The Ticking Dome

I crawled out of that mug and found a chunky round kitchen timer hogging the cutting board. The dial was stiff, but I braced my heels against the timber and cranked the white knob until it clicked to five. Instantly, the guts started buzzing—a raspy, relentless tick-tick-tick that echoed across the counter. I crouched low, resting both sai across my knees, and locked eyes with the red wedge. It crept backward, slow and stubborn, counting down to whatever it was hiding. Then—CLANG! The bell hammered a violent rattle right through the wood. Didn’t even make me flinch. I just tapped the ringing dome with my pommel. Now the whole kitchen knows I'm awake.