Jakphrasis

——

Bathroom on 7th Level—4:46:34

——

Nikita Semenov was just lighting his cigarette on the 7th Level when the lights changed color, washing the metal walls intermittently with red. A warning alarm began to sound, echoing painfully in the tight confines of the bathroom he inhabited, hardly big enough for one man to do his business. For one improbable moment he thought they had caught him smoking.

Then the All-Personnel alarm went off. Semenov was the Security Overseer for the Crota Research Facility. He would be damned if there would be any problems on his watch.

The door clanged against metal bulkheads behind him as he charged into the hallway. A tide of gray uniformed men clutching rifles were trotting towards him and then past him down the hall. He yanked a man from the crowd, a scared looking private, and shoved him against the wall.

“What happened? What’s going on?” He had to yell into the man’s face to be heard over the deafening alarm and the tramp of boots, the shouts from other officers.

“Security breach, sir.”

“Where?”

“I—I don’t know. Level 8!”

“Level 8?” Semenov’s hands dug into the soldier’s collar. “That…that can’t be. Are you sure?”

The man could only stare at him helplessly. He shoved him back into the rush of soldiers and began pushing his way forward, shoving men out of his way as he fought against the tide. He had to reach the Command Center. He paused for a second as he felt the floor tremble through his boots. He glanced up when something trickled over his face and made him blink, just in time to catch another trickle of dust falling from the ceiling.

Something was shaking the very foundations of the facility.

Finally, the elevator.

It opened, forcing him to wait as another contingent of troops came pouring out. He leaped inside. Buttons, buttons.

His foot tapped as the elevator doors closed agonizingly slowly. Finally; a pneumatic hiss and he was moving. Level 2, the Command Center.

The doors opened and Semenov was greeted with chaos. The staff were in disarray all around him, yelling into microphones and hunched around control interfaces. He waded into the mess, yanking a clerk away from a terminal. His hand trembled over his mustache as he stared at the screen.

One of the staff shouted, “Comrade! Sir, 8-J has escaped!”

“I can see that!” The cameras were all dead on Level 8, and the footage was coming from the POV of a combat assistance drone. He watched with a dry mouth—the viewpoint hovered low over the ground behind the cover of one of the facility’s titanic bulkhead gates, now splintered and in ruins. Soldiers were clustered in the hallway, firing at something through the door. Suddenly an officer stood and shouted something indecipherable, spittle flying from his terrified face. The men began to flee, shooting behind them in one-two-three bursts. The drone shot out a stream of fire from its suppression cannon as a massive gray limb emerged through the smoke pouring out of the doorway. There was a flare of purple. The camera died.

Semenov staggered back from the screen, clutching the shoulder of the man next to him. “It’s out…we’re doomed. We’re doomed! The secretary will have my head.” he whispered hoarsely. Then, he straightened abruptly. “No! There’s still time.”

Wheeling on a nearby operator: “Where’s the beast headed? Track its progress.”

“Yes, comrade!” The operator punched in a command and the screen changed to a facility map with a red line tracking the beast’s progress, starting on Level 8, the deepest level. It had already breached containment, destroyed the security detachment—there was a confused knot in the red line where it had moved about, killing—and headed for the elevators.

It was climbing, likely at tremendous speed. He’d seen it when it was still in stasis, could well imagine how quickly those colossal limbs would pull it up the elevator shaft.

He eyed its path again, intuition sparking. Yes, he knew where the beast was headed. Was there still time to get there first?

Without another word, Niki Semenov turned on his heel and sprinted out of the Command Center.

The elevator wasn’t an option. He took the stairs three at a time, legs blurring as he half sprinted down them, half fell. Two levels down, the Experimental Weapons room, and his only hope.

Halfway there, a massive vibration rippled through the facility. The lights dimmed, guttered, and went out, leaving him alone in the darkness. Semenov paused, hearing nothing but his own ragged breathing.

He fumbled at his belt for his flashlight, almost dropping it as a ragged scream drifted up from the depths of the stairwell. The monster must have knocked out the reactor. He could only hope the explosion had slowed it down.

More stairs.

His flashlight panned over the concrete wall. There, in blocky black letters: LEVEL 4

The door to this level required a handprint identifier. He pressed his palm against it, thanking God when it flashed green.

