The sun hung low over the desert, casting long shadows over the cracked highway. Jack Mercer gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Dr. Lin's charred face flashed in his mind—her final act seared into his memory like a brand. Finch hunched over his laptop in the backseat, fingers tapping relentlessly as Jax stared out the window, her EMP device clutched like a teddy bear. The silence was suffocating and deafening.
"We need to stop," Jax said, her voice small. "The truck's overheating."
Jack glanced at the dashboard. The engine light glows red. "Five more miles. There is a ghost town ahead. We'll hide there tonight."
Finch didn't look up. "Lin's files are almost decrypted. There is something about a lab in New Mexico… Project Static Shield. Might be our only lead."
"Great. Another suicide mission," muttered Jax.
Jack said nothing. The road ahead was blurred, with mirages dancing like static on the horizon.
Ghosts of the Past
The town was a skeleton, with wooden buildings sagging under the weight of decades and rusted cars fossilized in the sand. They parked behind a saloon, its sign creaking in the hot wind: THE LUCKY STAR. Jack doubted luck had ever lived here.
Finch set up his laptop on the truck's hood, the screencasting a sickly blue glow over the surrounding area. "Got it. The lab is buried in a military bunker near White Sands. Lin's notes say they studied… electromagnetic anomalies. Sound familiar?"
Jax kicked the tumbleweed. "So the government knew about the Revenant?"
"Or created it," Jack said darkly.
A coyote howled in the distance. Finch shivered. "We should leave at dawn."
"No." Jack grabbed a flashlight. "We go tonight. Every second we waste, that thing gets stronger."
The Road to White Sands
The desert night was alive with sounds. Stars blazed overhead, but the darkness between them felt ravenous. Jax rode shotgun, her EMP gadget whirring as she scanned for static surges. Finch dozed fitfully in the back, the laptop still open to Lin's files.
Jack's eyes burned. He rolled down the window, letting the cold air slap against his face.
…Jack…
He stiffened. Emily's voice—faint but unmistakable—drifted through the radio.
…don't trust the lab…
The truck swerved. Jax jerked awake. "What's wrong?!"
"Nothing." Jack killed the radio. "Just… tired."
However, the voice lingered in his mind. Don't trust the lab.
The Bunker
The bunker was a concrete scar on the desert floor, half buried in sand. A metal door hung askew, and its lock was rusted open. Jack swept his flashlight inside. The walls were etched with symbols, just like Millhaven's tower.
"This place reeks," Jax said, covering her nose as she stepped inside. "Like… burnt hair."
Finch traced the symbols with his trembling fingers. "These are not rituals. They're equations. Lin was right—they experimented here."
The hallway ended in a steel vault. Jack pried it open with a crowbar.
The lab was frozen in time. Dust-coated monitors flickered statically. A chalkboard read: PROJECT STATIC SHIELD: CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL FAILED. SUBJECT ZERO ESCAPED.
"Subject Zero?" Jax whispered.
A video reel was placed on the projector. Finch threaded it through, and the film clattered to life.
The Tape
1967. Soldiers in hazmat suits dragged a writhing figure into the lab—a man with glowing eyes and skin that crackled with static.
"Subject Zero exhibits…" a scientist's voice narrated, "…abilities to manipulate electromagnetic fields. We believe he can be weaponized."
The footage jumped. Subject Zero was strapped to a chair with electrodes piercing his skull. Screams. Then—static. When the image returned, the laboratory was a charnel house. Bodies littered the floor; their faces melted away.
The scientist's voice trembled: "It is not human. It is … something else. And it's loose."
The film was burned black.
The Trap
"So the Revenant's a lab experiment?" Jax hissed. "That's worse than a curse!"
Jack's flashlight caught something glinting in the corner—a glass case holding a jagged crystal. Lin's notes called it Obsidian Frequency. It says here that it disrupts static energy. Lin must've wanted us to find it."
Finch reached for the gun case.
Click.
The floor shuddered. Steel shutters were slammed over the exits.
…welcome…
The Revenant's voice boomed through the ancient speakers.
…you shouldn't have come…
Static oozed from the vents, coalescing into shadowy figures—soldiers with hollow eyes and crackling rifles.
"Jax, now!" Jack yelled.
She hurled an EMP. The blast vaporized two figures, but more poured in to replace them.
"The crystal!" Finch smashed the case, slicing his palms. Blood dripped onto the Obsidian Frequency, and its surface flared to life.
Jack grabbed it. "Cover me!"
He slammed the crystals into the control panel. Sparks flew. The shutters creaked open.
"Go!" Jack shoved Jax and Finch into the hall.
Behind them, the Revenant's laughter echoed in the darkness.
…you can't outrun what's inside you…
The Survivors
They collapsed in the truck, the bunker crumbling behind them as they fell. The dawn tinged the sky pink.
Jax bandaged Finch's hands. "Did we just make it mad?"
Jack stared at the crystal, now dull and lifeless. "No. We gave it a target."
Finch booted his laptop. A news alert flashed: MASS BLACKOUT IN LOS ANGELES. SURVIVORS REPORT "SHADOW STORMS."
"It's evolving," Finch whispered. "Feeding on cities now."
Jack revved the engine. "Then we hit L.A."
"With what army?" Jax snapped.
An engine roared behind them. A motorcycle skidded to a stop, ridden by a woman in a leather jacket, her arms tattooed with anti-static symbols.
"How about ours?" she said, grinning. Behind her, a convoy of trucks rolled in, armed with jagged technology.
"Name's Vega. Black Signal's West Coast division." She tossed a radio to Jack. "Heard you've got a god to kill."