Buried Truths

We ran until the military trucks were just a distant hum, drowned out by the crackle of fires and the low murmur of voices echoing through the alleys. The city had become a maze of destruction, and each step felt like we were deeper in, like there was no way out. Lylia and I slipped into an old, abandoned storefront—its windows shattered, shelves overturned. It wasn't safe, but it was empty, and that was enough.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and dust, and every creak of the building made my heart race. Lylia crouched by a table, fumbling with her laptop. I joined her, setting my bag down and pulling out the file. We both stared at the partially downloaded document, the small progress bar on her screen frozen at 80%. It was barely a fraction of what we needed, but it would have to do.

She tapped at the keys, bringing up the file. "Alright," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Let's see what we've got."

The file opened with a dull click, and the first page filled the screen. It was mostly text—blurred images, scattered notes, and a few official-looking logos stamped across the top. I leaned in, squinting at the document. My heart skipped a beat as the words came into focus. Project Strain: Overview of Weaponization Applications.

A chill ran down my spine.

Lylia scrolled through the document, stopping at a page filled with graphs and figures. There were charts labeled with words like "Mutation Rates" and "Aggression Levels." It was all there, plain as day—evidence that this wasn't some random outbreak. This had been engineered. Deliberately.

"It's a bioweapon," I said, the words catching in my throat. "They were experimenting with it, trying to figure out how to control it. And now…"

"It's out of control," Lylia finished for me, her eyes wide. She scrolled further down, stopping on a page that was mostly redacted, black lines covering entire sections of text. But one sentence stood out, partially visible through the lines: Containment breach in multiple cities confirmed. Initial tests indicate successful viral manipulation.

The breath left my lungs. This wasn't just an accident. Someone had unleashed this, knowing full well what it could do. And now the entire city—maybe even the entire world—was paying the price.

Lylia looked up at me, her face pale. "Liberty, we can't stay here. They'll be looking for us. We need to find somewhere safer, somewhere we can get more information. Maybe even someone who can help us make sense of this."

"Apollo," I whispered, the name slipping from my lips before I could stop it.

Lylia raised an eyebrow. "Your Apollo?"

I nodded, my mind racing. He had access to medical data, to hospitals—he'd know if there were any other pieces to this puzzle. He was one of the few people who might still have answers. But it wasn't just that. It was him. The thought of seeing him again sent a pang through my chest, a mix of hope and something else I wasn't ready to name.

"We were going to meet," I said, the words rushing out. "Back when everything started. Before… before we broke up."

Lylia gave me a small, sad smile. "Then let's go find him."

We moved quickly, slipping through alleys and backstreets until we reached a block that still had some semblance of order. There, in the shadow of a crumbling office building, stood Apollo, his tall figure silhouetted against the dying light. His face was drawn, dark circles under his eyes, but when he saw me, something softened.

"Liberty," he said, his voice barely a whisper, but it carried across the distance between us like a beacon.

I hesitated, then crossed the street to meet him. Being this close, I could see the worry etched into his features, the strain that hadn't been there the last time I saw him. But his eyes—those eyes that I'd always found myself getting lost in—still held a warmth that I didn't realize I'd missed until now.

He reached out, taking my hand in his, and the familiarity of it was like a balm to the chaos around us. "You're alright," he murmured, his gaze searching mine. "I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

"Me neither," I replied, my heart pounding. I wanted to say more, to explain everything, but the words wouldn't come. I was flooded with memories of all the times we'd shared, the things we'd left unsaid, and the space that had grown between us.

We stood like that for a moment, time suspended, the world around us fading into a distant hum. It was just him and me, like it used to be. I could feel the weight of everything in that silence—the things we hadn't resolved, the questions I'd left him with when I walked away.

Finally, he broke the silence. "You didn't have to do this alone, you know."

I looked down, guilt twisting in my stomach. "I know. I just… after Mom…" I trailed off, the words sticking in my throat. He didn't press me. He never did. He just held my hand, grounding me, reminding me that I wasn't as alone as I thought.

Lylia cleared her throat, and the moment shattered. We both stepped back, and I felt a pang of loss, but I forced myself to focus. There was too much at stake now to get lost in the past.

"We need your help," I said, finding my voice again. "We found a file. It's… bad, Apollo. They were experimenting with the mutation. Weaponizing it."

He nodded, his face growing more serious. "I've been seeing things at the hospital. Things I can't explain. People coming in, violent, uncontrollable. And they're getting worse. I've heard rumors, but I didn't know…"

He trailed off, glancing at the crumbling city around us, the fires reflecting in his eyes. "Whatever this is, it's not going away. We need to get somewhere safe, where we can figure out our next move."

"There's a place nearby," Lylia said, gesturing down the street. "An old storage facility. We could hole up there, at least for a little while. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

We moved quickly, sticking to the shadows, until we reached the facility. Inside, it was cold and dark, the air thick with dust and the scent of rusted metal. But it was quiet, and that was all we needed.

Apollo set up his laptop, connecting to the file Lylia had downloaded. As he scrolled through the data, I watched his expression shift from confusion to disbelief, then to something darker. He looked up at me, his face pale.

"They knew," he whispered, the weight of the words settling between us. "They knew what this could do, and they let it happen anyway."

I nodded, my throat tight. "That's why we have to stop it. We can't let this be buried. Not again."

He reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. "Then we do this together. No matter what."

I looked at him, at the determination in his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I felt something close to hope. We were in this together now, and that made the fear a little more bearable.

Outside, the fires burned on, but inside, in that small, quiet space, I knew I wasn't alone. And as we huddled together, pouring over the file, I felt a spark reignite between us. It wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about finding a way back to each other, to the world we'd both lost.