[N. Semenov: Security Overseer. Access Granted].

The door hissed open and he ran onto Level 4.

The gray central hallway stretched in a loop around the floor, lined with the doors to different labs. Usually, it was a brightly lit beehive of activity with white-coated scientists coming in and out of their rooms and security personnel everywhere. Now, there was nothing but the dim blue of the two emergency light strips overhead, illuminating dropped papers and abandoned devices.

He ran down the hall, counting each door as he passed it.

Door 4-53.

Door 4-57.

Door 4-61.

He skidded to a halt.

Door 4-64 was already open. He peeked his head inside, confirming what he already knew—the device was gone. Semenov leaned against the doorway panting, mind racing. Someone must have taken it. But who? And where? If it had been evacuated with the scientists, then all hope of stopping the beast was lost. It probably had, thanks to that fool Mitya Khanavich, the director.

The coward had crippled the defense of this facility.

Semenov paused suddenly, head tilted. In the distance he heard shouted orders, muffled by the curve of the hallway.

He was already sprinting towards it. He rounded the curve. Ahead, a sergeant yelled exhortations at two soldiers pushing a cart with all their might, shoulders digging into the metal and boots squeaking on the tiles. The device rested on top, shining mercury-like in the blue light. Idiots, they hadn’t even sent someone with clearance to use it.

“Halt!” he screamed, running up to them. “Halt!”

“Comrade Semenov!”

“Give me the device,” he gasped out. “Out of the way.”

“Direct orders from comrade Director, sir. We can’t risk losing the weapon; we’re to take it to the surface.”

He squinted at the man who spoke, given away by his nameplate as Sergeant Ilyich. A fresh rumble swept the facility and there was a shower of sparks as a nearby strip of lights dislodged from the ceiling and crashed against the floor.

“New orders. I’m taking it.”

“Sir, I can’t let you do that.” Ilyich turned back to the soldiers. “Keep moving!”

All three of them staggered as the very floor seemed to lurch. Semenov could imagine the monster hauling itself up through the elevator shaft now. It was coming for the device; he knew it. “There’s no time, man. Get back!”

He lurched towards the device, trying to get his hands around it. Ilyich shoved him back. “No! Direct orders! Help us move the Hammer!”

Semenov stepped away from him in frustration, hands opening and closing. He shook his head once, expression firming, and pulled his silenced pistol from his belt, shooting the sergeant through the head. Then the soldiers, thwip thwip.

“Sorry boys. No time to argue.”

There was a tremendous crash down the hall, the sound of metal being shrieking and tearing. His breath quickened. It must be here now, on Level 4, somewhere around the curved hallway.

Semenov put both hands on the device. “The Time Hammer,” he breathed. How many times had he wanted to hold this fantastical machine in his own hands? Ever since he was first cleared to wield it, first briefed on what it could do.

It was deceptively simple in appearance: mallet shaped, all in some shining silvery material, with a haft maybe four feet long and a heavy cylindrical head like the business end of a hydraulic press. There were two grips, a textured metal one, and one about a foot lower out of a black rubber, meant to be gripped and twisted. He flicked the switch halfway up its haft and the Hammer purred to life.

Despite its mass, it was weightless.

Semenov turned just as the monster appeared around the bend. Its fingers tore into the concrete as it hauled itself forward, wrecking its way through walls and ceiling. It lunged at him, mouth opening into four parts, all with teeth. An abyssal howl ripped from its throat.

He checked his watch. 4:58.

The monster’s jaws snapped closed around his legs, but he’d twisted the lower grip all the way to the left, and he was gone.

——

Bathroom on 7th Level—4:46:21

——

Semenov appeared in midair, falling almost two feet to crash into the floor of the bathroom. A hoarse scream ripped its way out of his throat, and then a low moan as he stared at the ruin of his legs, little more than shattered bone poking out from shredded pants.

The other man in the room screamed in shock, jerking backward and dropping his cigarette. It landed on Semenov’s open wound, making him hiss in pain, fingers spasming against the floor. Lord, it hurt, but there was no time for that. He must focus now.

“Niki!” he gasped out, “Listen!”

