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Welcome to my world: a never ending merry go round, where every eight-hour reset is a fresh opportunity, and where the only real law is the Time Master Blueprint, discovered in the ruins of a dead civilization.
I am Chronos — the first of the Time Rogues. We answer to many names; some call us “Rogue Time Surfers.” Truth is, we don’t care for rules. Laws and order are curiosities to be toyed with. Our bread is chaos; our trade is permanent change. Classical space-time is a costume we shed; we live outside its seams.
Now, every one of us rogues carries a Chronoblade. Most look like blades; some are hybrid revolvers that fire wormholes instead of bullets. A slash with a Chronoblade opens a door; a trigger becomes a seam.
On our Home World the rules are simple and splashy: every eight hours Earth-time, history rewrites itself. Streets rearrange, memories recede, empires wink out and are reborn. Ordinary minds sleep through the edits. Ours were especially designed — a graft of biology and quantum intelligence — so we remember every dying second. You might call us “artists extraordinaire”.
Long ago we found the Time Master Blueprint for the whole space-time fabric: a ritualized topology left by an elder, long gone civilization. It is equal parts code, liturgy and weapon — a narrow grammar for cutting holes in time without ripping the whole fabric.
Follow it, and the world swallows your changes like a tide; ignore it and you wake up inside a wound that never heals. We keep its rules like jazz musicians keep rhythm — not to be shackled, but so we can improvise without annihilating the stage.
The Time Patrol Agency hates our guts. Misfits, saboteurs, rebels without a cause, that’s what they call us. TPA polices continuity the way priests police heresy: ledger-plates, canonical mandates, and a bureaucratic certainty that every moment belongs in a single, sanctioned history.
They chase us across stitched timelines, flinging statutes and doctrine like nets. Alas they know next to nothing about the Time Master Blueprint. Their handicap is our edge for delirious Houdini escapes through space-time.
The ride is loud, messy and outlandish.
Life changing fallout is expected.
Strap in.
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