Rain continued to pelt against the windows of the safehouse, the dawn still hours away.
The soft blue glow of the terminal was the only light in the room.
Four hours until transport. Four hours to find answers.
The interface had remained, sometimes minimized to that unobtrusive icon he'd discovered how to control, sometimes expanded when he needed to study it.
On the screen before him, a complex signal analysis program tracked frequency patterns across Warsaw.
If the Shimmerskin and this new interface were communicating somehow, there would be evidence.
Some trace of the digital handshake between technologies.
"Come on," he muttered, eyes burning from too many hours of staring at the monitor.
The program hadn't found anything substantive for nearly an hour as it scanned the electromagnetic spectrum.
Then suddenly, a notification pulsed in the corner of his screen: anomalous transmission detected.
Elias leaned forward, fatigue instantly forgotten.
The signal was faint, intermittent, but definitely there—a ghost in the electromagnetic spectrum.
Similar to the Shimmerskin's output signature, but with subtle variations that suggested something different.
Something older.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, isolating the frequency band, enhancing the signal strength.
The pattern was structured, not random—deliberate communication rather than ambient noise.
He cross-referenced the coordinates with city maps.
An old storage facility in the industrial district, approximately twenty minutes from his current location.
The interface in his vision pulsed once, then expanded without his prompting.
[OBJECTIVE UPDATED: LOCATE SIGNAL SOURCE]
[UNKNOWN TRANSMISSION DETECTED]
[SHIMMERSKIN RESONANCE: CONFIRMED]
The text appeared without warning, floating into his field of view.
This was new—the system actually responding to his external actions.
Elias massaged his temples, considering his options.
Protocol dictated he should report this to Dr. Chen immediately.
The Shimmerskin was EIDOLON property, as was any technology that interacted with it.
But Chen would want to pull him in, run tests, place him in isolation.
And his "estimated functionality" clock was still ticking down.
Forty-seven days.
No, he needed answers first.
He minimized the interface with a thought and began gathering his gear.
Standard field kit—sidearm, tactical knife, lockpicks, multi-tool.
Civilian clothes to blend in.
No comms that could be tracked.
The Shimmerskin pulsed on its rack as if sensing his intention.
"Not this time," he murmured to the suit.
Using it again so soon would accelerate the deterioration.
Besides, the repair cycle wasn't complete.
The interface expanded briefly in his peripheral vision.
[TACTICAL ASSESSMENT: PROCEED WITH CAUTION]
[POTENTIAL HOSTILE ENCOUNTER: 64%]
[RECOMMENDED LOADOUT: DEFENSIVE]
Elias paused, staring at the floating text.
The system was... advising him?
Providing tactical assessments based on the signal analysis?
He hesitated, then added a compact stun device to his kit.
Non-lethal, but effective.
Something cold settled in his stomach.
Either he was following the advice of a hallucination—in which case he was already too far gone—or the interface was genuinely analyzing data and providing actionable intelligence.
Neither option was particularly comforting.
The stabilizer compound still flowed through his system, dulling the worst of the post-mission pain.
It would hold for another few hours.
Long enough.
He checked his watch. 0230.
Three and a half hours until transport arrived to return him to headquarters.
Three and a half hours to find answers.
He slipped out of the safehouse, engaging all three security protocols behind him.
The rain had transformed Warsaw's streets into mirror-black rivers reflecting the city's lights.
Few people were out at this hour, only the occasional taxi or delivery vehicle.
Elias kept to side streets, moving with purposeful anonymity.
Just another night worker heading home.
Nothing to remember.
Nothing to notice.
The storage facility loomed ahead, a sprawling complex of corrugated metal and concrete.
Chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
Security cameras at regular intervals, though several appeared non-functional.
Budget security, designed more to deter casual thieves than professional infiltrators.
He circled the perimeter once, identifying blind spots in the coverage.
The interface in his vision highlighted potential entry points, calculating risk assessments for each.
