Chapter 5: When the Future Broke Apart

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16:9 (horizontal) -    • Future Guardian in New York 🗽⚡️ | The Andr...  
9:16 (vertical) -    • Future Guardian in New York 🗽⚡️ | The Andr...  
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The blast wasn’t just light. It was pressure, like the air itself had turned into a hammer.

It hit the android center mass, and for an instant, he looked almost surprised. Then his suit split at the seams. Sparks erupted in violent fountains. His synthetic skin shredded away in strips, revealing metal ribs and rotating joints.

He tried to step forward again. Always forward.

I fired a second time, holding the trigger down as the weapon drank from the student’s impossible power source. The hum rose into a scream.

The android’s torso ruptured. Pieces flew outward—hot fragments clattering across the warehouse floor. His head jerked, jaw opening as if to speak one last command.

Instead, the red in his eye died.

He collapsed into a heap of broken future technology, smoke pouring from the ruin. The warehouse fell silent except for our breathing.

For a long moment, none of us moved.

Then the student dropped to her knees beside me. Her lab coat was smeared with dust, her hands still shaking. She touched my cheek like she needed proof I was real.

“You… you came back for me,” she whispered.

“I told you,” I said hoarsely. “I’m here to keep you alive.”

Dr. Reyes let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob. Victor leaned against a wall, eyes closed, like his body had been running on fear alone.

Outside, distant sirens began to rise—New York returning to its normal chaos, unaware of how close the future had come to being rewritten in blood.

We didn’t go back to the basement lab after that. Too exposed. Too many questions.

In the weeks that followed, I stayed near her, sleeping lightly, watching every corner and reflection. She kept working, but now she wasn’t alone. Dr. Reyes helped build a safer lab space. Victor kept eyes and ears in the transit system.

And somewhere between the fear and the long nights, the student and I stopped pretending we were just mission and target. Love doesn’t always arrive gently. Sometimes it shows up after you survive something that should have killed you.

One night, standing on the Brooklyn Bridge at sunrise, she asked the question I’d been avoiding.

“Do you have to go back?” she said.

I looked at the soft light on her face and felt the weight of my timeline pulling at me like a hook.

In the future, I had a life I barely remembered. In the present, I had her.

“I can stay,” I said. “It will change things.”

She took my hand. “Then let it.”

So I stayed.

We married in a small courthouse with the city humming outside the windows. No grand crowd. Just the people who’d helped us survive, and the quiet understanding that we were building something bigger than ourselves.

Then we got to work.

Her clean, unlimited energy wasn’t just theory anymore. It became prototypes, then systems, then a path toward something the world had never had: power without poison.

Sometimes, late at night, I’d still glance at shadows a little too long. But the killer was gone. The dark powers had lost this round.

And if they ever sent something else through time, they’d find us ready—standing in New York, guarding the future with our own hands.