Fractured signalThe city didn’t look like the one Clara remembered.Blackout scars streaked across the skyline—dark towers, blank billboards, crashed transport pods scattered like dead insects along the streets. What lights remained flickered erratically, glitching in and out like broken memories. The digital heart of the city—once bright, loud, alive—beat weakly now, as if struggling to remember how to function.Thunder rumbled overhead, the night swollen with storm clouds.Clara moved through the ruins with the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, the cold biting into her skin. Every step echoed through the deserted blocks. Screens sputtered on as she passed—flashes of static, fractured color, faces half-formed then lost. Some broadcast distorted fragments of news, others just emitted broken code.Nothing was stable.Nothing was safe.A burst of static crackled overhead. Clara glanced up at a street display panel hanging by a single cable. The screen blinked, garbled pixels

Between two huntersThe tunnels smelled of rust and burnt circuitry.Clara Bennett squeezed herself into the narrow gap between two concrete support beams as a drone pack screamed past overhead, searchlights slicing through the abandoned subway line like blades.“Sterling Unit-7. Sweep complete. Subject not located.”Metallic voices bounced off the walls.Clara held her breath. Her palms stung where she’d scraped them against concrete while running. Her hair stuck to her forehead, damp with sweat and dust.The drones hovered for a moment—listening.Waiting.Her pulse hammered.Then a sharp tone.“Redirect to South Junction. Protocol: TERMINATE ON SIGHT.”They shot forward, leaving a gust of hot exhaust.Clara collapsed back against the pillar, exhaling shakily.“Okay… okay… keep moving.”But before she took a step—The lights around her flickered.Once.Twice.Then died.Pitch black.Her stomach knotted. She reached for the wall, grounding herself, grounding—Then a voice.Soft.Deep.

Ghost file The Ghost File finished decrypting with a soft click—too gentle, too calm for the dread seizing Clara Bennett’s chest.She stared at the flickering screen.ACCESS GRANTED — NEURAL SIGNATURE: C. BENNETT (UNIT-0)Her heart dropped.“Neural… signature?” she whispered.The tablet responded with a soft hum like it recognized her—like it had been waiting for her.A video file opened automatically.The screen shook, then stabilized on a sterile white room.Electrodes.Machinery.A metal chair bolted to the floor.And in the center—A girl.Clara’s breath hitched. “No…”The girl looked maybe sixteen. Younger. Thin. Pale. Eyes dull and obedient. A shadow of who Clara had become.Her own voice, high and fragile, murmured through the speakers:“Ready for sequence alignment.”Clara recoiled. “That’s not me— I never said that, I don’t remember—”The footage zoomed in on the younger Clara’s face as a scientist stepped into frame.DR. VERAS — Sterling Enterprises Neurodevelopment Divisio

The collapse The abandoned lab was freezing.Clara Bennett shut the rusted door behind her and slid down against it, her breaths coming fast and uneven. The room smelled like dust, wires, and something burnt. Old monitors sat stacked on metal tables like skeletal remains.She pressed her palm against her forehead.“Just… stop. Please.”Her tablet flickered as the Ghost File continued to pulse like a heartbeat. She placed it on the table and forced herself to stand.“Alright,” she whispered to herself. “One more time. One more look. One more truth.”Her fingers trembled as she opened the file.LOADING NEURAL SIGNATUREMATCH: CLARA BENNETT — UNIT-0The screen brightened, displaying distorted footage. A younger version of her—maybe seventeen—strapped to a metal frame, wires along her spine, eyes blank from sedation.Clara’s breath hitched.“No… no, that can’t be me. That can’t—”“It is you.”Kane’s voice slithered through the room like static.Clara staggered backward. “Get out of my he

Underground AgainThey’re deep underground again—past the networks, past Sterling’s surface patrols. Cut off. Battered.But alive.Together.Clara leans against the wall, sliding to the floor. Ethan kneels in front of her, gently brushing debris from her hair. She watches him through tired, vulnerable eyes.For the first time since the Ghost File, her breathing steadies.They didn't speak at first—words felt too heavy, too fragile.Then Ethan reaches out his hand again, palm open, waiting.Clara places hers in his.Their fingers lock.No speeches.No promises.Just a silent pact:Whatever the truth holds, whatever Kane has twisted, whatever Sterling unleashes next… they face it together.The underground hums quietly around them—dark, dangerous, uncertain.But for the first time in a long time, Clara doesn’t feel alone.The underground lab smelled faintly of burnt circuitry and ozone. Smoke from the last cascade of overloaded servers curled along the ceiling like restless ghosts. Ethan