up, staggering, and walked. The pain still throbbed, but now it was just a memory. I moved through the city in a daze, my thoughts incoherent, my mind unraveling.

Nothing made sense. I wasn’t where I belonged. This wasn’t my place. I was lost.

And then—simple, primal need pulled me back to reality.

I was thirsty. Desperately. I needed water. I had to drink—soon. And that need pushed everything else away.