Chapter 2: The City That Forgot
The metro tunnels beneath Delhi were not dead—but they were forgotten.
Karan walked alone down the middle of Track Line 5-B, his footsteps echoing across the damp walls like a whisper trying to escape a grave. Water dripped from cracked tiles above. The old rails hummed with the ghosts of trains that hadn't run in years. A fine layer of dust coated everything, except the recent footprints that led him deeper into the dark.
He followed them.
The deeper he went, the less his digital equipment mattered. There were no signals down here, no surveillance feeds, no drones. Only the scent of mold, burnt plastic, and something older—something like memory.
He arrived at a sealed access gate, half-rusted shut, the symbol of the Eastern Surveillance Division burned into the metal.
Zone 5-B: Analog Archive Vault
A young assistant followed behind him, wide-eyed, clutching a battered tablet. The boy couldn't have been older than twenty.
"Sir, this archive is off-limits—"
Karan didn't stop. He reached into his coat and produced a flat black key. Not digital. Not state-issued. Something older.
He pressed it to the scanner.
A quiet chime.
The gate screeched open.
Karan turned to the boy. "Go back to the surface. If I'm not out in two hours, delete the log."
The boy hesitated, then nodded.
The gate closed behind Karan with a solid thunk.
He was alone now. Alone with what the city had chosen to forget.
---
Zone 5-B didn't use hard drives or servers. Everything here was analog. Paper. Tape. Ceramic drives. Film reels. Ink that faded under light. It was the only reason this place still existed—because it wasn't connected to the Net. Because it couldn't be corrupted.
He moved past rows of yellowed files and sealed crates, eyes scanning for the symbol he remembered. The spiral eye. The mark of the Blackwave Pact.
He found it at the very end of the aisle, burned into a wooden crate like a scar.
He pried it open.
Inside: one cracked blue mask with a golden stripe across the eye. A bloodstained folder. And a small, unmarked cassette labeled "Silence Clock."
He stared at the tape.
Then slowly inserted it into his handheld recorder.
A static burst.
Then his own voice.
"If you're hearing this, it means I've forgotten again."
The voice was younger. Sharper. His own. Eleven years ago.
"This is Karan Das. Operative, Shadow Class. This is my fail-safe."
He listened, the sound of his past cutting through the silence like a blade.
"They erased us. Not just from history—from ourselves. Blackwave didn't die. We were overwritten."
The tape clicked off.
Karan stood there for a long time.
He had no memory of recording it.
---
Elsewhere, in the southern edge of Chongqing, a mountain shrine flickered in and out of phase.
Lin Weiyu stood at its center, her breath visible in the cold air. She had come here to stay quiet. To stay hidden.
But the Surge didn't respect solitude.
The shrine vibrated beneath her feet. The trees around her bent unnaturally. Reality pulsed like a wound.
She dropped to her knees, pressing her palm against the stone floor.
A surge of power shot through her spine.
Visions flashed behind her eyes.
A boy.
A city drowned in static.
A mask covered in blood.
Then—darkness.
And when she opened her eyes, she was not alone.
A man in a red robe stood ten feet away, silent.
He did not speak.
But his presence said enough.
The Accord had found her.
And the Surge was no longer hiding.
---
Back in Delhi, Karan emerged from the archives with dust in his hair and a storm in his chest. He didn't return to headquarters. He didn't trust Control anymore.
Instead, he returned to the place no one looked—the collapsed civic tower in Zone 3. His old fallback site.
He broke through a rusted door, climbed a stairwell half-filled with debris, and unlocked a door hidden behind layers of false insulation.
Inside: a room filled with forgotten things.
Analog screens. Maps. Relic masks. Names. Photos. All the data that the Accord tried to erase but failed to completely destroy.
In the center, a cracked table held a single holo-core.
He placed the tape recorder beside it.
Then pulled up the central file.
BLACKWAVE.
Five names flashed on the screen.
Four were marked DECEASED.
One was marked UNKNOWN.
And then a sixth file blinked onto the screen, half-corrupted.
Name: Ishan
Age: 9
Status: Missing
Power Classification: TYPE-ZERO ANOMALY
Orric Signal Strength: Unreadable
Karan leaned closer, heart pounding.
A child.
Not registered. Not tracked. Not erased.
A Surge anomaly with power so high it broke the scanner.
He whispered to himself, "Who are you, kid?"
Behind him, the lights flickered.
The Orric Layer pulsed.
And the recording he had forgotten played once more.
"Find the boy. Protect him. The Accord will come for him. But he is the first signal. He is the memory. He is what they fear most."
Karan stood up, resolve settling in his chest like ice.
"Then let them come," he said quietly.
The past was no longer dead.
It was waking up.
And it was a angry.