It flattered his heart how quickly the Semenov in the bathroom—Bathroom Semenov, he mentally labeled him—collected himself. Their gazes met—the same intense brown eyes, the same mustache and shaved head, the same thick, burly frame.

“You’re—me?” Bathroom Semenov said, wonderingly. Then his expression darkened. “That’s the Time Hammer! What happened?”

“8-J…escaped,” he managed to say. He felt lightheaded. Blood was pouring out of his legs at an astonishing rate, hitting the bathroom floor in thick spurts. The stale air was filled with the iron scent of blood. “It comes for the Hammer. You have to stop it!”

The facility rumbled right on cue and the lights switched to flashing red, making the gushing blood look like water. Semenov shoved his Hammer into the other man’s hands. “Take it,” he wheezed. The other man grabbed its haft with one hand, using the other to prop him up.

“Stay with me!” The other man held his head in his hands, cradling him. “How do I stop this?”

Semenov closed his eyes, feeling an indescribable sense of relief. He’d reached himself. It would all be okay.

Nikita Semenov stared at the dead man on the floor of the bathroom, studying those familiar features wracked with unfamiliar agony. Was that really him? Was that his fate, to end up dead here on this bathroom floor? Still with the other man’s limp fingers in his hand, he stood. He stared at the Time Hammer, suddenly and improbably delivered to him.

No. Fate could be denied. It could be altered and changed.

He would do his duty and solve this outbreak as quickly and as efficiently as possible. He checked his watch—4:46. With a grim expression, Semenov twisted the grip. Time to go before the incident began and figure out what exactly had happened to his future self.

——

Control Room on Level 8—4:33:07

——

The Control Room was filled with the low buzz of productive professionals when Nikita Semenov appeared standing on a desk with a flash of light. The heavy head of the hammer plunged downward, sending papers flying as he stared around in surprise.

He had only enough time to look at the large clock on the wall before a frightened scientist pressed the alarm button and the automated defense systems opened fire. Another flash of purple light marked his abrupt disappearance.

——

Bathroom on 7th Level—4:46:02

——

“Wait!” Niki Semenov yelled, coming back into the bathroom. “Don’t jump!”

The Semenov in the bathroom paused a second before twisting the grip of his Time Hammer.

“Fuck,” Semenov wheezed, suddenly sagging. He looked down. One of the bullets had hit him in the leg. He was bleeding. He gritted his teeth as the pain hit him, red-hot and sudden. There was no time to be distracted. “Do not go back!”

The Semenov in the bathroom—Bathroom Semenov, he decided to call him—was staring at him with a frown. “You’re me, coming back to warn me?”

“Yes,” he said. “The jump doesn’t work for some reason. It took me—you—thirteen minutes ago in the Control Room.”

“But I was going to go back 18 hours, when everyone was home.”

“It doesn’t work. I don’t know why.” He leaned on his Hammer like a crutch, staring in dismay at his leg. It was beginning to bleed through the cargo cloth of his Army-issue pants.

“Have you tried going back to some other time or place?”

“No,” Semenov wheezed. “I’m you, from just a few seconds ago. The defense grid tore into me as soon as I arrived there. Shit, comrade, this hurts. Light me a cigarette?”

“Don’t be a fool. There’s no time for that.”

Semenov grinned shakily at his past self. “We have all the time in the world.”

The two of them held eye contact for a minute as the single overhead light flashed, red and then not, and then red again. Bathroom Semenov pulled a lighter from his coat pocket and flicked it open. “You’re right, comrade. How are you feeling?”

Semenov lit his cigarette. “Not good, but alright.”

“Good.” The other man leaned forward, lighting one for himself. The smoke of their cigarettes mingled and twisted together in the small room. “We need to make a plan.”

“You plan,” said Semenov, sitting heavily on the toilet and taking a deep drag from his cigarette. “My leg is gone, I can’t think. Talk to me.”

“Well, it’s obvious. We need to figure out why 8-J woke up, and stop it.”

“But we can’t go back further than 4:33.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I just tried, and I got fucked up!”

“I’m going to try again,” said the other, checking his watch. “There’s not much we can do with just thirteen minutes.”

