"Project Lazarus," a disembodied voice announced. "A personal reality anchor. It will allow the wearer to undo a single, localized event. One redo. We need to see if the human nervous system can handle the temporal reflux."

Leo fell, not into acid, but into memory. The gauntlet, flawed and unpredictable, didn't rewind five seconds. It rewound five years.

In the sprawling, smog-choked metropolis of Atherton, being a "Brave Citizen" wasn't a compliment. It was a punishment.

Leo understood. The Oculus wanted a test of survival. But the universe, through a glitch, had given him a test of regret.