The room was dark, colder than it should have been.
Not by temperature—but by memory.
A single tube sat in the center of a sterile chamber, wires and glowing veins of circuitry running along the floor like ivy. Inside floated a man—late twenties, unshaven, bruised along the temples where memory sync clamps had been attached… and reattached… and left.
His body was still. But his mind… wasn't.
The glass vibrated with static as a voice whispered through the room.
"Initiating Phantom Protocol."
The liquid in the chamber drained, hissing as it slid away like vapor. His eyes snapped open.
Dark blue. Almost too calm.
He didn't panic. He didn't gasp.
He breathed, as if waking from a long nap.
Monitors scanned his vitals. Brain activity: unstable. Memory core: fragmented.
> "Seth Vire, former Prime-Class Chrono."
"Status: Contingency Asset."
He stepped out of the tube.
Muscles coiled under a sleeveless uniform, the number "00" stitched faintly at the collar. His right hand twitched—not from weakness, but calibration. Artificial. Upgraded.
A technician approached with a datapad.
"Sir, your last synced memory was—"
Seth grabbed the pad and crushed it. Not out of malice. Just… done listening.
He looked at his hand, then the wall ahead, where a projection of Juno flickered mid-stride. The scan highlighted her eyes. Her pulse. Her voice from the last transmission in Vault Nine.
"…I'm done running."
His jaw tensed.
"She's alive," he murmured, voice low and distant, like it belonged to someone else.
The technician hesitated. "Do you… remember her?"
Seth tilted his head.
"I remember enough."
He walked out of the chamber without permission, without orders.
And as the lights behind him dimmed, the Council's voice filtered in through a hidden speaker.
"Send him east. Vault Ten is waking. The past is hunting the future."
Seth didn't respond.
Because somewhere, deep inside him—beneath all the edits, syncs, and silence—something cracked open at the sound of her name.