Chapter 9 The Edge of Memory

I looked again at Snow's silhouette in the distance—black against the white. She looked so much like the white-clad figure. The wind kept howling. The other team's lead—a European special operations guy—checked in with me, a few brief words. I didn't ask about Snow.

The wind raged all day. By nightfall, the world was still a howling blur. Buzz finished changing my dressings, then dropped down next to me.

"Bro, who did this to you?" Buzz asked, voice low.

I licked my lips. "After Reaper and I got separated in the blizzard, I ran into someone in white."

"A guy in white?" Buzz echoed.

I nodded. "Call the others. We need to talk about what happens next."

Buzz nodded and was gone.

A few minutes later, everyone filed in.

Bolt and Nox were covered in snow—looked like they'd been standing watch outside the cave.

"I know you've all noticed it—there's something wrong with me lately," I said it out loud. No way around it.

"No, Specter, you're just tired," Anchor jumped in.

I shook my head. "I wish that were true. But it isn't."

"Big Brother—" Bolt tried to say something.

I cut him off. "Listen. I met a man in white. That's how I got hurt. He could move in the storm like it was nothing—scary good."

"Not that good. I could take him," Reaper said, ice-cold.

I glanced at Reaper, managed a half-smile. "Yeah, you probably could."

Reaper stayed silent.

Buzz grinned at Bolt and made a face. Bolt gave an awkward laugh.

"And there's something about Snow. Don't you all think it's strange she's here? How does someone like that end up with a European special ops team?"

No one said a word.

"Come on. What do you really think?" I said. "I never had a real conversation with her, but I admitted to her tonight: I'm Digits. She probably knew all along."

Still silence.

"I think—"

"You need to wake up," Reaper cut in, deadpan.

I shot him a look. Anchor snapped, "Shut up."

"You shut up," Reaper barked back, louder this time.

Something clicked. I forced a smile. "Why? Go ahead, Reaper—say it."

He met my gaze, but didn't speak.

"It's fine. Specter, just talk," Anchor said.

I looked at Anchor, then at the others. Bolt looked nervous, Buzz stared at the floor, Castor fiddled with his rifle, Nox sat silent and steady.

"What is it? Just tell me the truth," I said, keeping my tone steady.

Buzz glanced at Anchor, then at me. "Bro, you're too smart. If you've started doubting us, no matter how much we go along, you won't trust us."

I stared at Buzz, nodded once.

"Actually... it's like this—"

"I'll tell him," Anchor cut in.

Buzz gave a stiff smile. "Go ahead. You tell him."

"Specter, Snow is dead." Anchor's eyes were locked on me, sharp, measuring.

I nodded. "Keep going."

"She's been dead for a while. Last time, when we came to this country on mission with the Spectrum Team (note: the previous generation of Ghost Squad, seven members same as Ghost Squad),she died. The Snow you're seeing—it's not real. She's just in your head, talking to you. That's all."

Silence.

After a long time, I said, "Alright. I get it. You guys get some rest. When the wind dies, we move out."

"Specter..."

"Big Brother..."

I raised a hand, cutting them off. "It's fine. I know. Go."

Buzz pulled Bolt to his feet. "Trust Bro," he said softly, arm around Bolt's shoulders as they walked away.

After they left, my brain kicked into gear—thinking, breaking things down, running through every angle. Snow's dead? Why didn't I know? She was fine the last time I saw her. She even gave us a gift. Why do they say she's dead? Did I forget?

Forget? How could I forget? If Snow really died, how could I just lose that?

Two reasons:

One, the shock of her death hit my mind so hard my brain just blocked it out and kept going—that's what they call trauma-induced memory loss.

Two, someone used tech or drugs to wipe and rewrite my memories on purpose.

Either way, it means one thing: Snow mattered to me. If she didn't, her death wouldn't have hit hard enough to force that kind of blackout. The second option makes even more sense—whoever did this wiped not just the feelings, but the memory of her death itself. They wanted me to forget, fast.

Maybe the squad never told me because they were afraid it would break me all over again.

"Stop thinking" said a voice in the dark.

I jumped.

"You didn't leave?" I said.

"No."

"You can't even tell there's someone sitting beside you huh?" Reaper said.

"What was I to Snow? "I asked.

"No idea. But her death nearly took you out too," Reaper said.

"Maybe I loved her. Honestly, you disappoint me, Specter. How could you... You're supposed to be Specter."

I stared into the black cave and talked to myself quietly.

"Yeah. Why was I like that with her? I swear, I remember feeling nothing special."After long time I said.

"For a while, you locked your mind down. Like a zombie. Didn't eat, didn't speak. Graybell brought in the best shrinks, neurologists, anyone with a medical license, all trying to get into your head. Nothing worked. Doc said your brain was dead," Reaper said.

I listened, numb.

"After a while, you lost control—couldn't even take care of yourself. Couldn't eat, couldn't dress, couldn't even make it to the bathroom on your own."

Big boss was about to give up. Ghost Squad hadn't done anything yet, and the leader was already a ghost himself. Hell of a joke. All for a girl. But Greybell never gave up on you.

"And then?" I asked.

"You know what our first mission was? We went out and 'grabbed' the thing that fixed you."

"And it worked?"

"Yeah. You came back."

I said nothing.

Reaper stood, ready to leave.

"Don't forget, the job isn't done. Stop acting like you lost your first love." And with that, he left.

I sat there, oddly calm. Listening to Reaper's words felt like hearing a story about someone else.

So that was it. When I found out this mission would bring us back here, I thought of Snow—even if I didn't realize how much she meant to me. That's why I needed that second checkup. There's still something inside deep my head, something that keeps calling out—Snow.

"How do you feel?" a voice said by my side.

I turned. Snow.

She was there, smiling at me.

I looked her face like a fool.

"Let me check your wounds, Digits."

"Alright."

I watched as she undid my bandages. I could feel the pain, the warmth of her hands through the gloves—so real it almost convinced me she existed.

"Snow, your soul still waiting for me?" I asked.

"What are you talking about, Digits? Your wounds are healing. I'll go get you something to eat." She smiled.

Quickly I caught her hand—leather gloves, the tension in her fingers. I could feel it.

"What is it, Digits?"

I stared at her, at her worried face in the yellow firelight.

Can you imagine it? Someone you know is dead, sitting right in front of you, not in a dream but in the flesh. I was on the edge. Everything I knew was crumbling.

"You're just my imagination, aren't you?" I whispered, holding her hand tight.

"What are you saying? I don't understand." Snow looked frightened.

"Specter... Specter..." Anchor was there, holding out water, worry in his eyes.

I looked at Snow, then at Anchor. "Anchor, can you see her? Snow's right here," I said, fear in my eyes.

"Specter, you're exhausted. Drink. Try to sleep," Anchor said.

"Digits, you should rest. I'll leave you alone," Snow said.

I looked back and forth between Anchor and Snow. My mind was gone, everything I believed coming apart.

How could it be like this? Why did it have to be like this?

I was terrified—really terrified, to the point my heart was shaking. I wanted to cry.

"Specter, drink," Anchor said, putting the straw to my lips.

"I'm sorry, Digits. What's wrong? Are you in pain?" Snow asked quietly.

I drank, staring at the Snow I'd created. I could see the worry in her eyes, the set of her jaw, the sound of her breath.

When I finished, I closed my eyes.