The bathroom door opened just then, revealing the broad shoulders of a third Semenov standing in the doorway. They could see the river of soldiers pouring down the hallway behind him, until he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. “Don’t bother. No matter what we try, we cannot go back further in time than 4:33 PM and 7 seconds. Our best guess is that it’s some kind of spacetime anomaly. We think it could be related to what freed the beast to begin with.”

The first two exchanged glances. “Who’s we?” asked the injured one.

The new Semenov laughed. “Do you know how quickly these things spiral out of control? One of us appeared a moment ago just to tell me not to come directly into this bathroom, as it was becoming too crowded. He left immediately.”

The newcomer grinned around at them for a moment, before his face became serious again. He drew his silenced pistol from his belt and shot the wounded Semenov on the toilet in the head without the slightest hesitation. That Semenov’s Hammer, leaning against the wall, abruptly disappeared in a flash of purple.

“Fuck!” Semenov said, jumping back in surprise. “Why the fuck did you just do that?”

“I appreciate working with myself very much,” the newcomer said. “One thing about us, Niki—we trust ourselves immensely. Were it any other man, he would have his own gun out and be menacing me right now, but not you.”

“Well, of course,” Semenov said. He eyed the corpse sagging on the toilet, then glanced back at the new Semenov, who was sliding his pistol back into his belt. “You’re me. Could it be possible that you mean me harm? But you’ve just killed another Semenov, so I…don’t know.”

“Yes,” the newcomer Semenov sighed. “But he was injured, of no more use to the mission.”

“But why kill him?”

“See that thing you’re holding? That’s a Time Hammer. With no reason to keep him alive, we must ensure he is dead. That one had little utility, but tremendous potential to confuse the timeline. Don’t you remember the training protocol? Trim as many branches as possible. No more than two agents is ideal.”

“Yes, I remember. Killing him won’t have any harmful effect on us?”

“The physicists don’t know, and I don’t care. But seemingly not.” The newcomer Semenov checked his watch. “Alright, I’m needed elsewhere. Read this.”

He pulled a piece of scrap paper from his pocket, pressing it into Semenov’s hands, before disappearing in a flash of purple, leaving him alone with the corpse.

“At least explain what’s going on!” Semenov said to the empty air. Scowling, he tapped his cigarette against the bathroom wall and read the paper. “Go to level 7 at 4:47:01. There is a message in the pocket of Semenov 6 there for you… be prepared for combat?”

For a moment, he sat there, bemused and stunned. Then, shaking his head, he picked up his Hammer and disappeared in a flash.

——

Cafeteria on Level 7—4:47:01

——

He appeared crouched atop a cafeteria table. He was on level 7. It was pitch black: the total darkness of deep underground.

The faint light of his Hammer was only enough to illuminate a circle a bare five feet around him, revealing overturned chairs and shattered floors.

Tat-tat-tat-tat!

Deafening gunshots, lighting the cafeteria like camera flashes, bringing far-off tables and chairs into shuttering orange visibility.

Tat-tat-tat-tat!

He leapt off the table and took cover behind a wheeled buffet cart. At least three shooters, he could see them hidden somewhere near the walls of the cafeteria. They fired for a few seconds before an enormous roar stunned all to silence.

A second later, a lit flare zipped meteor-bright from one side of the room to the center. Hitting the ground, it rolled a few feet. Semenov froze in terror as the sharp-edged light revealed the titanic form of 8-J, hunched in the center of the room.

The beast was only twenty feet away from him, a creature with elongated limbs, dark gray and almost slick in the light, standing tall with its back turned to him. It was over thirty feet tall. Semenov stared at it, pulse pounding in his ears, praying that it didn’t turn around.

“Come on,” someone hissed in his ear.

He whirled around, swinging the Hammer through the air instinctively. It moved weightlessly but with massive force, and if the other Semenov hadn’t leaned nimbly backwards, he would have lost his head.

“It’s me! Move.”

Semenov ran after him. The two of them took cover on the edge of the mess hall, behind one of the pillars that ringed the walls.

The other Semenov passed him his Hammer, and crouching, felt around on the shadowed ground for something. He came back up with a rocket launcher on his shoulder, which he promptly fired at the beast. The room flashed as it exploded against 8-J’s shoulder, distracting it from the soldiers on the other side of the room.

