The air inside the old research facility was cold, sterile, and thick with memories. As Eira and Rowan followed Dr. Stark down a winding corridor, each step echoed off the metal walls, ghost-like in their hollowness. The fluorescent lights above flickered intermittently, casting long, fractured shadows that danced with every movement.
"This place gives me the creeps," Eira muttered.
Stark didn't look back. "It should. What happened here… it left more than ghosts behind."
They arrived at a heavy, blast-proof door. Stark pressed his palm to a scanner that still hummed faintly with power. "They never fully shut it down. Too dangerous to abandon, too shameful to restore."
The door hissed open.
Inside was a lab frozen in time. Terminals lined the walls, many still glowing dimly. Vats stood empty, some shattered. Scattered notes and diagrams detailed human anatomy, genetic experiments, and one chilling phrase that made Eira's breath hitch: "Memory Codex Transfer Trial 8: Subject Identity Dissolution."
"What was this place?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Stark turned to them, his expression haunted. "It was the birthplace of Mnemosyne. This is where they learned how to rewrite identity. Where they realized memories aren't just thoughts—they're power."
Rowan stepped forward, scanning the room. "And you helped build it."
"I helped end it," Stark snapped. "When I realized what they were planning… what they were doing to children… I leaked what I could and disappeared. But not before destroying most of the data."
"Not all of it," Eira said quietly, pointing to a secure server glowing in the corner.
Stark followed her gaze. "That's the core. The last remaining backup. It holds everything—the experiment logs, subject profiles, the formula for the memory override serum. If that gets out again..."
"It won't," Rowan said firmly. "We're here to make sure of that."
But even as she spoke, the lights flickered violently—and the lab plunged into sudden darkness.
"EMP interference," Stark growled. "They're here."
Before the panic could set in, red emergency lighting kicked in, washing the room in a blood-like hue. A mechanical whirring sounded outside the door—then a clang.
"Government retrieval units," Stark said, already moving toward a panel. "They must've traced your steps."
"Then we fight," Rowan said, drawing her weapon.
Eira stepped closer to the core server. "How long to extract the data and wipe it?"
"Five minutes," Stark replied.
"We don't have five," Rowan said grimly.
From the hallway, a voice called out through a loudspeaker: "Dr. Callum Stark. Rowan Vale. Eira Monroe. You are ordered to surrender. Any resistance will result in termination."
"Not happening," Rowan muttered.
As the door began to buckle under pressure, Eira looked to Stark. "Copy the data. Give it to me."
"What?" Stark turned, confused.
"I'll run. Create a diversion. You wipe the rest." She turned to Rowan. "You stay and hold them off. This ends tonight."
Rowan's jaw clenched. "No. I'm not losing you."
"You're not," Eira said gently. "You're giving us a chance."
Before Rowan could protest again, Eira yanked the drive from the core as Stark initiated the wipe. With a single glance back, she bolted down a side corridor as the door burst open in a thunder of noise and gunfire.
Behind her, the sounds of a battle echoed through the walls—and the ghosts of the past howled louder than ever.