[RECOMMENDED ENTRY: SOUTHEAST MAINTENANCE GATE]
[SECURITY BYPASS: MECHANICAL LOCK, LOW DIFFICULTY]
[PATROL INTERVAL: 45 MINUTES]
Elias frowned, unsettled by the system's apparent awareness.
How was it accessing this information?
Was it somehow reading the facility's security through his own observations?
Or did it have prior knowledge of this location?
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Either possibility raised troubling questions.
He waited in the shadows until the night guard completed his patrol round, then moved swiftly to the southeast gate.
The lock was indeed mechanical—an older model that yielded to his picks within seconds.
Inside, rows of storage units stretched into darkness, lit only by widely-spaced emergency lights.
The facility smelled of dust and neglect, concrete floors stained with years of grime.
His breath formed small clouds in the unheated space.
The interface minimized automatically as he navigated through the maze of corridors, as if sensing his need for undistracted visibility.
Only a small directional indicator remained, pointing him toward the signal source.
He moved like a ghost through the facility, counting unit numbers as he passed.
344…
343…
He paused at unit 342, the indicator pulsing more urgently.
[SIGNAL SOURCE IDENTIFIED]
[CAUTION: ANOMALOUS ENERGY SIGNATURE DETECTED]
[RADIATION LEVELS: ELEVATED BUT NON-LETHAL]
The padlock on the unit was newer than the others—high-quality but not military-grade.
Something a civilian with security concerns might purchase.
Elias examined it carefully for security measures or alarm triggers.
Nothing obvious, though something about the lock itself seemed strange.
Not quite standard issue.
The metal felt oddly warm despite the cold air.
He knelt, working methodically with his picks.
The lock clicked open with surprising ease.
Too easy, perhaps.
He lifted the roll-up door slowly, wincing at the metallic groan that echoed through the facility.
Inside, darkness deeper than the surrounding gloom.
As if the space absorbed light rather than merely lacking it.
Elias flicked on his penlight, sweeping the narrow beam across the unit's contents.
A scorched duffel bag lay against one wall, the material blackened as if caught in an explosion.
Beside it, a stack of encrypted hard drives, military grade, their cases marked with serial numbers he didn't recognize.
And centered precisely in the small space, a metal case approximately two feet square.
The case emitted a low hum that vibrated through his bones.
His interface flared brightly, text scrolling faster than before:
[ANOMALY CLASSIFICATION: UNTAGGED]
[XP GAINED: +50]
[AWARENESS: 9 (+1)]
[WARNING: LOW-LEVEL RADIATION DETECTED]
[PROLONGED EXPOSURE NOT RECOMMENDED]
The radiation warning was new, and deeply concerning.
EIDOLON training had covered anomalous radiation sources—phenomena that emitted energy patterns inconsistent with known physics.
Elias approached the case cautiously, circling it once.
Lead-lined, with embedded cooling systems visible through seams in the metal.
Not modern tech—this was older, perhaps five years or more.
About the time he'd joined EIDOLON.
He crouched to examine it more closely, careful not to touch.
The interface in his vision flared red.
Then, a sudden insight struck him with startling clarity.
Not technology.
At least, not entirely.
This was a memory, preserved somehow, wrapped in lead to contain whatever energy it emitted.
EIDOLON had encountered similar phenomena before—psychic impressions so powerful they manifested physical properties.
Moments of extreme emotion or significance that imprinted themselves on the fabric of reality.
Memory artifacts, the research division called them.
Extraordinarily rare.
Extraordinarily dangerous.
The scorched duffel suggested whoever had placed this here had encountered the artifact's defense mechanisms firsthand.
Elias checked his watch. 0312.
Less than three hours before extraction.
He needed to decide quickly—attempt to open the case here, call for EIDOLON backup, or leave it for later investigation.
