[ WP ] `` You have 24 hours . No more , no less . ''

“ You know that doesn ’ t mean anything here. ” I observed, the talking clock vulturing around my head. Gesturing out to the conflagration of fractal images, shattering infinitely in the thoughtscape surrounding us, I continued. “ 24 hours could be a cardinal direction here, or a color, or my favourite flavor of slurry. Now it ’ s just a deprecated, obsolete relic from a reality that never existed. ” 
 
 “ Nevertheless, ” It drolled sagely, “ You have 24 hours. No more, no less. ” 
 
 I sighed. “ I notice you fail to mention what exactly happens in 24 hours, with or without my intervention. ” 
 
 “ Indeed. ” 
 
 “ Nor do you seem worried about my complete lack of power here, even over my own movement. ” 
 
 “ Indubitably. ” 
 
 I tried swimming closer to the clockwork goblin, to prize some answers out of it, but it drew back, details shimmering into a vague mirage like everything else in this damn place. At first the fractals had kept my attention, the infinitesimal complex shapes weaving chaotically together, until I began to realize that it wasn ’ t random. No, the shapes were following some deceptively clever algorithm, some simple strain of vector algebra that wove the edges and spires together majestically. This was either the dream of a madman, the raved machinations of a mad machine, or the devil could just be a wizard with numbers. 
 
 With time, though, my memories had come back. This wasn ’ t a real place. I wasn ’ t supposed to be here. 
 
 “ Where ’ s my world? How did I get here? ” 
 
 It laughed at me, whimsical and bell-like. “ You didn ’ t ‘ get ’ here at all, my child. Or rather, you never arrived to this place. Your atoms have occupied this plane since the beginning of time, along with every other cosmic dust mote. You ’ ve always been here. As for your world, or what you think is your world, well… ” It seemed to collect itself, pausing in contemplation. “ Well, whatever you ’ ve been dreaming up all this time doesn ’ t matter much at all. The only matter you should concern yourself with is *time*. 23 hours and 56 minutes to be exact. ” The hands on its face clicked the moments away. 
 
 Another flare of anger coursed through me, but I quenched it down. I needed to be patient. “ So what exactly do I need to do? ” 
 
 For a moment it just floated there, the insane fracturing background stark against the calm details of its face. It really was a very nice clock, gilded with silver and mercury on a polished black mahogany, glowing from a sheen of fresh wax. It spoke. “ That ’ s the ticket. Please continue onward, I ’ m sure you have some questions. ” 
 
 A hole opened up to my left, reality condensed, and I was sitting in boardroom 48 of the Prior ’ s Boarding School in Kennely. The door opposite me opened.
