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Nathan has spent the last five years trying to leave his past behind. Once an elite operative of The Oath, a secret organization controlling world events from the shadows, he walked away, seeking peace. But one night, he wakes up in a bloodstained room with no memory of the last 48 hours—only to find himself branded as a terrorist and the target of a nationwide manhunt.

On the run and unsure if he truly committed the crime, Nathan turns to Riley, a skilled underground hacker, for help. As they dig deeper, they uncover a terrifying truth—his memories have been altered. Clues left behind by Elias Graves reveal that Nathan once broke his unbreakable oath to the organization, but someone wiped his mind to keep him from remembering why. The conspiracy leads to Julian, Nathan’s former best friend, who is orchestrating a global web of deception built on manufactured threats and lies.

Determined to uncover the truth, Nathan infiltrates The Oath’s headquarters for a final confrontation with Julian. But the shocking revelation leaves him shattered—Nathan wasn’t framed. He willingly took part in the crime but later chose to erase his own memory to escape the unbearable guilt. A recorded message from his past self forces him to face a critical decision:

Expose Julian and bring down The Oath, risking global chaos.

Take control of The Oath and become the very thing he once fought against.


No matter what he chooses, the cost is high. If he exposes The Oath, the world is thrown into instability, and he is forever hunted. If he takes over, he sacrifices his own ideals, embracing the power he once rejected.

In the end, as Nathan looks at his reflection, he sees Julian staring back—proof that the cycle never truly ends.

Final Line:
"Every man thinks he's the hero of his own story… until he becomes the villain in someone else’s."

SHADOWS OF THE OAT

The timestamp is the only uncorrupted piece of data in the entire file. One marker in an ocean of static, a whisper in the storm.

Riley leans back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "This is all we've got," she mutters. "One goddamn timestamp."

I study the numbers on the screen. It's not much, but it's enough.

"It's a location," I say, voice steady despite the unease threading through my gut.

Her head snaps toward me. "How do you know?"

Because it has to be. Because nothing in this mess is random. Because if I let myself believe this is just a coincidence, then I have to accept that Elias is dead, Julian is dead, and I am completely alone in the middle of a war I don't understand.

I point to the string of numbers. "Look at the pattern—it matches old military timestamps. Cross-reference it with known decommissioned sites."

Riley hesitates, then gets to work. The keyboard clicks under her fingers, the glow of the screen casting sharp shadows across her face. I watch her, my mind drifting—

Blood slick on the pavement. His breath rattling.

A splinter in my brain. A splinter in my soul.

I shove away from the desk, the chair scraping against the floor. I need air. Movement. Something to ground me before I drown in ghosts.

"I need a minute," I mutter, already heading toward the gym.

I don't stop to see if Riley calls after me.

The punching bag swings wildly, my knuckles aching from the relentless impact. My breath is sharp, my muscles screaming, but I don't stop.

Julian's face flashes in my mind. The way his fingers gripped my sleeve. The blood—so much blood—

I pivot, slamming a roundhouse kick into the bag, sending it swinging. I welcome the pain.

Because if I let up, the memories will take over.

Did I shoot him? Did I kill someone that night?

I remember the recoil. The flash of gunfire. A figure collapsing.

I whirl, fist raised, but Riley steps back, hands up. "Easy."

I exhale, dropping my arms. "You shouldn't sneak up on me."

"I wasn't sneaking," she says. "You were just lost."

She tilts her head, studying me. "What do you remember?"

I shake my head. "Nothing useful."

Her lips press into a thin line. "Are you sure? Because something tells me we need to start questioning what you think you remember."

I tense. "You think my memories are fake?"

She hesitates. "I think… memory is a tricky thing. It can be manipulated. Twisted. And considering the kind of people we're dealing with…" She trails off, letting the thought settle between us.

I swallow the urge to argue. Because deep down, I've already been asking myself the same thing.

Back at the computer, Riley leans in. "Got it."

The location pops up on the screen—a decommissioned military outpost, long abandoned.

I stare at it. "That's where Elias was supposed to be?"

She nods. "At least, that's what the timestamp suggests. But there's no record of any activity there for years."

Riley's fingers tighten on the edge of the desk. "Nathan—"

"I need answers." My voice is steel. "If there's even a chance Elias left something behind—"

She exhales sharply, but she doesn't argue. "Fine."

But just as she starts shutting down the system, something happens.

I hear my own pulse roaring in my ears.

Riley whispers, "Nathan… what the hell?"

Because the dead don't send messages.

CHAPTER 23