The cold metal of the closet pressed against his back, and the sharp edges of his pocket watch case dug into his palm, causing a sharp pain. Kane huddled in the cramped darkness, his heavy breathing resonant in the silence. On the watch's dial, the crimson numerals, like a demonic inscription, pulsed silently in the dim light:

70:23:45:12

Each decrement was like a cold gear grinding a new notch into his soul. The 71-year countdown was no longer a warning hanging on the wall of a distant laboratory; it had become woven into the pulse of his being, an inseparable part of him. The Möbius strip not only began to spin, but also locked him firmly into this desperate, self-defeating trajectory.

"Loop... Key..." His aging self's final breaths, like a ghost's sigh, echoed repeatedly in Kane's chaotic mind. The tiny Ouroboros symbol, etched on his withered wrist, was the only beacon that broke through the torrent of data. What did it point to? Was the "key" the symbol itself? Or was it the cyclical nature of the symbol?

He needed a breakthrough. A point of entry that could verify this absurd cycle, a glimpse of truth.