The barangay clock tower stood crooked in the
dust, its hands frozen at 3:17 AM — the moment
the sky turned black. The world had cracked in
two: one side was the ruins of Manila, where the
air reeked of ash and desperation; the other was
the familiar streets of Quezon City in 1987,
where Mayor Alonzo Reyes once ruled with a fist
and a smile.
Alonzo had been a man of power, a man who took
more than he gave. His name was whispered in the
alleys, his face etched in the hearts of those
he’d betrayed. But when the sky split open and
the timetravel device — a stolen relic from a
defunct military lab — exploded in his hands, he
found himself stranded between eras. The
machine’s only rule: No return without
redemption.
In 1987, he saw the young version of himself — a
man still full of promise, still believing in
the dream of a just nation. He watched as that
younger self signed off on a land grab, a deal
that would displace hundreds of families for a
luxury resort. The memory burned like acid. In
the postapoc world, he saw the same families
living in the shadows of skyscrapers, their
homes built from scrap metal and prayer.
The rules of the device bit hard: You may not
alter history, but you may guide it. You may not
change your own past, but you may bear witness
to it.
He wandered the ruins, helping survivors build
shelter, sharing food, teaching children how to
read. The old ways of corruption no longer
worked — the world had changed, and so had he.
He spoke to the ghosts of his victims, not in
words, but in actions: planting rice in barren
fields, fixing broken radios, lighting fires in
the dark.
One night, he met a girl named Mina, a
streetsmart orphan who had lost her parents in
the collapse. She was sharp, resourceful, and
unafraid. She challenged him, mocked him, then
trusted him. Together, they rebuilt a small
community, one roof at a time.
The device pulsed again, its timer running down.
Alonzo knew the choice: return to his time, or
stay in this broken world and rebuild it anew.
He looked at Mina, at the children laughing in
the dust, and smiled.
He stayed.
The clock tower still stood, but now its hands
moved forward — not backward, not frozen, but
forward. Hope, after all, was a force stronger
than time.
