The Prometheus Protocol

The rain fell like heavy stones. It hit the rusted shipping containers with loud clangs. It washed the blood from Ronan’s forehead into his eyes. He blinked, trying to see, but the world was a blur of gray water and dark shadows.

He pressed his hand against the side of his head. His fingers felt wet and sticky. It was not just rain. It was warm blood.

"Stop running," a voice shouted. It was a deep, bored voice. It sounded like a man ordering a coffee, not a man holding a gun.

Ronan did not stop. He stumbled forward. His expensive leather shoes slipped on the oil-covered concrete of the docks. He breathed hard. His chest felt tight. This was supposed to be a meeting. A simple handshake. A deal to save the company.

He turned a corner around a stack of blue crates. Dead end.

Before him was the edge of the dock. Beyond that, only the black, churning water of the bay. The waves crashed against the wood pilings. The smell of old fish and diesel fuel filled his nose.

Ronan turned around.

The man walked out from the shadows. He was big. He wore a long, plastic raincoat that shined under the yellow streetlamp. The rain dripped off the brim of his hat. In his right hand, he held a pistol. It was black and steady.

"Please," Ronan said. His voice shook. "Take my wallet. Take my watch. It’s a prototype. It’s worth millions."

The man stopped ten feet away. He did not raise his voice. He did not look angry. He looked at Ronan like a mechanic looks at a broken car.

"I don't want your wallet, Ronan," the man said.

Ronan’s back touched the cold metal of a crane leg. "Who are you? The message said—"

"The message was a lie," the man interrupted. He took a step closer. The thunder boomed overhead, shaking the ground. "There is no buyer. There is no deal."

Ronan felt a cold knot in his stomach. "Then why?"

The man sighed. He wiped rain from his face with his free hand. "Elena sent me."

The name hit Ronan harder than a bullet. Elena. His partner. His best friend. The woman who stood by him when they built their tech empire in a garage. Elena, who had smiled this morning and fixed his tie. 'Go get them, Ronan,' she had said. 'This trip will change everything.'

"No," Ronan whispered. "Elena wouldn't. We built this together."

The man raised the gun. He aimed at Ronan’s chest. "She did the math, kid. You are the dreamer. She is the CEO. She says you are too soft. You want to give the tech away for free. She says you are bad for the stock price."

Ronan stared at the man. The rain felt colder now. It froze his skin. It wasn't a robbery. It was a calculation. A cold equation. Ronan minus the company equaled profit.

"She can't do this," Ronan said. He looked for a way out. There was only the dark water behind him.

"She already did," the man said. "Nothing personal. Just business."

The man’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Ronan tensed. He thought about running at the man. He thought about begging. But his mind was slow. He was just an engineer, not a fighter. He solved problems with code, not fists.

Bang.

The sound was small against the storm. Ronan felt a hard punch to his chest. The air left his lungs. He did not feel pain yet, only a great shock. The force pushed him backward.

He lost his balance. His feet left the concrete.

For a second, he floated in the air. He saw the man lower the gun. He saw the rain falling in slow motion. He saw the lights of the city far away, blurry and uncaring.

Then, the water took him.

Splash.

The cold was instant. It was a shock that went deep into his bones. The dark water closed over his head. The sound of the rain and the thunder vanished. There was only silence and the rush of bubbles.

Ronan sank.

He tried to swim, but his arms felt heavy as lead. His chest burned. Saltwater entered his mouth. The taste of copper and salt made him gag.

Elena. The thought faded. Why?

He fell deeper into the dark. The surface light became a small, dim circle above him. He was dying. He knew it. The cold equation was complete. Zero.

His left arm drifted in the water. On his wrist, the black band of his watch sat silent. It was the Omega Link. His life's work. It was not just a watch; it was a computer that connected to the human nervous system. Elena wanted to sell it as a toy. Ronan knew it was much more.

As his heart rate slowed, the watch woke up.

A small vibration buzzed against his wrist bone. It was not a notification for a text message. It was something else.

Under the dark water, a red light began to glow on his wrist. It was bright and sharp.

Beep.

Text scrolled across the small screen.

WARNING: VITAL SIGNS DROPPING.

HEART RATE: 30 BPM.

OXYGEN LEVELS: CRITICAL.

Ronan’s eyes were closed. He was drifting away. The darkness was peaceful.

Beep. Beep.

The watch vibrated harder. It sent a small electric pulse into his skin. It sought a connection. It found the nerves in his arm. It traveled up to his spine. It reached his brain.

New text flashed on the red screen.

HOST STATUS: TERMINAL.

EMERGENCY PROTOCOL: ALPHA.

SAFETY LOCK: DISENGAGED.

The watch let out a low hum. The red light pulsed like a heartbeat. It was no longer just monitoring him. It was taking over.

SYSTEM REBOOT.

SEARCHING FOR USER ID...

ID FOUND.

Ronan’s body twitched. The bullet wound in his chest stopped bleeding. The cold water no longer felt cold. The pain in his head vanished.

The text on the screen stopped scrolling. It displayed three final words in bright, angry red letters.

WELCOME BACK, ZERO.

Ronan’s eyes snapped open.

They were not the eyes of a scared engineer anymore. They were wide and focused. He did not gasp for air. He did not panic.

The water was dark, but he could see. The watch synced with his neural patterns. Information flooded his mind. 

He saw the temperature of the water: 42 degrees. He saw the depth: Twenty feet. He saw the trajectory of the bullet that had hit him.

He did not die. He calculated.

He looked up at the surface. He saw the distortion of the rain hitting the water above. He saw the shadow of the dock.

Zero moved his legs. He did not thrash. He moved with perfect efficiency. He propelled himself upward, cutting through the water like a torpedo.

The cold equation had changed. The variable was no longer Ronan.

The hunter was still up there, believing the job was done. Elena was somewhere in a high tower, counting her money. They thought they had subtracted him.

But they had just turned him on.