Monday, 11 November 2001.
ZAGE Tower, Japan.
The fifty-first floor of ZAGE Tower was unusually quiet.
Most employees had already returned home, leaving only a small number of developers, security personnel, and night-shift staff scattered throughout the building. The city beyond the windows glowed beneath the darkness, while distant traffic moved through Tokyo like slow streams of light.
Inside his office, Zaboru sat behind his desk, typing through another ZEPS 4 stuff.
At least, he was trying to.
The document concerned memory optimisation for several launch titles. Normally, the problem would have held his complete attention. Even a small improvement could affect loading times, texture quality, operating-system stability, and the amount of memory available to developers.
Tonight, however, Zaboru had read the same paragraph several times without understanding it.
His eyes moved toward the clock.
20:00.
Eight o'clock in the evening in Japan.
New York was fourteen hours behind.
It should have been approximately six o'clock in the morning there.
Zaboru slowly leaned back in his chair.
Two more hours.
Perhaps slightly longer.
In his previous life, the first aircraft had struck the World Trade Center at 8:46 in the morning. The second had followed shortly afterward.
The date had been September 11.
Today was November 11.
Different month.
Different world.
Different history.
Yet the location, the gathering, and the strange circumstances surrounding the day had made it impossible for him to relax.
Millions of people continued their lives as though Monday were only another working day.
Zaboru closed his eyes.
He hated this feeling.
Knowing that something terrible might happen was not the same as possessing the power to stop it.
In games, information created opportunity.
If he knew where an enemy would appear, he could prepare an ambush. If he understood a system's weakness, he could correct it. If a project was moving toward disaster, he could intervene before it collapsed.
Reality was not so cooperative.
Zaboru possessed enormous wealth, influence, technology, and connections. He controlled companies across several industries and could contact powerful people around the world.
Yet even he could not walk into another country, close its airports, evacuate two major buildings, and explain that he remembered a tragedy from another life.
If the attack did not happen, he would create panic and international chaos.
If it did happen despite his warning, people would ask how he had known.
If the attackers changed their plan because of his interference, the result might become even worse.
Zaboru opened his eyes and looked toward the clock again.
Only three minutes had passed.
"Damn it…"
He pushed the keyboard away.
The secure phone on his desk remained silent.
His intelligence personnel in the United States had instructions to contact him immediately if anything unusual happened around New York, Washington, major airports, or the World Trade Center.
So far, there had been nothing.
Zaboru attempted to reassure himself.
Perhaps history had changed.
Perhaps the invitation had only awakened an old fear.
Perhaps the World Trade Center would remain standing for decades in this world.
He wanted to believe that.
But his chest remained tense.
He remembered the images from his previous life.
Smoke pouring from the towers.
People running through streets covered in dust.
Firefighters climbing upward while everyone else tried to escape.
Families calling loved ones who would never return home.
The buildings collapsing.
The silence afterward.
Zaboru lowered his head.
"I know something," he whispered, "but I can't do anything…"
That was the part haunting him most.
Somewhere in New York, thousands of ordinary people were waking up, travelling to work, purchasing breakfast, complaining about traffic, and planning what they would do after leaving the office.
If the attack happened, many of them had only a few hours remaining.
They did not know.
Zaboru did.
And he was sitting on the opposite side of the world.
World Trade Center, New York City.
At approximately 6:25 in the morning, Hugh Miller entered the North Tower carrying a paper cup of coffee and a plastic bag containing two breakfast sandwiches.
He was thirty-four years old and worked as a senior administrative staff member for a financial-services company occupying several floors inside the building.
The title sounded more impressive than the work usually felt.
Most days involved arranging schedules, reviewing internal documents, preparing meeting rooms, speaking with executives who believed every small inconvenience was a crisis, and fixing mistakes created by people who earned several times his salary.
Hugh did not hate the job.
It paid well.
More importantly, it provided medical insurance and enough stability for his growing family.
Three weeks earlier, his wife, Emily, had given birth to their first son.
Daniel.
