Reality Timeline · Friday, May 24th, 2024 · AfternoonZhang Yian / Second Expansion of Alteration · Dislocation of Memory, Perspective, and Objects
He returned to the duty desk at the far end of the corridor. His notebook was closed, his pen tucked away—but the alteration hadn't stopped.
—
14:17.
While inputting the daily briefing summary, the screen flickered—first a sudden black-out for a second, then an abrupt flash of a static black-and-white image:
A hospital room. Sunlight. Curtains. A man sitting by the bedside in plain clothes, gazing quietly at something unseen.
The image lasted no more than 0.7 seconds. Yet it was enough for Zhang Yian's pupils to contract.
He remembered that scene—But it wasn't his memory. It belonged to Yu Yong'an.
The man in the image was Yu Yong'an.And the perspective—was not of an observer, but of Yu Yong'an himself, looking outward at the world.
He clutched his chest. Sweat gathered on his brow. A bitter taste rose in his throat.For one breathless moment, he believed his name was Yong'an. That he lived in Beitun. That he preferred handwriting reports. That he disliked coffee. That he was a young patrol officer freshly graduated, drifting between Qiyang, Jiuyin, and Fengtian.
—
14:43.
He stood up, heading toward the records room on the west wing. Passing the duty locker, he glanced, out of habit, at the half-length mirror beside it.
And froze.
His reflection stared back, calm, uniform unchanged—except for the silver cross pendant dangling from his left breast pocket.
But he wasn't wearing one.
He looked down. His pocket was empty.He turned back to the mirror—the cross remained.
He stepped closer, studying the pendant's design.
The cross was hollow, delicately constructed. In its center, a second, smaller cross was engraved. And upon one arm of that smaller cross, a faint indentation formed the image of yet a third.
A triple cross.
His mind flashed to a fragment seen only in dreams—a lost scene:A crumbling frame. A shaft of light.A corner of a forgotten room.And there, the triple cross lying on the floor, glimmering.
He wasn't supposed to remember that.But it had appeared.
—
A Memory Not From This Timeline
It came without warning—a flash across the inside of his skull, like memory striking from a different life.
A soft white hallway.Window light falling across a girl's shoulder.She stood alone at the far end, her back to him.
Her hair was tied in a loose braid.She was drawing something on the fogged glass with her finger—a pattern. A number?No, it was a name.
She turned.Her face was blurred by light.But her eyes—her eyes were impossibly still.Like someone who had been waiting for a very, very long time.
"You forgot me once," she said softly."But I never stopped remembering you."
He took a step forward.The hallway cracked, like a painting peeling open.
And she was gone.
Only the warmth of her words remained, lingering like mist beneath his skin.
---
17:42.
The mirror on the west wall did open.Not physically—but as his eyes met the surface, the glass shimmered like water.
He saw himself standing on a city street, dressed in civilian clothes.Beside him, a woman turned and spoke.
He couldn't hear her words.But in her hand was the same triple cross—and she was pressing it into his palm.
He read her lips.
"You'll remember me."
A blink.The mirror stilled.
He stood alone in the hallway. No one else had noticed.
He returned to his desk. Sat down. Wrote slowly into his journal:
[2024.05.24｜Alteration Record: Friday]
Memory flash ×1 (Hospital scene—belongs to someone else)
Mirror displacement ×2 (Cross pendant, street reflection)
First appearance of "Her"?
Triple cross = tangible?
Dream symbol reemerges?
→ Form of Friday alteration: Perspective shifts / Memory intrusion / Object-based precognition→ Not a reset — an inserted disturbance
Closing line:
Tuesday taught me the world was misaligned. Friday made me question whether I'm still… me.
He shut the notebook with a quiet finality.
Would the dream return tonight?He didn't know.
But one thing he was sure of—The cross would appear again.
Reality Timeline · Tuesday, May 28th, 2024Zhang Yian / Deepening Displacement of Perspective
06:22 AM.
He sat on the edge of his bed in the precinct's dormitory, holding a freshly unsealed case report.
The handwriting on the envelope was his.But the signature at the bottom wasn't "Yian" as he always signed—It was "Y. A."
His brows furrowed.Throat dry.From somewhere deep in his subconscious, a name surfaced—One that did not belong to him: Yu Yong'an.
He shook his head. Breathed deep.Slipped the envelope into a drawer.
He didn't have the strength to chase down why that name felt so natural—Or why his own past suddenly felt like someone else's dream.
—
08:12 AM.
Before his shift began, he found himself walking to the duty locker, retrieving an old patrol log—The one used for foreign affairs.
It was already filled. Three pages in.The handwriting was his. But the tone wasn't the clean-cut report writing he was used to.
It was more like a monologue. A whispered warning:
"If you're here again today, don't drink from the kettle in the break room—someone's tampered with it.""When you walk up to the third floor, don't step on the blue tiles. Those tiles don't belong to today.""You'll feel someone watching. But don't turn around."
He stopped flipping the pages.
The last line read:
"You know too much. They've started to suspect you."
His spine stiffened.His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.The fear didn't come from outside—it rose from within, like another consciousness hijacking his hand, leaving behind its voice in ink.
—
10:41 AM.
Out on patrol, crossing an intersection near Wuguang Market, he noticed a woman nodding and smiling at him.
She wore a beige coat, held a basket of vegetables. She looked harmless.
But as she nodded, something inside him—some dormant memory point—snapped awake.
