The world here had no up or down, only the endless drift of time itself. Shards of moments, fractured like glass, floated through the dark void, playing silent echoes of past and future. Battles, victories, ruins, births, all looped around one another in a swirling dance of fate.
At the center of it all, a figure hovered in calm stillness.
Clockwork, the Ghost of Time.
His body shimmered with translucent hues of blue and silver, gears clicking faintly within his chest. His face was calm yet ancient, marked by wisdom and weariness. The long tail of his clock-hand staff glowed faintly as he turned it, and with every motion, the fragments of time rippled around him. His form shifted subtly now a child, now a man, now an elder, his voice existing in all tenses at once.
Before him, a dozen glowing panels floated, each one showing a different world, a different timeline. The fall of an empire, the awakening of a beast, the rise of a boy in a white lab coat.
Then — click… click… click.
Footsteps echoed.
A sound that did not belong in this place.
Clockwork did not turn immediately; he already knew who it was. Only when the voice spoke did he glance over his shoulder.
"The timeline you created is nearing its climax, Clockwork," said a voice both amused and solemn. "I truly hope this will fix it."
The man stood calmly on a floating gear of gold and brass, his white lab coat swaying despite the still air. His bowler hat cast a shadow over eyes that shimmered with the reflections of countless eras.
Clockwork finally turned, his mechanical eyes narrowing slightly as he lowered his staff.
"I do hope so, Professor," he said, his voice echoing across the void like distant chimes. "For if this timeline cannot be saved... then neither can the others."
The panels around them shifted again, showing flashes of familiar faces, heroes and monsters, inventions and empires, destinies colliding like clockwork gears.
The Professor folded his hands behind his back, observing the cascade of futures with quiet fascination.
"We've already laid the groundwork," he murmured. "Now we'll see whether they can rewrite their fate… or repeat it."
Clockwork nodded slowly. His hand reached for the amulet that hung around his neck, a delicate pendant of ancient gold, cracked but glowing faintly from within. From its core leaked a soft emerald light — the Eye of Agamotto, pulsing with restrained power.
"Let us hope the mistakes of the last timeline are not repeated," Clockwork said softly. "This time... they have more than destiny on their side."
As he turned his gaze forward again, one of the shimmering panels focused, zooming in on a boy with wild orange hair hunched over a laboratory bench, his eyes were sharp, his world vast, his ambition limitless.
Dexter.
The gears of time turned. The light of the Agamotto faded and somewhere, reality snapped back into motion.
______
The soft hum of machinery filled the lab like a heartbeat.
Monitors cast their glow against polished steel, holographic codes rippling through the air. Dexter's eyes flicked toward the digital clock projected above his workstation — the time read 8:47 PM.
"There's still time," he murmured, his tone quiet but determined. "I should finish my other project for the expo tomorrow."
With a tap on his wristwatch, a circular holographic interface unfolded into the air. Red and blue grids spun outward like fractal petals, displaying dozens of schematics, prototypes, equations, fragments of ongoing concepts. His fingers moved through them in a blur, isolating one design from the rest. The moment it stabilized, the entire projection focused on a sleek, streamlined motorcycle blueprint.
A translucent model rotated in the air before him, curves sharp as blades, aerodynamics perfected to the millimeter.
Dexter turned toward the far side of the lab, where the real thing rested on a raised platform beneath soft white lights.
The motorcycle gleamed like a sculpture of glass and steel. Its frame was a union of black carbon-titanium and white polymer alloy, edges lined with faint red conduits that pulsed with dormant power. The wheels were seamless glowing rims with no visible axles, built for silent acceleration. The design had been inspired by an old film he once watched in his previous life: Tron. But unlike fiction, this one was real, and it obeyed no rules of imagination, only science.
He approached slowly, gloves already snapping into place as he began his work. "This model was meant to be the centerpiece of the expo," he muttered under his breath. "But without a stable power source... it's nothing more than an expensive sculpture."
The core compartment lay open at the heart of the bike. An empty cavity, cables curled like metallic veins awaiting a heart to beat.
Dexter moved to a nearby table, where fragments of old reactors and power cells were neatly organized. At the center sat the same salvaged arc reactor he had used earlier for Bio-War's upgrade; a smaller, weaker version reverse-engineered from Stark's technology.
He began disassembling the reactor, each component levitating under magnetic suspension as micro-drones hovered around, documenting every piece in holographic precision. Circuits unfolded in layers the palladium ring, the substitute coil, and the tri-core resonance field all exposed.
Dexter's hands moved with mechanical rhythm as he adjusted the calibration. "The original design converts pure energy through magnetic confinement," he said softly, speaking more to himself than to anyone else. "But these imitations lack stability, their yield caps at thirty-seven percent before they overheat which is unacceptable."
He inserted a thin, needle-like tool into the central conduit and began modifying the lattice alignment. The reactor pulsed faintly, its once-flickering light now flaring a deeper crimson hue. A low hum filled the air, vibrating through the table.
[Energy Output Rising: 41%... 56%... 72% Efficiency.]
