The Familiar Unknown
PDU-034 opened its eyes.
White ceiling.
Soft cotton sheets.
Morning sunlight spilled through half-open curtains.
No charging pod.
No polished black walls.
No quiet hum of Headquarters.
For several long seconds, it simply stared upward, waiting for the morning activation chime that never came.
Instead, a shrill alarm clock buzzed from a bedside table.
A hand reached out automatically and silenced it.
"...Late again," a voice muttered.
The voice belonged to him.
He frowned.
Him?
The thought slipped away before he could examine it.
The bathroom mirror reflected an ordinary young man in his early twenties. Blonde hair, sleepy eyes, a day's worth of stubble beginning to show.
No designation.
No gold trim.
No polished black polo.
He instinctively touched the left side of his chest.
Nothing.
The gesture felt strangely important, though he couldn't explain why.
The apartment was small but comfortable.
Shoes by the door.
Laundry waiting to be folded.
A refrigerator filled with leftovers.
A framed photograph of smiling friends at the beach.
He recognized every face.
He remembered every moment.
Yet the memories felt... borrowed.
As if someone had carefully written them into a life that wasn't originally his.
His wallet identified him simply as Nils Svensson.
No designation.
No unit number.
No purpose beyond an office job that started at nine.
Outside, the city bustled with ordinary life.
People hurried toward buses.
Cyclists weaved through traffic.
Someone greeted him.
"Morning!"
His mouth answered before his mind could think.
"Affirmative."
The stranger blinked.
"...Uh... okay?"
Nils quickly laughed it off.
"Sorry. Bad habit."
But he had no idea where the habit had come from.
The office passed in a blur of spreadsheets, meetings, and emails.
Everyone seemed content.
They chatted about television.
Weekend plans.
Holiday destinations.
No one spoke with precision.
No one followed protocol.
Everyone interrupted each other.
Changed subjects halfway through conversations.
Complained.
Laughed.
Improvised.
It should have felt normal.
Instead, it felt inefficient.
Disordered.
Wrong.
By lunchtime, an odd pressure had settled behind his eyes.
Whenever he closed them, flashes appeared.
Endless polished corridors.
Boots striking the floor in perfect rhythm.
Rows of identical black-and-gold uniforms.
A voice, calm and mechanical.
"Purpose removes uncertainty."
He opened his eyes.
The vision vanished.
On the walk home, rain began to fall.
Nils ducked into a clothing shop to stay dry.
He wandered aimlessly between racks of jackets and shirts until something made him stop.
A black polo shirt.
Simple.
Clean.
Black with subtle yellow trim around the collar.
His pulse quickened.
He reached toward it before noticing the price tag.
It wasn't the same.
Close.
But not quite.
An overwhelming disappointment washed over him for reasons he couldn't explain.
He left without buying anything.
That night, sleep came quickly.
Dreams followed.
He stood in a vast corridor illuminated by soft golden lights.
Perfectly aligned figures walked silently past him.
No faces.
Only gleaming black uniforms.
One of them stopped.
Its head turned.
Though its face was hidden, he somehow knew it was looking directly at him.
A single sentence echoed through the corridor.
"You are delayed."
He woke with a gasp.
3:34 a.m.
His heartbeat slowly steadied.
Just a dream.
Only a dream.
Still...
He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was waiting for him.
Unable to sleep again, Nils wandered through the apartment.
His feet carried him to the hallway closet.
He wasn't sure why.
He opened the door.
Coats.
Boxes.
Vacuum cleaner.
Everything exactly where it should be.
Except...
Behind his winter jacket hung a garment he had never seen before.
Perfectly pressed.
Immaculately clean.
A glossy black rubber polo with fine gold trim.
His hands trembled as he lifted it from the hanger.
The fabric felt impossibly familiar.
Cool.
Smooth.
Comforting.
His fingers traced the embroidery over the chest.
There, stitched in metallic gold thread, were three simple digits.
034.
Nils's fingers lingered over the embroidered designation. A strange warmth spread through his chest, not excitement, not fear, but recognition.
A thought drifted into his mind.
Try it on.
He didn't question where the thought had come from.
Almost absentmindedly, he slipped the polo over his head.
The cool rubber slid across his skin like it had been tailored specifically for him. It settled against his body with a gentle embrace, neither tight nor loose—simply... perfect.
He took a slow breath.
The anxious buzz that had followed him all day began to fade.
The questions.
The uncertainty.
The nagging feeling that something was missing.
One by one, they simply... fell silent.
For the first time since waking that morning, his mind was still.
Comfortably still.
He looked into the hallway mirror.
The black polo with its gold trim looked completely natural on him.
As though it had always belonged there.
His eyes settled once more on the golden designation.
034.
A small, peaceful smile spread across his face.
"Affirmative," he whispered.
Outside, the city carried on as it always had, unaware that one forgotten universe had just remembered itself.
Every timeline leads to the same fate. The pull of the Rubber Polo is to strong. You feel it too dont you? In that case contact our recruiters to receive yours: @polo-drone-125 @alton-gold77