His interface pulsed with new information:
[PRAGUE OPERATION SIGNATURE DETECTED]
[TEMPORAL MARKER: FIVE YEARS PAST]
[PROTOCOL MATCH: OPERATION VANGUARD]
Elias froze.
Operation Vanguard.
His first mission with the Shimmerskin prototype.
The operation that had gone catastrophically wrong.
Three agents lost.
An entire research facility demolished.
The true target never confirmed.
He had been the sole surviving operative, extracted with severe injuries and fragmentary memories of what had actually happened.
The official report cited a terrorist cell with experimental weaponry.
But he'd always suspected there was more to it.
Always felt the gaps in his recollection weren't merely trauma-induced.
Before he could process this revelation, his internal alarm triggered.
Someone else was here.
Elias extinguished his light and melted into the shadows beside the door, hand moving to his sidearm.
Footsteps approached, measured and deliberate.
Military cadence, maintaining tactical awareness.
Not the night guard—this was someone trained.
Someone professional.
He glimpsed a figure at the far end of the storage corridor.
Female.
Medium height, athletic build.
The way she moved screamed professional—intelligence or special operations.
She paused, scanning the corridor methodically, then looked directly toward his position.
Impossible—he was completely concealed in darkness.
Unless she had enhanced vision capabilities.
Or tech comparable to his own.
The woman took three precise steps forward, then stopped.
"Veil," she said, her voice carrying clearly in the still air.
Just that one word, spoken with certainty.
His operation name from Prague.
Not Nighthawk, his current designation.
Veil—an identity only those involved in Operation Vanguard would know.
Then she was moving, vanishing behind a support beam with preternatural quickness.
Elias's interface flashed blue, new text appearing:
[CONTACT ESTABLISHED: OPERATIVE "NIGHTSHADE" DETECTED]
[SECONDARY PROTOCOL INITIATED]
[NEW OBJECTIVE: PURSUE CONTACT]
His heart hammered in his chest.
Nightshade.
EIDOLON didn't use that designation in any operation he'd been part of.
But someone knew who he was—knew his former operation name.
And somehow, the system recognized her.
Elias moved from his hiding spot, following the path the woman had taken.
The unit and its mysterious contents would have to wait.
His interface continued updating, metrics shifting as he pursued the figure through the maze of storage units.
[QUEST LOG UPDATED: "SHADOW PROTOCOL" INITIATED]
[OBJECTIVE: MAKE CONTACT WITH OPERATIVE NIGHTSHADE]
[WARNING: ESTIMATED FUNCTIONALITY: 46 DAYS, 23 HOURS REMAINING]
The clock had ticked down further.
The pursuit led deeper into the facility, past rows of anonymous storage units.
The woman—Nightshade—moved with purpose, always maintaining distance but never fully disappearing.
Leading him, he realized.
Not fleeing.
Guiding him somewhere specific.
The interface pulsed with every turn, providing directional markers that sometimes anticipated her movements.
As if it knew where she was going.
As if they were connected somehow.
They reached an older section of the facility, the units larger and seemingly abandoned.
Dust lay thick on the floor, their footprints the only marks.
She stopped before a unit with no number, only a faded hazard symbol nearly obscured by years of grime.
"Forty-six days is optimistic," she said without turning. "The degradation accelerates exponentially in the final stages."
Her English was unaccented, her tone clinical but not cold.
"Who are you?" Elias demanded, keeping distance between them, hand near his weapon.
"Someone who's been through what you're experiencing." She turned, revealing her face.
Mid-thirties, features that might have been attractive if not for the network of faint scars that traced her left temple and cheek.
Burn scars, similar to those left by Shimmerskin neural feedback.
"You were EIDOLON," he said. Not a question.
"Once. Before Prague. Before they realized what they'd actually found."
Her gaze flicked to his temple, where he knew the interface metrics were visible only to him.
"You can see it," he said. "The interface."
She nodded. "Level 1. Just getting started."
"What is it?"