“We have to hold it here for as long as we can,” the cafeteria Semenov explained, tossing his spent launcher to the floor. His face was locked in the adrenaline-grimace, eyes wide and bloodshot, jaw clenched tight.

8-J turned to face them, head splitting open into four horrible parts, all lined with teeth. It roared loud enough to rattle the silverware strewn around the floor and charged them, turning everything in its path to kindling. The floor shook with each step.

Without hesitating, the cafeteria Semenov ran to meet it. He disappeared in a flash of purple, reappearing in the air above the monster, Hammer descending in a massive overhead stroke that knocked 8-J’s head to the side. Semenov’s breath caught as the monster staggered, face bleeding a glowing purple liquid. The cafeteria Semenov hit it again, a second later.

Three, four purple flashes in rapid sequence, each accompanied by a blow heavy enough to crush a man flat.

For a moment, Semenov dared to believe the monster could be finished here.

The monster’s eyes glowed a baleful purple, and suddenly its wounds were gone like they’d never existed. On the next flash of purple light, it caught the Hammer out of the air, clawed hand blurring. It squeezed, and the cafeteria Semenov’s Hammer shattered in a shower of sparks.

The man let go of the haft immediately, dropping to the floor. He turned and ran. “Help! Help me!”

Semenov started forward, hand on his own Hammer, but it was too late. A backhand sent the man flying into a wall nearby with a sickening crunch. He slid to the ground, unmoving.

Semenov stared at the body, as terrified as he had been on his first deployment. Hands shaking, he twisted the grip on his Hammer to five seconds in the past.

——

Cafeteria on Level 7—4:47:37

——

He appeared atop the monster’s shoulders just as it caught the cafeteria Semenov’s Hammer. With a grunt of effort, he swung his own as hard as he could, driving the head into 8-J’s skull. Then the world was moving around him and he was flying through the air, shaken off. Improbably, he made eye contact with someone midair; a Semenov crouched behind one of the support pillars, face terrified in the red light of the flare. That’s me, he had time to think. Then his head hit something and all faded to black.

He was laying on his back somewhere else when he awoke. His eyes opened, revealing flickering fluorescent lights set into a gray steel ceiling. Turning his head, he saw he was laying at the foot of a rack of rifles.

A rhythmic clinking noise made him raise his head. There was a man—a Semenov—sitting cross-legged in front of him, with a mug of coffee in his hand. He was knocking the spoon against the rim as he studied a mess of papers spread out on the floor.

“Urgh,” said Semenov, holding his head.

“You’re up.”

“What happened?” He pulled his hand away from his head, eyes widening at the blood on his fingers. Careful patting revealed the left side of his head was covered in blood.

“How are you feeling? You took a big hit.” The other Semenov’s voice was concerned.

“Woozy…but alright.” He levered himself onto an elbow, and then stood, checking his watch. It was 4:34, ten minutes before 8-J would fight free. He looked around: a long warehouse, full of weapons. They were in the Armory, on Level 3. “What happened? How did we get here?”

After a moment, he added; “Were you the one in the cafeteria?”

The other Semenov shrugged, setting down his coffee. “Well, I was one of them. I got there, there was another one of us who charged the beast. I thought he was going to die, but then you appeared and saved him.”

Vertigo swept Semenov and he almost fell over. This…this was him from just five seconds before! He looked at the man in fascination. The familiar mustache, the wrinkles, the face he saw in the mirror every day. “Remarkable…”

“What is? Which one are you, by the way? Do you know what is going on?”

Semenov blinked, coming back to reality. “Wait. What happened to the other Semenov. Cafeteria Semenov, the third one.”

“Cafeteria Semenov. You know it’s funny, I was calling him that too. He’s dead. The monster knocked you off, then stomped on him. I grabbed you and took you here.” The coffee Semenov stroked his mustache. “I suppose you failed in your mission, then. But perhaps we can still be useful; I found these papers in his jacket pocket.”

“Let me see those.” Semenov picked one of the notes off the floor and studied it. It was gibberish written in his own illegible hand.

Tell Bathroom that Bathroom already knows.

8-J awake —4:46:34. Timestop—4:33:07

Tell Reactor to be ready to talk to Burned if it doesn’t work.

