Julius_Nicho

In a future ruled by surveillance and silence, one man’s fight for his daughter ignites a revolution.

Kirion, a war-scarred medic turned resistance strategist, has spent years battling a regime that turned truth into a weapon. When his daughter—Amaya, a gifted hacker—is captured and twisted into a tool of control, Kirion must risk everything to bring her back.

But saving her is only the beginning.

As the uprising spreads and the regime falls, Kirion and his allies must face a harder battle: rebuilding a broken world with justice, not vengeance. Through war, healing, and legacy, Young, Wired, and Raising Little Ones tells the story of a father, a daughter, and a nation learning not just how to survive—but how to lead, love, and raise the next generation in peace.

Young, Wired and Raising Little Ones

The walls were white, blinding white. Not sterile, not clinical—unnatural, as if they'd been scrubbed of all memory, all history. That was the first thing she noticed when they brought her here. Not the chains, not the silence, not even the isolation. It was the emptiness that gnawed at her.

Kirion's daughter—whom the government code-named Echo—sat in the center of a reinforced observation cell, wrists loosely bound in magnetic cuffs. They allowed her to move, but not touch anything that might serve as a tool. Even her clothing had been modified—fiberless, seamless, unhackable. Or so they thought.

For days, they didn't speak to her. No questions. No threats. Just a cold meal, twice a day, and the ever-present hum of surveillance.

Not when they sealed off the light. Not when they altered time in the room to disorient her. Not even when they replayed clips of her father wounded, his face bleeding across broken monitors.

She only waited. Watched. Counted.

Seconds became hours. Hours became shifts. Every three thousand heartbeats, the floor vibrated slightly—somewhere above, a generator cycled. Every nine thousand, a faint metallic tick echoed through the walls—the reset of a security system. Over time, she reconstructed the internal map in her mind: three floors below the surface, five guards rotating in a tight triangle, two data nodes broadcasting in encrypted intervals.

But most importantly, she sensed something else: they were afraid of her.

They didn't see her as a child anymore. They didn't even call her by name. One tech had slipped up early on and said "Asset Echo." After that, it stuck.

She clung to that name—not as a loss of identity, but as proof. They feared the legacy she carried. The code she'd written. The resilience Kirion had raised into her bones.

A woman with sharp eyes and quiet feet, dressed in the same blank palette as the walls. She never gave her name. Only pressed a button and said, "Let's talk."

The chair was metal and cold. The air too still.

"Why fight for him?" the woman asked. "He's led you into war. Sacrificed you for his revolution. You were a brilliant girl. You still could be."

The interrogator leaned forward. "We can offer you education. Freedom. A future. You can help rebuild the country—without blood, without conflict. You're more valuable to the world than to him."

Then the girl spoke, voice quiet but firm. "You're wrong."

The woman arched a brow. "About what?"

"He didn't raise me to be brilliant," she said. "He raised me to be free. Brilliance is just the echo."

The interrogator sighed. "Stubborn. Like him."

"You wouldn't understand," she replied. "You gave up your name."

But later that night, in the dark of her cell, the girl smiled. They were starting to panic. She could feel it in the hurried steps of the guards. In the increased data pings. In the sudden shielding of the uplink node.

Chapter 81: Shadows of Captivity