"Something the Shimmerskin was never designed to interact with." Her expression darkened. "Something EIDOLON found in Prague and has been trying to weaponize ever since."
"The system calls you Nightshade."
A small smile touched her lips. "It would. That was my designation."
She checked her watch—the same model issued to all EIDOLON operatives.
"You don't have much time. Transport at 0600, correct? Standard extraction protocol."
Elias didn't bother asking how she knew that.
"What happens when I go back?" he asked instead.
"They'll detect the interface activation during your medical evaluation. They'll isolate you for study. Extract what they can before the neural degradation progresses too far."
Her clinical tone couldn't quite mask the bitterness beneath.
"And after that?"
"Retirement with full benefits. A comfortable facility with excellent care. Regular visits from Dr. Chen to monitor your deterioration."
She stepped closer, and he noticed her eyes—left one natural brown, right one with a faint luminescent quality.
"Or you can come with me. Learn what the interface really is. What it can do."
The HUD expanded in his vision:
[CRITICAL CHOICE DETECTED]
[OPTION 1: RETURN TO EIDOLON - MAINTAIN STATUS QUO]
[OPTION 2: FOLLOW NIGHTSHADE - SEEK ANSWERS]
[CHOOSE WISELY - THIS DECISION WILL SIGNIFICANTLY ALTER YOUR PATH]
"I need proof," Elias said. "Something concrete."
Nightshade nodded as if she'd expected this.
"The memory artifact in unit 342. It contains the truth about Prague. About what happened to your team."
She reached into her jacket, extracting a small device.
"This will bypass the containment without triggering defense measures. But I suggest waiting until you're somewhere more secure."
She placed it on the ground between them, then stepped back.
"You have my contact protocol if you make the right choice. If not..."
She shrugged. "I'll pour one out for another ghost."
Before he could respond, alarms blared throughout the facility.
[WARNING: SECURITY BREACH DETECTED]
[MULTIPLE HOSTILES APPROACHING]
[RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE EVACUATION]
"That's not facility security," Nightshade said sharply. "EIDOLON response team. Someone tagged your location."
How? He'd been careful, left no digital trail.
Unless...
The Shimmerskin.
Always transmitting data back to headquarters.
Even when not being worn.
"Go," Nightshade said. "Northeast exit. They're coming from the west entrance."
"What about you?"
"I was never here." She smiled thinly. "Ghost Protocol has its advantages."
She turned and sprinted toward the darkened rear of the facility.
Elias hesitated only a moment before snatching the device she'd left, then racing toward the northeast exit.
The interface guided him through the maze of corridors, highlighting the optimal escape route.
His field instincts took over, muscle memory from countless operations.
Move quickly but not recklessly.
Maintain awareness.
Avoid detection.
The sound of booted feet echoed from connecting corridors—tactical team, moving with precision.
He slipped through the northeast emergency exit just as flashlight beams swept the corridor behind him.
Outside, the rain had intensified, providing additional cover as he melted into the pre-dawn darkness.
His watch showed 0346.
Just over two hours until his scheduled extraction.
He moved swiftly through back alleys, putting distance between himself and the facility.
The device Nightshade had given him felt hot in his pocket, as if responding to the memory artifact's proximity.
His interface continued updating as he navigated the empty streets.
[QUEST LOG UPDATED: "SHADOW PROTOCOL" IN PROGRESS]
[OBJECTIVE: RETURN TO SAFEHOUSE, EVALUATE EVIDENCE]
[WARNING: ESTIMATED FUNCTIONALITY: 46 DAYS, 22 HOURS REMAINING]
[CRITICAL CHOICE PENDING]
The clock was still ticking down.
But now, finally, Elias had something concrete to pursue.
Something beyond his own deteriorating condition.
A lead.
A name.
A connection to his past.
He quickened his pace, the interface guiding him through darkened streets.
Toward the safehouse.
Toward a decision that would change everything.
The game had truly begun—and time was running out.