“I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. But one did stand out to me.” The coffee Semenov slid a note across the checker-plated floor. This one made more sense. Go to the Control Room early. Extract 8-J’s files and upload them. Bring to 1st floor supply closet—4:40:35. Need 9 to know its weakness.

“Go to the Control Room? But there are defenses there. It’s suicide.” He vividly remembered the injuries of the Semenov who’d gone to the Control Room. He remembered his execution.

“Not necessarily. There is one time when they would be busy.”

“…when 8-J awakes,” Semenov realized.

“Exactly what I was thinking. In the chaos, the guns might be occupied.”

“4:46:34. That’s when the monster breaks out.”

They grinned at each other for a moment. Then the other man’s face darkened. “But which of us will do it?”

“Why not both, to maximize our chance of success?”

“Too much risk. One of us should go in, grab the plans. The other will wait outside the room, just in case something happens.”

Semenov’s brows furrowed. For five seconds, he said nothing. His mind was lost in recollection. The terror of fighting 8-J. Flying through the air, helpless. Then he said; “You go in, comrade.”

The coffee Semenov gave him a piercing look, one bushy eyebrow raised. “You never told me which Semenov you were. You must be from the future, yes? Do you know more than me? If so, then your life is more important. I won’t ask you to share your knowledge; I will go.”

Semenov’s gut clenched up.

How could this other Semenov be so full of courage, and he was still afraid? Did five seconds truly make such a difference?

“Yes, comrade,” he whispered. “I know things you do not know. I will wait outside the Control Room for you.”

There was an embarrassed silence. For an instant, he was convinced the other man knew everything and was a hair’s breadth away from coming clean and begging to go in his place. Then it passed and the coffee Semenov stood up, rolling his shoulders back. “You still have your flask? Mine broke downstairs.”

Semenov reached into his breast pocket. Miraculously, his was still in one place. He handed it to the other man, screwed the cap off for him. The smell of strong alcohol filled the air.

The two of them stood alone in the empty armory, passing it back and forth.

“I know what’s coming.” The other Semenov had an unfamiliar expression on his face. “I saw the last one to try this. It’s harder to face than I thought it would be.”

“You will survive. The guns will be occupied,” Semenov responded fiercely. He watched the other man closely as he lifted his head and took another sip of the flask and then put it within his own pocket. “Alright, I’m ready. No point in waiting.”

Now he recognized that expression—the noble look of a man who has accepted his own death. There was a flash of purple light, and Semenov was alone in the armory. He hung his head, covering his eyes with his palm. Then he twisted the handle.

——

Control Room on Level 8—4:46:34

——

The two of them burst through the swinging double doors into the Control Room, a large semi-circular room whose straight edge was dominated by a vast glass window, beneath which console panels were recessed into a control trench. Semenov didn’t know how to read the gauges and monitoring devices, but it was obvious that something had gone deeply wrong. Scientists were running around, screaming at each other in panicked voices. A flashing red warning sign had lit up one of the large consoles. As agreed, Semenov waited on the edge of the room in the doorway.

He staggered and nearly fell when he peered through the glass at the vast chamber beyond, seeing the familiar visage of 8-J; the long gray limbs wrapped in chains, the eel-like skin, and the weird head dominated by a slavering mouth and a massive, purple eye.

He only had a moment to stare before a scientist pulled a lever and a thick steel barrier slammed down into place behind the glass window. Alarms began to blare.

“It’s awake!” yelled a scientist. “Evacuate!”

The room devolved into chaos as the white-coated scientists each fought to get out first. The other Semenov was plunging heedlessly through the mess of them, fighting his way in. Semenov watched as the man’s Hammer blurred through the air, knocking scientists away with massive force. In the chaos, no one noticed him.

The coffee Semenov stopped at a Mainframe uplink and slammed his hand onto the security interface, dropping his Hammer to type a command in a second later.

Above his head, a turret dropped from the ceiling, red targeting light settling on him.

The man pulled a thumb drive from the machine and in one motion threw it over the chaos to Semenov, who caught it out of the air. “Run!” A second later, the automated defense system kicked online, and the man disintegrated underneath a rain of high-caliber bullets. Screams erupted from the scientists, and Semenov twisted the grip on his Hammer.

——

Outside the Crota Research Facility—5:01:46

——

There was a purple flash of light, and Semenov appeared on the surface above the Crota Research Facility, or what remained of it.

