A/N: Warning, major spoilers for Episode 3 lie ahead.

The vortex bears down on Arcadia Bay, and I know in my heart that I've failed.

Worse yet, is the chilling certainty that I'm now face to face with the ultimate manifestation of my own hubris writ large. Nearly half a mile wide or more, and tearing through the town like a vengeful demon.

Honestly, I kind of hoped that it was just a metaphor for the destructive corruption of the Vortex Club itself. But no. It seems a literal tornado was always intended to do the job.

I've forgotten how long I've spent, trying to stop this from happening. The subjective hours wasted as I read through books, watch television shows, consume everything I can about the subject of time travel while still maintaining some semblance of a life. Looking for some sort of clue, some hint, anything that can shed light on why I've been given this ability, and what I'm supposed to use it for. HOW I'm supposed to use it.

In the end, the prognosis isn't good. I find the same story told again and again, woven through the cultural tapestry over the past century or more, since society became mature enough to grapple with the concept of scientific time travel.

Sacrifice. The hero repeatedly fails against an increasingly capricious and cruel universe, against the whims of Time itself; it refuses to be trifled with, to be bent, twisted, made to come to heel. Denied the slaking of it's apparent blood thirst.

One of the old TV shows, on the memory stick Warren lent me comes to mind. It was like life was trying to send me a message…

"When I tell you that time has moods, a disposition to be intuited, I'm not speaking metaphorically….Anger is one of its moods - anger, and the desire for retribution, vengeance. Time itself has tried to punish me for my arrogance. It has kept me from my wife, denied me my future!"

It's from an old episode of Voyager called Year of Hell. The man in question, Annorax, desperately tries to restore the glories of his fallen empire, while saving his beloved wife. For over two centuries he picks away at the threads of Time, weaving and reweaving the tapestry. Always denied, always forbidden that which he desires the most.

And don't even get me started on that Ashton Kutcher movie from nine years back. My life, reduced to a rip-off of some freaky movie.

But in both those stories, the answer the hero seeks is right in front of them. The whole time.

Just as it's in front of me. The picture in my hand. The one that started this all.

The butterfly in the bathroom.

I can hear Chloe running up behind me, frantically calling my name. She's not in the wheelchair anymore. But William's still dead. I tried to have it both ways. The things I did...the people I became. The lives I sacrificed, upended, mutated, broke and reformed. It never ended. There was always one major piece, one unacceptable outcome that stuck out, mocking...taunting.

I think months must have passed, at least from my perspective, as I made changes, and then undid most of them, as best as I could. It's amazing that I'm still sane. Then again, I'm sure most folks would question my definition of sanity now…

My God, how did I ever think for a second that there'd never be a price to pay for it all?

I glance over my shoulder to look at her. Chloe.

My Chloe.

It's a mistake. I feel my resolve falter.

I love her. I've always loved her. And she's always loved me. Inside, I rail once more, at a universe that seems cruelly fixated on keeping us apart. Perhaps I should turn that around now, try and understand it's kindness and compassion as well. It gave us time together. Time we weren't destined to have. Memories of her secret hideout. Saving her life, time and time again, screaming out to the world, "You can't have her! She belongs to me!"

Us swimming in the pool, together. Reminiscing on our childhood. Swearing we wouldn't leave each other hanging, ever again.

That first kiss. The one that started off as a dare. But come on. She brought it up in the diner before. She practically has our lives together planned out by the time we break into Frank's RV. And then there's the next kiss. And the next after that. Until we finally stopped playing around and accepted what it was we had together.

But I see now that there's only one way to save the town. Save everyone now: innocent and otherwise.

I glance down at the picture on my hand and focus. Shift to the left. Slide to the right. Oscillate. Oscillate. I can feel the motions in my mind, like a ritual dance. It's effortless now.

I feel Chloe's fingertips brushing my shoulder. But then it's too late. I'm somewhere else.

Somewhere five days earlier. The girls bathroom. The butterfly is still there waiting expectantly.

Lets get it over with, shall we?

And so I play my part. I go through the motions. I signal to Time that I acquiesce, that she wins the day. That I won't try to stop what's coming.

*CLICK..ZAAAAAH-PFT!*

I shake the picture, one, two, five times. Watching it as it resolves itself into sharp relief.

Nathan comes in. Just like he has. Just like he always does.

And then Chloe takes the stage, to play her role.

I hold my breath, close my eyes and sink to my knees. Eyes burn with tears I refuse to shed, welling in my eyes. Heart near to the bursting point with self-loathing.

