LOG ENTRY: DAY 7
It’s miraculous. The arthritic fire in my knuckles—gone. The gray in my temples is retreating like a tide. I look into the mirror and see the man I should have been five years ago. My energy is boundless. I spent four hours reorganizing the lab data on telomere regeneration. I feel... new.

LOG ENTRY: DAY 14
Something is wrong. I woke up this morning and couldn't remember the access code to the Level 3 bio-lab. A code I have used every day for six years. I had to look it up in my physical notebook. Physically, I look twenty-five. My skin is elastic. My vision is perfect. But my recent memory feels foggy, like a dream I’m struggling to hold onto. It’s as if by scrubbing the age from my cells, I am scrubbing the experience they held.

LOG ENTRY: DAY 18
I understand now. God help me, I understand. Epigenetics. Cellular memory isn't just a metaphor. The Chronos variant isn't just repairing damage; it’s hitting a factory reset button. It’s rolling back my biology, and my mind is following the same temporal path backward.

Today, I forgot my assistant's name. I looked at her face—a face I’ve known for a decade—and saw a stranger. Yet, I can remember the quadratic equation I learned in 10th grade perfectly. I am becoming younger, stronger, and emptier.

LOG ENTRY: DAY 21
(Handwriting is hurried, frantic)
Must document before it goes. The serum must be neutralized. The regression is accelerating. I look in the mirror and see a nineteen-year-old kid. I'm terrified. I know I am a scientist. I know I built this. But the equations on the whiteboard... they look alien. They belong to a smarter man. A older man. I have to stop it. If I don't, Aris Thorne the geneticist dies, and only Aris the child will be left.

FINAL ENTRY
My name is Aris. The lights in this room are very bright. There are many glass bottles. I don't know where my mom is. I want to go home now.