A sharp, metallic scent filled his lungs as consciousness crept back into his body. Elias Vance’s first sensation was pain—a dull, persistent ache radiating from his skull down to his spine. His fingers twitched against the cold, uneven surface beneath him. Concrete. Broken, jagged. The air was thick with dust and something rancid, like metal left too long in the rain.

His eyes fluttered open to a ceiling of twisted steel beams and cracked concrete, barely holding together. Sunlight trickled in through the gaps, casting jagged shadows along the walls. His body felt heavy, as if he had been asleep for far too long. A sense of wrongness clawed at the edges of his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp why.

He pushed himself up, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his left arm. That was when he saw it—the device embedded into his forearm.

It was sleek, metallic, with thin lines of blue light running along its surface. It pulsed faintly, synchronized with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Elias sucked in a breath. His mind scrambled for answers, for memories—but all he found was a void. Who was he? How did he get here? And what the hell was this thing in his arm?

A sound. Footsteps.

His body tensed instinctively. The steps were cautious, deliberate. Whoever it was, they were approaching slowly.

Elias pressed himself against the nearest wall, his breathing shallow. His surroundings became clearer—a ruined building, probably once an underground bunker or a collapsed subway station. Rusted pipes lined the ceiling, some leaking murky water onto the cracked floor. There were remnants of old technology scattered around—hollowed-out terminals, shattered glass screens, and wires that led nowhere.

The footsteps stopped.

“Come out,” a voice called, deep and laced with suspicion. “I know you’re there.”

Elias remained still, his fingers curling into fists. His pulse pounded against his skull. His mind screamed at him to move, to fight, to run—but he had no weapon, no idea where he even was.

A moment of silence. Then, a low sigh.

“Suit yourself.”

The next second, something slammed into the wall beside him—a bullet, embedding itself deep into the concrete. Dust exploded into the air, making Elias cough as he staggered back.

That was all it took. His instincts roared to life. He bolted, feet pounding against the cracked floor as he ran. The second shot missed him by inches, ricocheting off a rusted pipe.

“Shit!”

Elias dove behind a broken terminal, his breath ragged. He needed a plan, fast. His attacker wasn’t some scavenger firing at random—there was precision in those shots. Whoever they were, they wanted him dead.

A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. He turned just in time to see a shadow moving along the debris. His fingers brushed against something hard on the ground—an old pipe, jagged at one end. Not ideal, but better than nothing.

He waited. Listened.

The next footstep was his cue. Elias swung the pipe with all his strength, connecting with something solid. A grunt of pain followed, and his attacker stumbled back.

A man, dressed in tattered black armor, his face partially hidden behind a cracked visor. He recovered quickly, raising his gun again, but Elias was faster. He lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into the man’s chest. They both went crashing to the ground, wrestling for control.

The gun clattered away.

Elias grabbed the attacker’s wrist, twisting it until he heard a snap. The man let out a strangled cry before Elias shoved him aside and scrambled for the weapon.

His fingers barely closed around it before the attacker tackled him from behind, sending them both rolling across the debris-strewn floor.

Elias landed hard, pain jolting through his ribs. The man was on him in an instant, pinning him down. A knife glinted in the dim light.

Panic surged through Elias as he struggled, but his strength was fading. The blade pressed against his throat—

And then the device in his arm pulsed.

A shockwave erupted from his skin, invisible but forceful, sending his attacker flying backward. The man crashed into the debris, groaning.

Elias gasped, staring at his own arm in disbelief. The blue lights along the device flickered erratically before settling back into their slow, rhythmic glow.

“What the hell…?”

He didn’t have time to question it. Grabbing the fallen gun, he forced himself to his feet, legs shaking. His attacker was still conscious but dazed, trying to push himself up.

Elias aimed the weapon at him. “Who are you?”

The man coughed, wiping blood from his split lip. He let out a hoarse laugh. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

Elias frowned. “Remember what?”

A slow grin spread across the man’s face. Despite the blood, despite the broken wrist, he seemed… amused.

“Oh, you’re in for a treat,” the man rasped. “They’ll be coming for you soon.”

A chill ran down Elias’s spine. “Who?”

But the man just chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll see.”

Before Elias could react, the man bit down on something—an object hidden in his mouth. A second later, he convulsed, foam spilling from his lips. His body went limp.

Elias took a step back, stomach twisting. Suicide. Whoever this guy worked for, he’d rather die than talk.

His gaze drifted back to his arm. The device was still glowing, faint but steady. He exhaled shakily.

No memories. No idea who was after him. A strange technology embedded in his body.

One thing was certain—he needed answers.

And he needed them fast.

Elias forced himself to breathe. His hands trembled as he lowered the stolen gun, his pulse still hammering from the fight. The dead man lay motionless at his feet, eyes glazed over, the last remnants of his grim smile frozen in place.

The words lingered in Elias’s mind.

"You really don’t remember, do you?"