I have to let this play itself out. I have to let her go. This is the moment where I broke the Universe. I was never meant to have this power. Everything that happened after I saved Chloe was just the Universe teaching me what I needed, so I can accept this. The need to set things right.

No matter how much it hurts.

And oh God, it hurts. The dagger twisting itself, in the thick of my throat, the width of my heart.

It's almost over now. I can hear the maddening, rising pitch of Nathan's voice.

"Dont EVER tell me what to do. I'm so SICK of people trying to control me!"

I'm not angry at him. I don't hate him. I pity him. What his parents have turned him into. What their desire to control has done to his mind. If there was anyone who ever deserved saving more than Chloe, it's Nathan Prescott.

It's all over but the crying.

"You're going to get in hella more trouble for this than drugs -"

Something breaks inside me, something vital as I hear her voice. The fear-drenched bravado. I don't look, but the wild-eyed gaze she must be giving Nathan bores holes into me, in my minds eye.

Then it hits me. It doesn't have to end this way.

Someone has to die, of course. But it doesn't have to be Chloe.

I rise in one smooth, swift motion, step out from behind the stalls and yell out.

"Hey, sicko! Take your fucking hands off her!"

Nathan wheels about, finds me standing there, levels the gun…

Chloe makes a grab for it. It goes off though. Just as I know it must.

I don't even try to dodge.

It hurts, the bright fire blossoming in my abdomen. This isn't the first subjective time I've been shot. It's an experience I've lived through six, maybe eight times before, in my mad quest to hold together my increasingly crumbling world. Experienced, taken back, lived through again.

But it hurts more this go around, more than any of the others.

Maybe because it's real. It can't be taken back. I don't even try now, I simply have faith that I've made the last, best sacrifice. The one that will set things right.

The gun falls to the floor with a noisy clatter, as Nathan tears off, a gibbering wreck.

"I...I didn't mean...I didn't mean it."

He runs out of the bathroom, screaming it repeatedly.

"I DIDN'T MEAN IT!"

I don't remember hitting the ground. Don't notice that I have until I sense the cool tile beneath my head. And then a shift, my head on a lap.

Hers.

It won't be long now.

I open my eyes, finding hers. She's so vulnerable now, so open, and I fall in love all over agin with her in an instant.

"Oh...oh shit! Shit...Max? Max Caulfield?!"

I cough up blood, smiling with stained teeth. I have just enough time. Just enough to tell her…

"Chloe. I'm...so sorry. Should have been there. I should have...been there. Last five years. All of it, my fault. Tried to save you so many times. Because I love you. I'll always...love...you."

"Max...Max don't try to talk...oh shit, this...this doesn't look….HELP!"

She screams out, again, "HELP! He shot her! He shot Max! HELP!"

I want to reach up, pull her down to me, give her one last kiss. Reassure her. Tell her everything is going to be okay now. I can see it. Flashes of what's to come, as I feel a gentle, floating sensation begin to overtake me.

I see the links joining together, forming one chain reaction of related events, on a quick-running vision:

My murder will be too much for Nathan and his family to cover up. It's the beginning of the Prescott's ultimate downfall.

The scandal with Nathan takes the heat off Kate. Gives her time to heal. Courage to come forward and report what happened to the police. Another nail on the coffin.

Chloe spend over a year trying to find meaning in my death, in our sudden reunion after five years, how it all ended in the passage of a few tragic seconds. Eventually, she decides that the only meaning it has is what she gives to it, and tears into life like a woman possessed, living it well enough for the both of us.

I'm barely hanging on by a thread now. There are heavy footfalls coming, and in the blurriness of my vision, I think I make out David's shape, hauling in a large first aid kit.

Doesn't matter. I've accepted this. This is good. This is right. This is how events were always supposed to play it out. For all I know, this is how it always was, how it always happened. That in reality, I called out to Nathan. That I was actually shot the first time. And everything from the initial rewind to now was just a prolonged dying vision. It might as well be.

At least the Universe was kind enough to show me why it had to happen.

Funny the way that works out.

Life is strange.

And then it ends.

A/N: Man, that episode three really packed a punch, huh? I seriously, seriously did not expect Dontnod to give us such glorious amounts of Pricefield shipping. FOR REALSIES! It blew my mind, and had me pumping my fists in the air.

And then they started ripping pages directly out of The Butterfly Effect, and to be honest, I'm kind of pissed at the game for that..

Oh, Life Is Strange...

I can't stay mad at you for long! You were clearly the story TBE was meant to be!

This one-shot was inspired by some notes I had sketched out for a possible theory on the game all ends. And it might be rebooted and developed into a fuller story/series, depending on how the next couple of episodes play out. Hope you liked it, or at least didn't totally hate it.