It started as a blip.
Nothing more than a flicker—barely detectable, almost laughably small. But it spiked hard and fast, cutting through static like a blade through paper. One second, the warehouse in Sector C-14 was just another decaying husk along the Blüdhaven docks. The next, Cadmus satellite arrays flagged a spatial-temporal flux with a severity level they didn't even have clearance protocols for.
Agent Durell's boots slammed onto concrete as the van doors swung open.
"Standard recon," he barked, motioning to his team. "Zone sweep. No assumptions."
They moved like trained dogs—six agents fanning through the shadows of the derelict building. Scanners up. Helmets down. Not a whisper among them.
It smelled like rot and salt. Paint peeled from walls, and rust bled down beams like old wounds.
Then they saw him.
One of the operatives called it in. "Body. Male. Early twenties. No visible injuries. Breathing shallow."
"He's not on any camera," a tech specialist in the van muttered."I mean—he's not anywhere until just now. Nothing entered or exited. No power fluctuation. No life signatures until thirty seconds ago."
"No teleport tech?" Durell asked.
The tech shook his head." None of the ones we'refamilar with...this was something new."
---
From the warehouse floor, the boy stirred.
Eyes flicked open. Chest heaved with sudden breath like he'd been drowning. Every muscle spasmed—pure panic, a body yanked back into existence without warning. He thrashed instinctively until an agent slammed a knee into his back and cuffed his wrists.
"Hey, easy—he's just a kid," one of the younger operatives muttered, but no one loosened their grip.
In a world like this, even a kid could be more dangerous than a bomb.
Durell stepped in front of the boy, observing him from a safe distance, no sympathy on his face.
"Who are you?"
The boy blinked.
Nothing came. Not a name. Not a memory. Just—
Pain.
Burning heat under his ribs. A scream trapped in his throat. Blood. A bullet casing falling to the ground. Then quiet.
He didn't respond.
Durell knelt beside him. "I said—"
"I don't know," the boy croaked, voice raw. "I don't remember."
---
They called for a med-transport. Within minutes, he was sedated and carted off to an underground Cadmus facility.
Observation Cell 4. Temperature-controlled, soundproof, reinforced for Level 6 meta containment. They weren't taking chances.
---
Inside the cell, the boy sat upright now. The cold metal table beneath him sent shivers down his back.
He breathed slowly. Not to calm down, but to feel real.
'What happened?'
The question gnawed at the edge of his mind, his memories were slowly coming back. Piece by piece.
Zane...his name...lived a normal mundane life. He was on his way home from work , minding his own business when he heard a scream...
Woman screaming in a dark alley....instead of calling the police...his stupid sense of justice wanted to play hero...
Bang! Bang!
Pain....blood...darkness....
Then waking up here...
'I reancarnated!? Like in those stupid novels?!'
---
Dr. Carver leaned into the mic.
"Do you remember how you got here?"
His gaze snapped toward the window. Trying his best to keep as calm as possible.
"I was somewhere else."
"Where?"
"…I don't know. Some alleyway."
Dr. Carver jotted something down. "Do you remember your name?"
"Zane, no last name." Zane answered, seeing no point in lying.
"Do you remember anything about your past?"
"…work."
The doctors exchanged a glance behind the glass. "Work? You remember where you worked?" Dr. Patel asked.
Zane shook his head slowly, struggling. "Not… exactly." His brows pinched together, frustration building. "I just… I was tired. It was late. I had this… this old blue jacket, you know? Worn at the elbows."
His hands twitched slightly against the straps, fingers curling into the memory.
"I had earphones in. I remember… walking under streetlights. I had night shift."
He swallowed thickly.
"And then… a noise. Yelling. I remember… a girl. Someone screaming."
Carver leaned closer to the mic. "Screaming… what happened?"
Zanes jaw worked, trying to find the words. His chest rose and fell, slower now.
"I turned into this… side alley. Some guy had her… was trying to steal something, I think. Purse? I dunno. She was crying."
His lips pressed into a thin line. "I… I tried to stop him. I shouted, told him to get lost."
His breath caught in his throat.
"And then… there was a flash. A… bang. My side—burning, like… fire under my ribs."
His eyes glazed over for a moment, lips parted as he lost himself in the fragment.
"I… hit the ground."
No one in the observation room spoke.
Dr. Carver tapped her pen against the mic. "Do you remember what happened next?"
Zane blinked. His eyes flickered between confusion and something else—shame.
"…I… don't know. It's… dark after that."
---
Zanes breathing slowed, but the air in the observation room felt heavier.
Dr. Patel leaned back from the console, brows drawn tight. "That… that sounds normal."
Dr. Carver didn't look away from the boy, her eyes narrowed in thought. "Exactly," she muttered. "Too normal."
Durell crossed his arms, armor creaking faintly. "Kid drops out of thin air, triggers enough alarms to wake up half of Cadmus, and the first thing he remembers is some street mugging gone wrong?"
Patel frowned. "Maybe he's just… a civilian. Right place, wrong time."
Durell scoffed.
Carver didn't flinchat Durells dismissal. "Or… it's a planted memory. Something programmed to make us lower our guard."
Patel pressed his lips together. "Why would anyone implant such an… average life story?"
Carver finally sat back, her pen tapping against the metal desk. "Because it's harmless. Sad. Relatable. If you want someone to seem non-threatening… you make them tragic. Familiar."
Behind the glass, the boy's head drooped. His body language had shifted—less tense, more lost. Shoulders hunched, throat working to swallow emotion that wasn't quite there yet but building fast.
Durell exhaled through his nose, stepping closer to the glass. His voice was quieter now, but hard. "Maybe it's true. Maybe he really was just some kid who got himself shot trying to play hero."
Patel turned. "Then why's he here? Why is he alive and uninjured?"
Durell's jaw flexed. "That's what I'm worried about."
Carver didn't respond immediately. Her fingers hovered over the console, debating if she should keep pressing. She watched the boy's slouched figure, the subtle tremor in his hands, the way his breathing tried to even out but failed every few seconds.
"He doesn't remember anything else," she said softly. "Not his family, not his city… just a cold alley, a girl in trouble… and a bullet."
Durell's lip curled slightly. "Or that's the cover story whatever he really is wants us to believe."
Carver's voice cooled. "We treat him like any other unknown asset. Contained. Monitored. Studied."
Patel's voice, quieter than before, still carried a faint edge of guilt. "He doesn't look like an asset."
Carver didn't look away from the boy. "Neither did the last one… until it was too late."
---
Inside his room, Zane sat quietly now.
They had stopped asking questions. Stopped probing. He could feel them watching, but not with the same intensity. Like they were waiting for something to happen.
He didn't blame them.
Because so was he.
There was something in him. Something coiled, pulsating....waiting for a command...for someone to take charge.
The ones observing were just that...all they could do was observed...he was the one with the keys.
To whatever was inside him.
Question is....how does he unlock it?
He has a feeling he's doesn't want to find out...