He was standing on the edge of a crater, staring in. The Research Center was a smoking pit in the ground. Ash swirled up from the hole, and fire raged in its depths. In the distance, Semenov could see 8-J, freed and striding away, taller than the trees. It glowed with purple light, starkly visible in the Siberian twilight.

“Damn,” He kicked the ash lightly with a boot. “Did we lose?”

He felt the reassuring coolness of the Time Hammer in his hand. Fate could be changed, he reminded himself. Everything could be undone.

He pulled out the note and studied it again.

Go to the Control Room early. Extract 8-J files and upload them. Bring to 1st floor supply closet—4:40:35. Need 9 to know its weakness.

Thick snow fell around him and gathered on his shoulders while he stood there, reading. He had the thumb drive. Now, to upload it, and hand it off to another.

To think there were so many of him, all engaged in a war against this beast. The incomprehensibility of it sent him reeling: Surely, it was impossible for one man to die twice, but how many times had he already done so? It made him proud to think of all the Semenovs, sacrificing their lives to do their duty.

Still, he didn’t want to die. Yet.

It was only a cold comfort to know there was another you, ready to carry on the fight. And yet impossibly, that Semenov with the coffee—he’d known he was going to die, hadn’t he? And he had gone anyway.

If they won, he’d deserve a promotion. Only, no one would ever know.

“Enough silly thoughts.” He twisted the Hammer.

——

Mainframe Terminal on Level 2—4:42:07

——

The thumb drive wasn’t encrypted or locked behind a security clearance. That was convenient. He didn’t want to even think about how many Semenovs would have had to die to bypass the security.

He was in the Mainframe Terminal on Level 2, a small room with a single desk and console. The supercomputer’s servers lined the walls.

He watched the green bar slowly fill as the thumb drive uploaded its contents.

“Comrade Semenov! Taking an early lunch?”

He glanced up at the familiar face. It was Myktilbak Vany, one of the men who worked in Security under his command. A cheery, round-faced fellow. For a moment, he just stared at the man, utterly disassembled by the normality of his appearance, by the calmness of the Research Facility four minutes before 8-J began its climb to the surface.

“He—Hello, Vany.”

“What’re you doing on the console there? It’s not security related, is it? I don’t remember you ever doing a lick of other work, haha.”

Semenov’s conscience twanged in his chest. “Vany, listen to me. Get in the elevator now. Go up to the first floor, and leave the facility. I’m not joking. You have only a few minutes before this whole place goes to hell.”

The other man blanched. “Wha—funny joke, Niki! Don’t say such things.”

The console beeped. [Upload complete.] Semenov turned to it, eyes flickering over the words.

Vany’s hand hit his shoulder. “Niki! Are you serious?”

Semenov paused to look back up at him. “Yes. Deadly so. I can’t waste any more time talking to you.”

He clearly saw the moment Vany noticed the protruding handle of the Time Hammer, resting underneath Semenov’s desk. His kind face scrunched up into innocent confusion. “Niki, is that..?”

This was getting out of hand, and Semenov could only think of one way to handle it. Semenov glanced around the terminal. There was no one there but the two of them. In one smooth motion, he drew his gun and shot Vany in the head.

“Vany, you fool” he muttered to himself, holstering the pistol again. The other man slowly keeled backwards. His head struck the steel floors with a dull clang. Guilt twisted up Semenov’s chest and he forced it down.

Who knew how many Semenovs had died already? Who were engaged with the beast at this precise moment? He could not stop to grieve one life, not when so much was on the line. And once they won, it would all be erased anyway.

But he tried not to look at Vany’s body as he scanned the contents of the thumb drive.

The beast was vulnerable to radiation. That was its only weakness.

He finished writing his findings down on a piece of paper and then hauled the Hammer up from under the desk. He rested its head on the ground, leaning against it like a cane, eyes closed.

A purple flash of light.

——

Supply Closet on Level 1— 4:40:35

——

Semenov appeared nearly face to face with another Semenov. The two of them were tightly compacted into the supply closet, squeezed between mops and old rags. The Hammers took up the most space, incredibly unwieldy and even painful where the sharp edges dug into his chest.

“You’re 9?” He asked.