Hugh had spent most of the previous night holding the baby while Emily slept. Daniel had cried for nearly an hour without any obvious reason, then suddenly fallen asleep against Hugh's chest as if nothing had happened.
Hugh was exhausted.
He had also never felt happier.
He entered the elevator and pressed the button for his company's floor.
Two other employees stood inside with him.
One was a woman reading a newspaper. The other was a younger man wearing Z-POD.
Nobody spoke.
Hugh drank his coffee and thought about the evening.
He wanted to leave work early.
Emily had sent him a message before he entered the building, reminding him to purchase diapers and milk on the way home. She had also attached a photograph of Daniel sleeping with one tiny hand pressed against his face.
Hugh had already looked at the photograph six times, and he fully intended to look at it again once he reached his desk.
When the elevator doors opened, the office remained mostly empty because of the early hour. Several employees were already preparing for the international business gathering scheduled later that morning, but most ordinary staff members had not arrived yet. Hugh placed the breakfast sandwiches beside his computer, removed his jacket, and had barely settled into his chair when a coworker named Marcus looked over the partition.
"You're early," Marcus remarked.
"So are you."
"I'm always early."
"You arrived nine minutes before me."
"That is enough time for me to judge you."
Hugh chuckled and switched on his computer. Marcus soon noticed the plastic shopping bag beside Hugh's briefcase and asked what was inside. Hugh reached into it and proudly removed a copy of Resident Evil 3.
Marcus immediately shook his head. "You brought a game to work?"
"I bought it during lunch yesterday and forgot to take it out of the bag."
"You played it yet?"
"Two hours."
"And?"
Hugh stared at him with complete seriousness. "Nemesis came through a window."
Marcus waited, expecting more.
"I turned off the console."
Marcus laughed. "Coward."
"You haven't played it."
"I played Resident Evil 2."
"Not the same. This bastard runs."
Marcus leaned against the partition and mentioned that his nephew wanted Crash Bandicoot 3. Hugh assured him it was a much safer choice, unless Crash suddenly developed the ability to break through windows while shouting "STARS." Both men laughed before Hugh placed the game back inside the bag.
He had purchased his ZEPS 3 several years earlier after receiving a promotion. Emily initially complained that he spent too much time playing it, but then she discovered Mario Part, Bomberman and Bishi Bashi Special. After that, most of their arguments were no longer about how long he played, but about which one of them had cheated.
Since Daniel's birth, Hugh had played much less. He did not mind. The console would still be there when his son became older. He had already imagined the two of them sitting together in front of the television, playing Crash Bandicoot, Mario, Bomberman, and whatever strange games ZAGE created next. By the time Daniel became old enough to understand a controller, the mysterious ZEPS 4 would probably already be considered outdated.
Marcus noticed the smile appearing on his face. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You're doing the new-father smile again."
"What does that mean?"
"You look exhausted, terrified, and weirdly happy."
"That is completely accurate."
Hugh opened the photograph Emily had sent and turned the screen slightly so Marcus could see it. Daniel's face was small and peaceful, completely unaware of the chaos he had created inside their home.
Marcus smiled. "Cute kid."
"Obviously."
"He looks like Emily."
"Everybody keeps saying that."
"That is probably good news."
Hugh threw a paper clip at him. Marcus ducked and returned to his desk, still laughing.
During the following hour, the office gradually became busier. Employees arrived carrying coffee, documents, newspapers, and complaints about the cold weather. Several executives connected to the international gathering entered earlier than usual, accompanied by assistants and security personnel.
Hugh moved between conference rooms, checking schedules and confirming that the required equipment was working. By seven-thirty, he had already solved three problems. One projector refused to connect properly, a visiting executive had received the wrong access badge, and someone had moved an important folder without informing anyone else.
They were ordinary problems.
Safe problems.
Hugh preferred them.
At approximately eight o'clock, he finally returned to his desk and opened one of the breakfast sandwiches. Emily called while he was eating, and Hugh answered immediately.
"Hey."
"You reached work safely?" she asked.
"Yes."