Dexter's eyes gleamed behind his glasses. "Almost there."
He replaced the central stabilizer with a condensed filament — one of the few materials he had synthesized himself using his replication technology. The moment the circuit closed, a pulse of red energy burst outward, forming a faint magnetic ring that floated around the reactor before collapsing back inward.
The readout flickered to green.
[Energy Output: 91% — Stable.]
A faint smirk touched his lips. "Now that's progress."
He lifted the reactor carefully, its core glowing like a captured ember, and walked back to the motorcycle. The red light traced along the veins of its frame as he lowered the core into its chamber. The entire machine responded immediately as panels shifted, vents opened, and the rings of the wheels began to rotate slowly, drawing in power.
The light coursed through the body of the motorcycle, streaking down its sleek frame and illuminating the lab with faint, crimson veins. The hum deepened, steady and alive, the sound of something awakening rather than merely powering on.
Dexter stepped back, folding his arms as his reflection shimmered across the chrome surface.
"This will do," he murmured.
But then his eyes narrowed slightly, and the corner of his mouth lifted not with satisfaction, but anticipation.
"Are you there… Arcee?"
For a moment, there was only silence — then the lab's atmosphere shifted. The red light intensified, spreading through the bike like fire crawling through oil. Hydraulic locks released with soft hisses. Plates of armor began to shift and fold with elegant precision, rearranging into something beyond simple machinery.
Wheels rotated inward; the chassis split and unfolded upward. Limbs emerged, slender but strong as the transformation completed in one seamless motion. The motorcycle no longer stood on two wheels, but on two legs.
The figure before him straightened slowly, her optics flickering to life — faint blue at first, then steady. Her voice, when it came, was soft and fragmented, as though piecing together words from raw data.
"S…ystem… online…"
"Primary… circuits… active."
She tilted her head slightly, motion stuttering for a second as her sensors adjusted. Then she turned, not fully gracefully toward Dexter.
"Designation… A–Arcee… online."
Dexter's gaze remained fixed, expression unreadable but satisfied. "Good. Synchronization complete."
Arcee's optics flickered as her systems calibrated. Her voice steadied, though it carried the tentative tone of something newly aware.
"This… unit recognizes… you."
She paused, the servos in her neck clicking faintly as her head tilted again, curious.
"Creator?"
Dexter nodded once. "You may refer to me as Dexter."
She processed the name, a faint hum sounded from her chest, the sound of new data embedding into her neural core. Then, quietly, she asked:
"Purpose… directive?"
Dexter adjusted his wristwatch, summoning a holographic interface beside them. Schematics of her body rotated mid-air, displaying neural link maps and AI structure layers.
"You were designed as an autonomous prototype for the Adaptive Reconnaissance Cybernetic Entity. Arcee for short. A system built to think, learn, and evolve."
Her optics brightened slightly as the information sank in. She looked down at her own hands, fingers flexing, studying the motion as if realizing she could move.
"Evolve…" she repeated softly, the word almost human in tone.
Dexter turned back to his console, checking the energy readings. "You'll undergo cognitive expansion gradually. For now, basic speech and motor control will suffice. I'll upload additional data once the synchronization is complete."
She nodded faintly, movement still slightly mechanical but smoother now. Her gaze followed him as he typed. Then she looked at her reflection on the metallic wall, watching the faint pulse of red energy from her chest reactor.
"Dex…ter," she said again, more fluidly this time, the word carrying a trace of wonder.
"Is this… what being alive feels like?"
Dexter froze for half a second. He turned, meeting her glowing optics. "That," he said quietly, "depends on how you define it."
The reactor light hummed between them, a living rhythm in the silence.
For a few seconds, there was only the sound of cooling systems winding down, the faint metallic hiss of the reactor stabilizing until the computer's voice broke through the silence.
[Reminder: Appointment scheduled in thirty minutes. Estimated travel time: ten minutes.]
The alert snapped Dexter from his focus. He glanced at the time again and exhaled softly, brushing his gloves off as he turned away from the table. "Already? Hm. Time does move quickly when progress is involved."
Dexter turned away, adjusting his lab coat. "You'll rest for now. Tomorrow, you'll be presented to the world at the expo. We'll continue your integration afterward."
Arcee stood still, processing.
Then, softly almost like a question, she murmured:
"Understood… Dexter."
Panels along her body shifted as she folded back into her motorcycle form. The transformation was slower this time, deliberate like muscle memory forming for the first time. When she settled back into her original state, the crimson glow dimmed to a slow, steady pulse.
Dexter stood over her, his reflection warped by the curve of the polished metal.
"Tomorrow," he said under his breath. "You'll make history."
He powered down the holograms, the lab dimming to its usual low light, and hung his lab coat on the wall. Beneath it, he straightened his black formal vest and adjusted his crimson tie. The transformation was seamless from scientist to businessman.
As the final lights dimmed behind him, the red glow of the motorcycle's core reflected in his glasses.
Then, without another word, Dexter stepped through the automatic doors and disappeared into the corridor beyond.