“Yes. You have it?” The closet Semenov whispered.

“Here. It’s vulnerable to radiation.” The other man’s mustache scratched against his shaved skull as he contorted himself awkwardly to reach into his pocket. He passed over his notes.

“The reactor!” The other man hissed. “We’ll kill it with nuclear fire, by god.”

“But how to get it there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Someone else will,” Semenov said. He paused. “Do you have any instruction for me?”

“No. I was told to take your message somewhere else.”

“Ah,” said Semenov. His heart dropped into his stomach. He felt winded, like he’d been kicked in the chest. So he wasn’t part of the plan anymore. The plan—he had come to feel comforted by it, by the certain knowledge that there was another Semenov out there who was moving him like a piece on the chessboard. Only, now he wasn’t on the chessboard.

“I’m sorry,” said the other Semenov. “...You know the protocol.”

“Yes,” Semenov whispered. He thought back to the cafeteria Semenov, fearlessly charging to his doom. That was him, that man was made of the very same stuff. How could he hold himself to a lesser standard? His hand brushed the hilt of his pistol.

The closet Semenov gave him a sympathetic look. “Meet me at 5:30, topside. Let’s smoke one before you go. This is no place for a man like you to do it, in a supply closet.”

Semenov nodded gratefully. Of course he would understand. He twisted the Hammer.

——

5:30:05

——

Back up top, the air was cold. The Siberian wind cut through his officer’s jacket right to the bone. The Research Facility was still a devastated crater behind him, so he turned and stared into the forest instead. The snow covered the branches four inches high, and fearsome icicles dripped down the thickest branches. Some trees had been swallowed with ice entirely, becoming almost sculptural or architectural in appearance.

“Here.”

He turned. The other Semenov was holding out a cigarette, already lit. He took it gratefully in shivering fingers and took a deep drag. “So. How would you do it?”

“I don’t know,” the other man said, forming his fingers into the shape of a gun and resting it against his own temple. “I saw one use the pistol. Just held it up and pow.”

Semenov flinched at the mimed gunshot, then cracked a bleary smile. “We’re really something, you know? Not your average man can just off himself, just like that...”

The other Semenov clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes. I know.”

“Do you think we’ll win?”

“We won already,” the other Semenov said. “I delivered your message.” He gave him a significant look. “I was the one to deliver it, but there were two Semenovs already there, debating a plan to lure the beast into the reactor. One was from the future, he said he was coming back to make sure everything worked out right.”

“We won? But how can that be possible?” He gestured at the Research Facility, still a smoking crater behind them.

“I’ll be honest,” the other one said. “I have no idea.”

“How do I get from here to that timeline, where we win?”

They listened to the wind for a moment, thinking. Snow gusted around their feet, burying their boots.

“You can’t. Hell, I don’t think I can either. Not anymore.”

Semenov let his cigarette drop, watched it fizzle in the snow. “You doomed yourself, to come back for me?”

“If I wouldn’t do it for you, then who’d ever do it for me? You know?” The two of them chuckled for a moment, before the other continued. “I’m doomed, anyway. There can only be one Semenov at the end of this. That’s protocol.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“Right.”

The other man finished his cigarette. They shook hands, and then the supply closet Semenov disappeared in a flash of light, leaving him alone once more on the edge of the crater.

Hammer in one hand, he toed the edge. He held his other hand out, feeling the hot air gushing upwards between his thick fingers, staring in. It burned with red flames like a portal into hell. Further down, he could see the green fire of uranium, too bright to look at directly. The reactor core had melted its way down through the levels to the basement; he could see the still-molten edges of steel beams that had briefly impeded its descent.

Then, Semenov hesitated as a fragment of memory flashed through him, a few words wheezed through bloody lips. The original Semenov, he’d said something: It comes for the Hammer.

It occurred to him that he might be the only Semenov to know this fact. He was the only one there when it was said and the others, they’d all been grabbed from earlier in the timeline, before that first Semenov had appeared in front of him in the bathroom, bloodied and dying. And the information was important, wasn’t it? They needed to lure the beast to the reactor…

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t ready to die just yet.

Semenov leaned forward and let himself fall forwards back into the pit, disappearing in a flash of purple light long before he would have hit the bottom.