The cheering died slowly.

  At first people didn’t understand what they were looking at.

  The broadcast camera zoomed in on the gate.

  Dust swirled across the Martian surface on the other side of the portal. Engineers were shouting off-camera. The reporter tried to keep her voice steady.

  “Uh… we appear to have… unexpected movement within the corridor.”

  John folded the newspaper under his arm.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly.

  “Unexpected is one word for it.”

  The figure stepped fully through the gate.

  It wasn’t a monster.

  Not exactly.

  It was tall—taller than any human—but built with a strange mechanical symmetry. Its body looked assembled rather than grown. Plates and rods moved with precise, clocklike rhythm.

  Every joint clicked when it walked.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  The broadcast audio picked it up.

  John felt his stomach drop.

  “That’s not a coincidence.”

  The old man beside him nodded.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “No.”

  The camera zoomed closer.

  Where a face should have been, the thing had a circular plate.

  And across that plate—

  hands.

  Three of them.

  Minute.

  Hour.

  Second.

  They rotated slowly as the machine scanned the facility.

  The reporter’s voice trembled.

  “Security teams are moving in—”

  Behind her, soldiers aimed rifles.

  One fired.

  The bullet struck the machine’s chest.

  Ping.

  The machine didn’t even turn.

  The second hand on its face rotated once.

  The bullet fell apart midair.

  John exhaled.

  “Well.”

  “What?” the old man asked.

  “That’s definitely not from Mars.”

  The machine took another step forward.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Each step matched the same rhythm John had heard in the pawn shop.

  The rhythm between seconds.

  The broadcast began to stutter.

  Not the signal.

  Reality.

  The camera feed skipped frames.

  A helicopter in the background froze for half a heartbeat before continuing its path.

  Time hiccuped.

  The machine raised one arm.

  A long metal finger extended outward.

  Not pointing at anyone in particular.

  Just…

  pointing.

  The reporter whispered into the microphone.

  “It’s looking at us.”

  John shook his head.

  “No.”

  The old man glanced sideways.

  “No?”

  John tapped the newspaper headline again.

  2351

  “It’s looking for someone.”

  The second hand on the machine’s face completed a full rotation.

  The broadcast screens across the city flickered.

  For a moment—

  every digital clock in view read the same time.

  12:00

  Then they resumed normally.

  The machine spoke.

  Its voice sounded like metal tapping glass.

  “Dealer.”

  The crowd around John fell silent.

  The reporter blinked.

  “I’m sorry—did it just—”

  The machine repeated itself.

  “Dealer required.”

  John groaned.

  “Yep.”

  The old man looked at him.

  “You know it?”

  John nodded toward the screen.

  “That’s not an invader.”

  “What is it?”

  John rubbed his temples.

  “That’s a table manager.”

  On the broadcast, soldiers continued shouting orders.

  But the machine ignored them.

  Its head rotated slowly.

  Scanning.

  Listening.

  The second hand spun again.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Then it spoke one more time.

  “Dealer missing.”

  John sighed.

  “Well.”

  He stepped away from the screen.

  “Looks like my break’s over.”

  The old man watched him.

  “You’re going to the gate.”

  John shrugged.

  “Somebody’s got to sit at the table.”

  Behind them, the machine on Mars continued scanning Earth.

  Waiting.

  Because until the dealer arrived—

  the hand of Wednesday couldn’t move forward.

  And time refused to play the next card without one.