Shadow of the Past

The night stretched long as we made our way toward the supply depot, each step deliberate, each breath shallow. Marcus walked beside me, his presence steady, almost calming. I wanted to be confident, but the weight of our mission sat heavy on my shoulders. A voice in my head kept whispering doubts, each one a reminder of what was at stake. This wasn’t just about me. It was about every person who had suffered under the regime’s iron grip.

As we reached the outer fence, Marcus motioned for us to halt. Elena was already at work, crouched near the security panel, fingers moving in quick, practiced motions. In the stillness, memories started to slip in—unwanted, but relentless.

It was a night like this when the enforcers had come for my father.

I could still hear their boots pounding up the stairs, the crash of the door breaking down. My father’s face, usually so calm, had been filled with a fear I’d never seen before. He’d told me to hide, voice shaking as he pushed me into a small closet. I remember clamping my hand over my mouth, heart racing, as I listened to them take him away.

I’d never seen him again.

“Focus, Ariana,” Marcus whispered, snapping me back to the present. He gave me a searching look, as if he knew exactly where my mind had drifted. I nodded, pushing the memories back into the shadows, where they belonged. I couldn’t afford distractions now.

Elena gave us the signal—systems were down. With silent gestures, Marcus led us through the fence and toward the dark bulk of the depot. I kept close, every nerve on edge, senses heightened by the risk surrounding us. My eyes flicked over the shadows, the corners, every place where a guard might lurk.

When we reached the door to the supply room, Marcus pulled out a small tool and set to work on the lock. I kept watch, heart pounding as I strained to hear any sign of movement. After a few agonizing seconds, the lock clicked, and we slipped inside.

The room was dark, but I could make out the shelves stacked with boxes—food, weapons, ammunition, everything the regime used to fuel their control over Neoterra. This was more than just supplies; this was power. And we were about to take it from them.

“We load as much as we can carry,” Marcus whispered, already filling his bag. I followed his lead, grabbing as many items as I could. Each one felt like a small victory, a piece of their empire slipping through their fingers.

But then, footsteps sounded outside the door.

My heart leapt to my throat as Marcus held up a hand, signaling me to freeze. We crouched low, waiting as the footsteps grew closer, louder. My hand found my knife, fingers wrapping around the hilt, and I held my breath. Seconds stretched painfully, each heartbeat loud in my ears.

Finally, the footsteps faded, moving down the hall. Marcus gave me a nod, his eyes sharp. We continued packing quickly, silently, both of us aware that our window was closing fast.

As we slipped back out into the night, adrenaline still pumping, I felt a new sense of purpose solidifying within me. This wasn’t just a mission. It was a step toward reclaiming what they had taken from us—from my family, from my city, from all of us.

In the silence of the escape, I made a silent vow: I wouldn’t stop until their grip was broken.

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