"How tired are you?"
"Completely awake."
"You sound like you're dying."
"That is my professional voice."
Emily laughed softly. In the background, Hugh could hear Daniel beginning to fuss. He asked how their son was doing, and Emily explained that he had been peaceful until five minutes earlier.
"He misses me," Hugh declared.
"He has no idea who you are."
"That is cruel."
"He likes me because I provide food."
"I provide the money for the food."
"Then he likes your wallet."
Hugh smiled as the office continued moving normally around him. Phones rang, printers operated, and someone complained loudly that the coffee machine was empty again.
"I'll try to leave early today," Hugh said.
"You said that yesterday."
"I mean it today."
"Diapers."
"I remember."
"And milk."
"I remember."
"And don't buy another game."
Hugh glanced toward Resident Evil 3 inside the shopping bag. "Of course."
She sighed, but Hugh could hear the smile in her voice. Daniel began crying more loudly, forcing Emily to prepare to end the call.
"I should go."
"All right."
"Be careful."
"I'm inside an office building."
"Still."
Hugh's smile softened. "I'll be home tonight."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
After the call ended, Hugh looked at the phone for a moment before placing it beside Daniel's photograph.
At 8:40, Marcus approached his desk carrying two cups of coffee. "I brought you one before the machine dies again."
"You are a hero."
"I know."
Marcus placed the cup down and looked toward the windows. The morning sky was clear, and from their height, the city stretched endlessly beneath them. Sunlight reflected across the buildings and surrounding water, making New York appear unusually peaceful.
"You ever get used to this view?" Marcus asked.
Hugh looked outside. "No."
For several seconds, the two men simply watched the city.
Then Hugh heard something.
A distant roar.
At first, it sounded like ordinary aircraft noise. That was not unusual; planes passed over New York constantly. But instead of fading, the sound grew louder.
Far too quickly.
Marcus frowned and looked toward the windows. "What is that?"
Several employees turned in the same direction as the roar became deafening. Hugh saw movement beyond the glass.
A passenger aircraft.
Too low.
Much too close.
For one frozen second, nobody understood what they were seeing. The plane filled the windows, and someone screamed. Hugh's coffee slipped from his hand.
His mind did not produce a heroic thought.
He did not think about terrorism or the World Trade Center. He thought about Emily. He thought about Daniel sleeping with one tiny hand pressed against his face. He thought about the promise he had made less than an hour earlier.
I'll be home tonight.
Then the aircraft struck the building.
The world exploded.
The sound was beyond anything Hugh had ever experienced. Glass shattered inward. Walls broke apart. Desks, ceiling panels, documents, and bodies were thrown across the office as the floor shifted violently beneath him. Heat and pressure struck at the same time, lifting Hugh from the ground before throwing him against something hard.
For several seconds, there was no clear direction. No ceiling, no floor—only noise, fire, dust, and darkness.
When Hugh opened his eyes, he could not hear properly. A high ringing sound filled his head. He attempted to breathe and immediately began coughing as smoke rolled through the destroyed office.
Parts of the ceiling had collapsed. Furniture had overturned, and flames burned through what had once been a row of workstations.
Hugh tried to move.
Pain tore through his left leg.
He looked down and saw that part of a desk and several pieces of broken structure had trapped him beneath the rubble.
With his remaining strength he opened his AKAI Blackberry Z01 with the wallpaper of his son and wife damaged.
He looked down at his damaged phone.
Daniel's photograph remained visible behind the cracks in the screen. His and wife still smiling in the wallpaper
Hugh smiled despite the tears filling his eyes. "Daddy's coming home," he whispered.
Then a violent sound came from somewhere above them.
Metal twisted.
Concrete fractured.
The corridor shook hard enough to throw several people against the walls. Screams spread through the crowd as everyone pushed toward the stairwell.
The ceiling began collapsing.
The man supporting Hugh attempted to pull him forward, but they did not reach the stairs.
The last thing Hugh saw was Daniel's face glowing faintly through the broken screen.
Then the rubble came down.
To be continued.
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