Prologue: "The One Who Thought Too Deeply"
I'm just a guy. No scars of destiny. No prophecies. No glowing symbols behind my eyes.
But I think—too much, maybe.
And recently, my mind's been chewing on something strange.
An idea that won't leave me alone:
> If there are infinite versions of myself... then there must be one—just one—who got everything I ever wanted.
Maybe he stumbled upon a glitch in the system.
Maybe a being offered him a deal.
Maybe… he didn't ask for power. He just realized it.
Probability. The infinite dice of existence.
If it can roll any result, then somewhere, it did roll me with the power to control it.
And if that version of me exists, then what's stopping that version from reaching back—across possibility—and making it so I was always him?
It's a paradox. It shouldn't work. But that's the thing about probability.
> Even impossible things have a percentage.
And somewhere in that chaos, a "me" decided to make it 100%.
---
Now
I woke up this morning, and things felt... off.
I flipped a coin.
It spun in the air—suspended—longer than physics allows.
Then it landed on its edge. Balanced. Refusing to choose.
My phone glitched. The time read: NOW / ALWAYS.
I took a step outside. The wind shifted because I thought it should.
A car braked before it hit a red light—before it even turned red.
I didn't ask for this.
But maybe, I was always going to get it.
Because somewhere, I did.
And now?
> I think I'm starting to understand what that version of me saw.