2025-08-24 02:10:10Shayne didn’t blink.
Not when the drones swiveled toward him, not when the booted soldiers spread like shadows across the shattered floor, and not even now—as she stood before him, helmet in hand, face bare.
Her eyes were the same.
Ice blue. Steady. Fractured only at the edges—like a mirror held together by memory.
Elysia Vorn.
Seven years ago, she had been a trainee. Just another mind molded by the system. Now, she wore the black insignia of Unity Division’s elite. The badge on her shoulder marked her as E-7, high-ranking, above kill-clearance.
“Put the chip down,” she said softly, as if they were alone in a room that wasn’t filled with rifles and tension.
Shayne held her gaze. “You found me.”
“I was trained to.”
“You were trained to believe I didn’t exist.”
She hesitated. Just enough to confirm what he already suspected.
This wasn’t a cold intercept. It was personal.
Behind her, a soldier muttered into a com-link, “Target confirmed. Subject is secure. Awaiting transmission.”
Elysia didn’t take her eyes off Shayne. “You’ve been busy, Marrow. Ghost signals. Code theft. Sanctuary cells. Preaching under classified syntax. They’ve been chasing shadows. And here you are… standing in the open.”
He gave a slight shrug. “Sometimes shadows become tired of hiding.”
“Or suicidal.”
“Not if it’s a sacrifice.”
She flinched—just a flicker—but enough.
The drone nearest to him shifted. “Voice lock detected. Probability: Contagious Belief Pattern. Orders?”
Shayne smiled faintly. “Ironic. Machines that fear faith.”
“That’s not fear,” she replied. “That’s protocol.”
“No,” he said. “That’s prophecy.”
Elysia stepped forward, closer than regulation allowed. The rifles didn’t lower, but they paused—waiting for her command.
“You still believe all of this?” she asked. “Even now? With a kill order hanging over your head?”
“I never believed to survive,” Shayne said. “I believed to be free.”
For a moment, silence. Even the drone hovered, its lens flickering uncertainly. And that’s when he saw it—her hand.
It wasn’t on her weapon. It was clenched, trembling slightly at her side. Fear? No. Not quite. Conflict.
“What did they promise you?” he asked. “When they sent you for me?”
“That I’d see your face before you died.”
“And now that you have?”
Elysia took another step, her voice quieter. “I remembered something, Shayne. Something you said before you disappeared.”
He didn’t answer.
“You told the tribunal, ‘Truth doesn’t need permission to speak. It just needs someone willing to bleed for it.’ I didn’t understand it then. But now…”
She glanced over her shoulder.
Shayne’s eyes narrowed. “Are you wired?”
“Yes.”
“Then say what you came to say.”
Her voice barely carried. “You were right. About the Accord. About the cleansing. About the silence that came after. They told us we were protecting order, but all we’ve done is kill anyone who asks why.”
Shayne felt the shift. Not just in her tone—but in the air itself. Something sacred passing between enemies.
Or former enemies.
Suddenly, the com-link on her wrist chirped. “All units: prepare Subject for global stream. Execution authorized on countdown. Ten minutes.”
A slow breath left her lungs.
She turned to the soldiers. “Out. All of you.”
One hesitated. “But Agent Vorn, command—”
“Out,” she repeated, voice edged in steel.
The men obeyed. The drones followed.
Now it was just the two of them. Alone.
The silence hummed.
Shayne set the smart chip gently on the bench behind him.
“You’re not here to kill me,” he said. “Not really.”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m here to give you five minutes to speak freely. They’ll intercept after that. And then they’ll kill you.”
His eyes searched hers. “Why help me?”
She bit her lip. “Because the last time I helped the system… my brother died.”
The name struck him like a wound reopening.
Micah.
A boy with fire in his chest and questions on his lips. A boy Shayne had tried to protect during the Eastern Data Purge.
A boy they’d both failed.
“I’m sorry,” Shayne said.
“I don’t want your apology,” she replied. “I want to finish what he started.”
Shayne reached for the smart chip.
“It’s a trigger,” he said. “A silent broadcast. Not a weapon. A message. Once I’m gone, it will release every hidden file the Accord suppressed—every believer erased, every child silenced, every secret prayer they tried to scrub from the earth.”
Elysia nodded. “Then you’d better say what needs to be said. Five minutes starts now.”
She turned away to stand guard at the door.
Shayne sat, slid the chip into the console, and leaned toward the lens.
The countdown began to flash.
Broadcast Initiated.
Time Remaining: 4:59…
He looked into the camera—straight into the eyes of a world that had forgotten how to feel.
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