"They’ll be coming for you soon."

A deep unease settled in his gut. He had no memories, no clue who "they" were, and a dead body at his feet with no answers left to give. He needed to move.

Swallowing down the nausea, Elias crouched and searched the corpse. A cracked visor, tactical armor worn from years of use, and a few pouches strapped to his belt. Inside one, Elias found a small metal card, smooth with a faintly glowing emblem at its center—a stylized eye, surrounded by jagged lines. A symbol of some kind.

Nothing else of use. No ID. No communicator. Whoever this man was, he had erased his tracks well.

Elias tucked the card into his pocket and stood, scanning the ruins. The bunker—or whatever remained of it—was eerily silent now, save for the occasional drip of leaking pipes. He needed to get out before more people showed up looking for their missing operative.

But where the hell was he supposed to go?

He turned to the crumbling stairwell at the far end of the room, leading upward toward a faint glow. Sunlight. With one last glance at the body, Elias started climbing, boots crunching against loose rubble. His body ached with every step, muscles sluggish as if they were waking up from a long slumber.

At the top, he emerged into a wasteland.

The sky above was a murky gray, heavy with clouds that never quite cleared. The land stretched endlessly before him—abandoned buildings, rusted metal husks of vehicles long stripped for parts, and distant, jagged towers swallowed by creeping vines and dust. The remnants of a world that once thrived but had long since fallen into decay.

A ruined city, buried under time.

A gust of wind sent loose debris skittering across the cracked pavement. Elias took a slow, steady breath. Despite the emptiness, he felt eyes on him. Watching. Waiting.

"They’ll be coming for you soon."

His fingers tightened around the grip of the stolen gun. He needed a plan. Food, shelter, answers. Most importantly, he needed to know what was in his arm—and why it had reacted during the fight.

A flicker of blue light caught his attention. He glanced down at the device, still pulsing faintly. Testing a theory, he lifted his arm and slowly turned, watching the glow shift in intensity.

Then—a response.

The device flickered stronger as he turned east, toward the heart of the ruined city.

It was pointing him somewhere.

Elias exhaled, adjusting his grip on the gun. He had no memories, no allies, and no idea what was waiting for him. But standing still wasn’t an option.

If the past was out there, buried beneath the ruins, then he would dig it up himself.

And he would survive.

—End of Chapter 2

The wind howled through the ruined city, carrying with it the scent of rust and decay. Elias moved cautiously, his every step muffled by the layer of ash and debris coating the cracked pavement. The pistol he had taken from the dead man felt foreign in his grip, but he wasn’t about to discard it—not when danger lurked in every shadow.

His thoughts were a tangled mess. No memories, no past, only the burning questions clawing at his mind. Who was he? Why was he being hunted? And what was this device embedded in his arm?

A flicker of blue light pulsed beneath his skin, drawing his attention. It had activated before, back in the bunker. Had it saved him? Or had it merely reacted? He flexed his fingers, feeling the faint hum beneath his flesh. Whatever it was, it wasn’t ordinary tech. It was something more.

A distant sound made him freeze.

Voices.

He crouched behind the rusted shell of a toppled vehicle, straining to hear. The voices were low, tense—communication through short, clipped words. Military? Mercenaries? Whoever they were, they were getting closer.

Elias peered through the shattered window. A group of figures moved methodically through the ruins, their dark armor blending into the crumbling environment. Their faces were obscured by masks, glowing red visors cutting through the dusty air like hungry eyes.

"Spread out. He couldn't have gotten far."

Elias’s pulse quickened. They were looking for him.

He glanced around, searching for an escape route. Running blindly would get him killed. He needed a plan. The buildings around him were in various stages of collapse, some offering cover, others nothing more than unstable death traps. His best bet was the subway entrance ahead, partially buried under debris. If he could reach it without being seen—

A sudden burst of static from one of the soldiers’ radios sent a jolt through him.

"Confirmed pulse signature. The target is within fifty meters."

Damn it. They could track him.

Elias took a slow breath. If running wasn’t an option, he had to level the playing field.

Carefully, he gripped a loose piece of concrete and hurled it towards a rusted scaffold in the distance. The clang echoed through the ruins, and immediately, the soldiers snapped to attention.

"Movement! Sector three!"

They moved swiftly, weapons raised, sweeping toward the distraction. Elias took his chance, slipping out from cover and darting toward the subway entrance. He slid down the cracked steps, nearly losing his footing on the loose gravel. The darkness swallowed him as he pressed himself against the cold stone wall, heart hammering.

Above, boots crunched against the pavement.

"Nothing here."

"Keep looking. If he's close, he won’t stay hidden for long."

Elias remained still, every muscle coiled like a spring. The voices drifted farther away, but he knew better than to assume he was safe. They were hunting him. And now, they had a way to track him.

His gaze dropped to his arm.

If he wanted to survive, he needed to understand what this device was.

And he needed to do it before they found him again.