Who was she?How did she know I'd be here?Was she testing whether I'm still... me?
He turned away, fast.Cut across an alley.Looped the block.
When he returned, she was gone.
—
Lunch Break · Tea Room.
Zhang Yian sat in a corner, staring into his paper cup. The tea looked normal. No scent, no discoloration.But the warning from the morning echoed:
"Someone's tampered with it."
A colleague across the table teased him:"Hey, Little Yu, you've been weird all morning. Haven't said a word. Work pressure too much?"
He looked up without thinking, and replied in a voice that wasn't quite his:
"How much do you all really know?"
His tone was cold. Eyes sharp.Everyone fell silent.
Two seconds later, he realized—He didn't mean to say that.
—
15:07 PM.
While patrolling, he noticed two civilians walking behind him, keeping pace.They seemed normal.
But his mind whispered:
"You're being watched. Not just today.""They know you remember.""You've said too much. They've begun to shape your existence."
These weren't hallucinations.Nor the hazy symbols of a dream.They came with rhythm, tone, a creeping clarity—as if bleeding in from another layer of consciousness.
—
He began to believe—Someone had tampered with this timeline.Someone wanted him to doubt not just the world,But his very being.
—
18:25 PM.
Back at his desk, he wrote:
[Tuesday｜2024.05.28]
Perspective shifts: 3
Mistaken identity by others: 2
Rising internal suspicion
Memory fragments: "Y. A." / "You are not you" / tiles, tea, eyes
→ Paranoia Index: Elevated but controlled→ Unknown observers or surveillance likely
He closed the notebook slowly, jaw tight.
This was no longer about observation.No longer about doubt.
He was beginning to fear he was not the only version of himself.And that someone was exploiting the fracture to step inside his reality.
He didn't know what Friday would bring.But this Tuesday—was the first time he felt it, with certainty:
Someone was trying to erase him.
Reality Timeline · Friday, May 31st, 2024Zhang Yian / Displacement of Action and Language
07:18 AM.
He walked into the precinct as usual.The entrance scanner lit up with a line of text—brief, flickering, wrong:
Welcome Back, Officer Yu.
Yu?
He froze. Spun around.No one else entered with him. He was alone.
The system auto-rebooted in a second, resetting his ID. But the damage was done.
That was no technical error.It was a quiet declaration—Someone else's name was beginning to replace his own.
—
09:35 AM.
He was speaking to a civilian—routine foreign affairs case.The man was familiar, fast-talking, anxious.Zhang took notes like always.
Then came the question:"So… do I need to file a report?"
And without thinking, he replied:
"Once you wake up, you won't need to."
He stopped. So did time.
That wasn't his voice.Not his intent.
The man blinked, confused. "I… what do you mean?"
Zhang flipped his notebook, hoping to redirect—But the open page was no fresh log.It was an older draft, scribbled weeks ago, bearing a single message:
"Friday is not your time of existence. You only remember being here."
—
11:58 AM.
Walking past the duty corridor, a colleague approached.As they brushed shoulders, the man laughed, clapped his back, said:
"Hey, you're not as cold as last time."
"Last time?" Zhang frowned.
"Yeah, when you came outta that conference room over there, face pale as a ghost. You looked like hell, man. Then you went straight to the rooftop, stayed there half an hour. We thought maybe you were—"
Zhang cut him off. His voice low, steady, sharp:
"That wasn't me."
The man froze, still smiling. "What… are you talking about? You were—"
"I said, that wasn't me."
Zhang turned and walked away.Each step echoed strangely.As if the building had hollowed out, leaving him alone to pace its shell.
—
14:24 PM.
Flipping through his schedule, preparing to access the afternoon field records, the screen suddenly glitched.
The calendar jumped.A single line overtook the heading:
"You are the constructed one. You were never the original."
He snapped the tablet shut, lungs tight.His fingers trembled.Even his own breath felt mirrored—like someone exhaled behind him in sync.
He reached for a pen and scribbled a frantic note:
[Symptoms Escalating]・Language inserted (non-consensual speech)・Behavior-memory mismatch (external accounts vs internal recall)・Cognitive disturbance / recurring alien utterances・Temporal inconsistency: task logs overwritten
→ Rising Paranoia: Is a "Yu Yong'an version" of me being uploaded?→ Does everyone at the precinct know something I don't?→ Has the real "me" already vanished from this world?
—
17:11 PM.
Back in his dorm, he removed his uniform.
In the mirror—he saw himself wearing civilian clothes.
Not the outfit he'd worn today.But the one from last night's dream.
He stood in front of the reflection for a long time.Until dusk swallowed the light.And the figure in the glass faded to shadow.
—
[End of Day Note]
[Friday｜2024.05.31]
Self-identification failures: 6
Discrepancy between witness and self-memory: 3
Speech disturbances: 2
Non-physical memory recall (mirror-clothing misalignment)
→ Conclusion: Possible external personality insertion.→ Hypothesis: Friday's alteration is not just cognitive—it is identity overwrite.
[Unanswered Questions]・Who is the "original me"?・Why do I still remember being "Zhang Yian"?・Is this all an orchestrated fiction, written by someone within the precinct?
—
By the end of that day, Zhang Yian no longer merely suspected the world was wrong.
He began to believe—He had been written into a script.A role not his own.
And everyone else...was silently performing along—As if he was no longer the protagonist,but merely… the inserted character.