In the sprawling cityscape of Neo-London, where luminous skyscrapers kissed the heavens and streets bustled with life, there lay pockets of silence. One such pocket surrounded David. As the world moved in accelerated chaos around him, David's life felt like a series of freeze-frames, each moment a stark reminder of his failures.His mind constantly replayed the day he was unceremoniously dismissed from the TransTemporal Corporation. David had been a top-tier researcher there, pivotal in developing the algorithms that made time travel feasible. But an unexpected scandal, whispers of embezzlement, and misplaced blame had turned his life upside down overnight. The real culprits remained shrouded in corporate protection, while David bore the brunt of public vitriol.Every corner of Neo-London seemed to mock him. The holo-billboards with their bright, cheerful advertisements, the digital newsstands flashing his disheveled photo from the day of his arrest, and the contemptuous glances from former colleagues and strangers alike. Isolated and dejected, he became a shadow of his former self.His strained finances were just the tip of the iceberg. His social circle crumbled. Friends he'd known for decades, those who'd celebrated his achievements and commiserated over drinks during tough times, vanished. The scandal's stench was too strong; association with David was social suicide.The final blow came in the form of a handwritten note from Clara, his fiancée. "I can't do this anymore," it read. The fragrance of her perfume still lingered on the paper, but she was gone. His attempts to reach out met with cold silence. The future they had dreamt of, with a cozy home and children running about, evaporated like morning mist.Aching loneliness became David's sole companion. In the labyrinthine alleys of Neo-London, he would sometimes scream, just to hear his voice echo back, proving he still existed.But amidst the desolation, an idea began to take root. What if he could rewrite history? Not by clearing his name in the present, but by ensuring his younger self never set foot on the path that led to this doomed future. He grew obsessed with this idea, viewing it as the only escape hatch from his wretched existence.To the world, the Time Agency was a beacon of adventure and luxury. But for David, it was his last resort. Every credit he had left, every asset he'd liquidated, culminated in this moment as he approached the agency with a photograph of his 13-year-old self.Inside, the ambiance was a fusion of a bank and a luxurious spa. Gentle music wafted through the air, and attendants in crisp uniforms catered to the whims of elite clientele. But the opulence was lost on David. His focus was singular.When he slid the photograph across the counter, the clerk barely glanced at it. Her voice, though gentle, had an undercurrent of routine, “Date and location?”“August 15th, 2036. Surrey, England.”She named a price, and David handed over his credits – a lifetime of savings reduced to a single transaction.The sensations of time travel were indescribable. A vertigo-inducing swirl of colors and emotions, memories flashing by like a film reel played at hyper-speed. And then, abrupt stillness. David stood in Surrey, 2036. The contrast was jarring. Gone were the neon-lit skyscrapers and bustling crowds. In their place stood quaint houses, trees lining the streets, and the sound of children playing.His childhood home stood untouched by time. A pang of nostalgia hit him as he saw his younger self in the garden. The boy’s world was full of dreams and innocence. Could David really snuff out that light?He found a quiet café and ordered a coffee, the drink's warmth providing a temporary shield from his turbulent emotions. The past's allure was potent. Each familiar sight and sound tugged at his heartstrings, reminding him of a time when life was simpler, dreams were big, and heartbreaks were about broken toys.But as the sun dipped, casting elongated shadows, his mission's weight pressed down once more. David was at a crossroads, with the power to alter the future at his fingertips.
