The warehouse still echoed long after I'd left it behind.
Even blocks away, down broken alleys and through half-collapsed subway platforms, I felt the weight of that sphere in my jacket like it was fused to my spine. It hadn't made a sound since the seizure. Just lay there—silent, inert—but I could still feel it. Like static under my skin.
The city didn't seem to care. Gotham kept breathing, lights flickering, sirens in the distance marking someone else's tragedy. The world spun, unaware—or pretending.
But me? I was lit up inside. Not with clarity.
With fire.
I found my way back to Maya just before dawn.
She was waiting in the back room of Lou's old safehouse, perched on a stool with one leg tucked up, eyes locked on a monitor feed cycling through security cams. She didn't look surprised to see me—but her eyes narrowed when she saw the way I was moving.
"You good?"
"Define good," I said, my voice rough from hours of silence and residual static buzzing through my skull.
I dropped the sphere on the table. It hit with a dull thud, rolled once, then stilled—like it chose where to settle. The light inside it had dimmed, but it still felt... aware.
Maya's gaze snapped to it. She didn't move, didn't breathe for a second. Just stared, like the thing might blink back.
"What is that?"
I took a seat, slowly. My body ached, but it was my mind that felt bruised.
"You tell me," I said. "You've been neck-deep in Cadmus dirt longer than me. Ever heard the name Helix?"
That got her. Slight tilt of the head. Jaw tightening.
"Helix... Yeah. Once. It was buried in a redacted file. No details. Just a single line under 'terminated branches.' No context."
"They didn't terminate it," I said. "They buried it. Like a bad secret."
She finally reached forward and picked up the sphere. Held it like it might hum or hiss. Turned it in her hands.
"What's in it?"
"Memories. Names. Some of them are mine—I think. Most aren't. It's like someone shoveled broken thoughts into my head and hit play. None of it clean. All of it sharp."
Maya sat back, the sphere still cradled in her palms. Her face was unreadable, but her knuckles had gone white.
"You sure it's safe to carry around?"
"Nothing about this is safe," I said. "But walking away from it would be worse."
"What did you see?" she asked quietly.
I paused. I hadn't even said it out loud yet. I wasn't sure it would sound real if I did.
"Fragments," I said. "People. Rooms. Medical equipment. Screaming. Not mine. Not just mine. And Hamilton. Younger. Smiling. Like he knew it would all work. Like he was proud of it."
Maya's mouth drew into a tight line. "They built your memories, didn't they? What you remember… it's not all yours."
I nodded. Slowly. "It felt like half of it was implanted. Like someone drew a version of me and pressed it into my brain with a soldering iron. There's a version of my childhood I remember clear as glass, but... after what I saw, I think it's fiction."
"How deep does it go?"
"Too deep. Enough that I'm not sure what parts of me are real. And worse—what parts they meant to activate."
Maya set the sphere down gently. "And the guy who gave it to you?"
"Called himself a messenger. Never gave a name. Calm, efficient, like he'd rehearsed the whole conversation in his sleep. Told me it was an inheritance. Said the moment I opened it, I stopped being a rogue variable and started being a problem."
"And then?"
"He was gone. No sound. No trace. Just disappeared like he knew exactly how long I'd take to scream."
Maya leaned back in her chair, breathing out through her nose. "You think he's one of them?"
"I think he's worse. I think he's still working for them. Just not the ones above ground. He wasn't afraid. Not of me. Not of what the sphere would do. He was just... done. Like handing it off was the last page in a script."
Maya didn't speak for a while. Neither did I.
The room ticked in silence.
"You're planning something," she said finally.
"I'm planning everything."
I stepped toward the map glowing on the wall and tapped the Burnley district.
"There's another address hidden in the sphere. Not a file. A flash. Like a muscle memory. A storage depot Cadmus ran off-books, under a fake logistics front. I recognized the hallway structure—it wasn't new. It was familiar."
"You think it's bait?"
"Could be. If it is, I make them show their hand. If it's not, I find the piece they missed. Either way, I don't lose sleep over the gamble."
Maya leaned back, arms crossed. "You're starting to sound a little too comfortable with the idea of war."
"They already brought it to me," I said, voice low. "I'm just evening the field."
She studied me—longer than she needed to. Like she wasn't sure if I meant that as a warning or a vow.
We sat in the quiet for a moment. The air between us thick with everything unsaid. Then she moved—brisk, decisive. Crossed the room to a steel drawer and rummaged through it.
"Here," she said, pulling out a compact black pouch and tossing it on the table. It landed with a soft thump. "EMP charges. Old school. They'll short Cadmus surveillance nets, knock out drones, static their tracking gear. Won't hurt your Artifact."
I picked it up, unzipped it. Four small cylinders. Clean, handmade.
"Cooked these up yourself?"
"Modified from League specs. Back when we still thought we were the good guys."
"You coming with me then?"
She didn't answer right away. Just stared at the floor like she was reading something written there.
"No. I've got another angle to chase. I think someone inside the League knew about Helix. Maybe more than one. And if they did... they let this happen."
That stopped me cold. My grip tightened around the pouch.
"You serious?"
"Serious enough to keep names to myself until I know for sure. If I'm wrong, I burn a bridge I might need. If I'm right... we're in deeper than we thought."
I nodded. Not out of agreement—just acknowledgment. Trust was already ashes. We were just walking through the smoke.
"I'll move before nightfall."
"I know. You don't sleep anyway."
I stepped toward the door, EMP pouch slotted into my jacket, the sphere still quiet in my pocket.
As the first blue light of dawn crept through the city cracks, I felt it hum.
Not loud. Not demanding. Just... there.
Like it was listening.
Waiting for the next door to open.
And I planned to tear it off the hinges.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at P@treon.com/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.