Background
2031–2034: «Tectonic Winter.» The Pacific Plate began to «slip.» Cities along the plate boundaries were cleaved apart, and coastlines shifted by tens of meters.2034: The Rupture. A station in the Mariana Trench, «??? , ” recorded a sphere where space did not converge and time flowed unevenly. It was a seam—a place where reality is stitched with other moments.2035–2039: The Technology. Scientists learned to direct objects into the past and future using a resonant anchor—a connection between sender and receiver. Thus, RE: DATE was born.The year 2036, which does not exist. Officially: The Rupture is a natural anomaly. Unofficially: in 2036, an incident occurred at „??? , ” of which there is no record. Something created the Rupture. And that „something“ remains active to this day.
«RE: DATE» is a science fiction story about a courier company that uses a spatial rift to send items into the past and future, allowing people to gently correct their lives without breaking the timeline. The plot follows three protagonists from different cities whose orders unexpectedly resonate with each other, forcing them to unite to figure out: how the rift was actually created and why the rules exist.
RE: DATE Rules
Anchor — the object dissipates without resonant connection.Window — transition is only possible within specific intervals.People are prohibited; animals are not recommended.Rule of Invariance — only «soft» edits are permitted. No «kill Hitler.»One-Touch Rule — one recipient equals one object for life. A second attempt causes an «echo storm.»
Prologue. A Voice from the Archives
[Internal Memo RE: DATE. Date: 2073. Author: Unknown. File partially recovered.]
…there is a conspiracy theory. Among the couriers, among the clients, among those who have merely heard of RE: DATE. They say that sometimes an item arrives twice. You order one transit, you pay for one object, but you receive two. The second—from nowhere. Not in the documents, not in the logs, not in the system. It just appears.
The company’s official stance: a glitch. An echo. A side effect of resonance. Ignore it.
But the couriers know: glitches don’t happen twice to the same person. And here there are seven incidents in four years. All connected to the year 2036. A year that has no record whatsoever.
No one knows who is sending the second objects. Or why.
But if it’s true—it means someone is exploiting the Rift. Someone who is not us.
Heroes. Introduction
Mira, 24 years old — Tokyo. Level 4 Operator
Goal: Mira’s mother survived the «Tectonic Winter» but lost her memory and does not recognize her daughter. Mira wants to send an album of blueprints and photographs to the year 2033 to restore her mother’s past. Do not save. Restore.
What’s compelling: she sees successful deliveries every day and knows the system is working. But sometimes it glitches.
2. Kim, 31, Seoul. Echo Risk Analyst
Goal: Kim’s brother is alive but broken; he was kicked out of «???» in 2038 and lives as a recluse in Busan. Kim wants to send a photo of their father to 2038—the only thing that once kept his brother afloat. Not evidence. Just a reminder that he isn’t alone.
What hooks the story: He discovers an anomaly in the archives—seven cases where people received two objects. The second one never came from the client. No one ordered it. All seven are linked to 2036.
3. Ada, 19, Reykjavík. Intern
Goal: Ada wants to send seeds and instructions not to herself, but to an unknown girl—the first child to grow up in a world without functional agriculture. She doesn’t know her name. She only knows: if she doesn’t send it now, the window will close for six months.
What’s compelling: her request was already approved eight hours before she submitted it. By someone else. Before her.
Chapter 1.
Mira. Tokyo. 2073
The shift started at 7:00 AM. I arrived early because I hadn’t slept.
The control room smelled of ozone and cold coffee. A sphere hung behind the glass. A tear. Two meters of wrongness, as if someone had cut a piece of reality out and forgotten to sew it back in.
I sat down at the console. The screen sprang to life. Next to me on the table lay the merchandise: a mug with the logo, a notebook, a pen engraved with RE: DATE. Everything was standard, everything was the same.
The first window into 2033. Six minutes. I stared at it too long.
Today’s order was from Osaka. A man was sending a letter to his mother in 2029, one day before her death. Three words: «I love you.» The resonance was clean, the echo risk was four percent. The transfer was successful. He cried and smiled.
Then there was the key. A woman from Kyoto was sending the key to a house her family had lost. The recipient was suffering from panic attacks. A year later, she smiled for the first time.
And there was the farmer from Hokkaido. He was sending an apple seed to his grandson who hadn’t been born yet. Successful.
The system worked. I saw it every day.
Then I tried to find an anchor for myself. An album of my mother’s blueprints and photographs—to give her back the past.
He was an anchor, but not a mother. An unknown man. Died in 2033. One of the founders of RE: DATE. He perished on the day the Rift was created.
I closed the archive. Then I reopened it.
Alright. We will find another way.
Chapter 2.
Mira. Kim. Seoul. 2073
Sublevel Archive. No one asks why you’re here.
I was looking for a way to send my brother a photo of our father—the one where he’s laughing. The only thing that ever kept my brother afloat.
I was about to close the archive when the screen flickered.
Seven people received two objects each. The first was from a client. The second came from nowhere. No one had ordered it; no one had paid for it. The object simply appeared. All seven are linked to the year 2036—a year with no records.
I opened a request from an intern in Reykjavik, Ada. Target year 2045. Approved eight hours before submission.
I chuckled.
What have you been planning, girl? And who planned it before you?
Chapter 3.
Reykjavik, Iceland. 2073
Snow was falling in Reykjavík. In March. Everything had become mixed up after the «Tectonic Winter.»
A packet lay on the table. Seeds. Twelve varieties. An instruction guide. A letter to a girl who would be born in 2045. I didn’t know her name. I only knew: if I didn’t send it now, the window would close for six months.
