ANTAR #005

The sewer did not smell the way ANTAR expected.

It smelled like pizza, detergent, damp concrete, and teenage confidence. Somewhere, water dripped with commitment. Somewhere else, laughter bounced off walls that had heard stranger things and learned not to judge.

ANTAR adjusted his scarf. Four shadows moved faster than the eye could comfortably track.

“Dude,” one said, staring at ANTAR’s sandals, “you are not stealth.”
“I am,” ANTAR replied gently, “chronologically.”

They circled him. Masks. Shells. Weapons that looked ceremonial until they didn’t. ANTAR noted the teamwork. The brotherhood. The impressive lack of adult supervision.

“You lost?” another asked.
“No,” ANTAR said. “I arrived.”

This seemed to satisfy them.

They offered him pizza. He accepted, because refusing food has never ended well in any century. He studied the slice like an archaeologist encountering grease for the first time. He nodded respectfully. “Efficient,” he said. “Portable joy.”

They asked where he was from.

“Several wheres ago,” ANTAR replied.

They decided he was either very wise or very weird. Both were acceptable.

ANTAR watched them argue strategy, toppings, and who had eaten the last slice while claiming they had not. He smiled. He had seen empires fall for less complex reasons.

When it was time to leave, one asked, “Will we see you again?”

ANTAR considered the question carefully.

“You already have,” he said.

He stepped back into the tunnel, moving in a way that suggested shortcuts through time were less dramatic than advertised.

Behind him, someone finally said it.

“Guys… that was not a normal guy.”

ANTAR agreed.

End of Log #005