The coffee tasted like regret.
Alex stared into the paper cup as he walked, the last sip swirling at the bottom like something poisonous. Bitter—too bitter for someone like him. He had a sweet tooth, always had. Sugar made things feel a little less cruel.
He took another sip anyway.
It had cost him everything in his wallet. Literally. He checked—just coins left. Today's earnings from tutoring some college kid who couldn't tell the difference between mass and weight. And what did he do with it?
Spent it on a burnt coffee from a street vendor who smiled too much. Genius.
He sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His fingers were cold. It was getting dark, and the city didn't care. The streetlights flickered in the distance, but here, in this alley, they were dead. Like always.
His reflection caught faintly in a shop window as he passed.
A mess.
Twenty-something, though he looked older. Dark brown hair growing wild, like it had given up being tamed. A patchy beard he hadn't trimmed in weeks. Black eyes weighed down by sleepless nights and heavy thoughts.
He hadn't shaved. He hadn't even eaten today.
But that wasn't what mattered.
What mattered—really mattered—was the theory.
The work.
The time machine.
"C'mon, Alex," he muttered to himself. "Just hold on a little longer. You'll finish it. Then they'll see. They'll all see."
Talking to himself had become a habit. It kept the silence from getting too loud.
He turned into the alley that led to his apartment. No lights. Not even moonlight. Just the crunch of gravel under his shoes. The air was damp and smelled like metal.
"Ignáz," he sneered under his breath. "Mr. Enlightenment. Man of the century."
He laughed once, dry and bitter, like the coffee.
"You were supposed to light up the world, weren't you? Can't even light up this alley."
His foot hit a pole.
"Son of a—!"
He stumbled, catching himself against the cold metal. Great. Another bruise to match the rest.
He dug into his satchel and pulled out the cheap flashlight he'd bought that morning.
Click. Nothing.
He shook it. Click. Still nothing.
"Scammed again," he muttered. "Or maybe the batteries are just crap."
He banged it against his palm.
Flicker.
A dim, shaky beam. Barely enough, but enough.
"Good enough," he said quietly.
He made it to the old apartment complex, climbed the cracked stairs, and unlocked his door. The hinges whined in protest. The inside was no better—small, cold, dimly lit. A studio that smelled faintly of solder and stale air.
He dropped his bag onto the bed, sat down cross-legged on the marble floor, and turned on the boxy old TV on the table.
The screen buzzed for a moment, then filled with color.
"IGNÁZ: THE LIGHT OF OUR NATION!"
Alex leaned back and groaned.
"There he is again," he muttered. "Saint Ignáz. Savior of science. Bullshit."
The TV kept talking, voice full of awe.
He picked up his phone. The news was worse.
"BREAKING: Ignáz claims he's going back in time to meet the ancient scientist who 'understood infinity.'"
"Ignáz missing — Time travel hoax or history in the making?"
Alex stared at the screen.
"…Seriously?"
He almost laughed. Almost.
"You're not going to beat me," he whispered. "No way in hell. I'm going back first."
He turned his head toward the door in the corner. A small, worn-out label above it still read Bathroom, but it hadn't been a bathroom in years.
He stood up, walked over, and unlocked it.
Behind the door: the real secret.
A cluttered, improvised lab. Wires. Tools. Notes taped everywhere. And in the center, the machine. A giant metal construct shaped like a pod, humming with quiet life.
His time machine.
He stepped inside. Ran his hand along the surface. Cool. Real. His.
"This is it," he whispered. "My masterpiece."
Then—KNOCK. KNOCK.
He froze.
Another knock, louder. Urgent.
He rushed out of the lab and flung the front door open, half-expecting a neighbor, a bill collector, maybe a delivery guy with the wrong address.
"Hey, can you not—"
The man didn't speak.
He just kicked.
Hard.
Alex flew backward, crashed onto the floor. Air knocked from his lungs.
"What the hell—!?"
He looked up. The man stepped into the light just enough to cast a shadow across the floor.
Two words.
"Rest well."
Then the gun.
Then the sound.
A white-hot sting. His chest exploded in pain.
He gasped. Clutched his side. The world tilted. He heard the door shut. Heard footsteps fading.
No help. No neighbors. Just silence.
He lay there, shaking.
Is this it?
He thought of his mom. Of being a little boy, full of questions, dreams. Of how proud she used to look when he spoke about science like it was magic.
He choked back a sob.
"I can't die… not yet…"
He turned his head. The lab door.
Crawling hurt. Every movement sent lightning through his body. But he dragged himself, inch by inch. He reached the door, pulled himself up, stumbled inside.
The machine stood there.
Waiting.
He climbed inside, blood smearing the metal. The flashlight fell beside him. Still flickering.
"Please," he whispered. "Just once. Let it work."
His hand slammed the red button.
Bing. Bong.
"TRAVEL STARTING."
The world twisted.
Pain disappeared. So did his body.
He became particles. Light. Motion. Everything accelerated—then broke.
And then… silence.
"YOU HAVE REACHED YOUR DESTINATION."
Alex opened his eyes.
No pain. No blood. No hole in his chest.
Alive.
He blinked at the sky.
Orange. Pink. Sunset.
He stepped out of the wrecked machine, stumbled, then collapsed into the grass. He was shaking, but not from fear.
From disbelief.
From hope.
He clenched his fist, raised it above his head, and let out a broken, joyful laugh.
"I did it."