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Shadows of the Forgotten

The Shadows Series Book 1

Chapter 1

The first sensation that struck Allen was the cold pavement against his cheek, like a hand trying to drag him into the abyss. He jolted awake, his muscular frame tensing as a sharp, pulsating headache throbbed behind his eyes. He struggled to sit up, groaning in pain and confusion.

"What the...where am I?" he muttered, cradling his head in his hands. The sound of his own voice seemed alien to him, swallowed by an eerie silence that enveloped the surroundings.

Allen's piercing blue eyes darted around, taking in the desolation before him. The cracked street beneath him stretched out like a spider's web, reaching towards the towering ruins of skyscrapers that loomed oppressively over the abandoned street. Their once-gleaming surfaces were now scarred and ravaged, their broken windows staring back at him like the hollow eyes of the dead.

A faded digital billboard caught his eye, its neon lights flickering weakly above a collapsed building. The remnants of a once-glorious message were barely legible: "Unity and Order for All—Techno-Synth, Your Future." Below it, a defiant streak of graffiti had been hastily scrawled: "Lies." Allen frowned. The message stirred something unsettling in his memory, but the connection slipped away like sand through his fingers.

Something's not right, he thought, his brow furrowing and his lips pressing into a thin line. He racked his brain for answers, but the intense headache clouded his thoughts, leaving only fragments of memories and a gnawing sense of dread.

As he surveyed the ruins, Allen noticed the streets were littered with the skeletal remains of vehicles, their corroded frames a grim testament to a world that once thrived. Neglected storefronts stood eerily silent, surrounded by debris that was once merchandise, now just scattered remnants. Through the jagged gaps where doors once stood, he saw a chaotic jumble of overturned shelves and dust-covered counters, a silent scene of a world left behind.

The echo of Allen's heavy breathing was the only sound punctuating the oppressive silence, a stark reminder of his solitude in this dystopian cityscape. He tried to recall what this place had once been, but the familiar landmarks were twisted and distorted beyond recognition, leaving him feeling utterly lost.

"Think, damn it!" he hissed to himself, frustration boiling within him. "How did I get here?"

But the answers remained elusive, disappearing as quickly as they came. He knew one thing for certain: he couldn't stay here, exposed and vulnerable. He needed to find shelter and gather his thoughts. Clenching his jaw, he pushed himself to his feet, swaying momentarily as the world spun around him.

As Allen steadied himself, a faint sound echoed in the distance—a voice, distorted and warped, broadcast from some hidden speaker. "Techno-Synth: Keeping You Safe, always." He narrowed his eyes. The words felt like more than just noise. There was an emptiness in them, like a machine pretending to care.

Had this been normal once? Had people believed this propaganda? A fragment of a memory tugged at him, but it was lost in the haze of his mind. Despite the disorientation and his pounding headache, Allen's determination began to emerge, fueled by an unwavering commitment to uncover the truth. He knew that somewhere in this desolate city lay the answers he sought – and he would do whatever it took to find them.

Alright, he thought, readying himself for the journey ahead. Time to get moving.

With cautious, deliberate movements, he began to navigate the urban wasteland, each step taking him further into the heart of darkness. And as the shadows closed in around him, a single thought echoed through his mind:

"Who am I?"

The wind whistled through the exposed steel frames of the skyscrapers, sending a shiver down his spine as he scanned his surroundings. The desolation was unnerving, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He had to find shelter – and fast.

"Okay, focus," he muttered to himself, eyes darting from one shadowy crevice to another, searching for any signs of danger. As if coming from the depths of his blank mind, suddenly he thought to himself. This is just like a tactical exercise. Assess the situation, identify potential threats, and adapt.

As his eyes swept the area again, they caught sight of an alleyway nestled between two crumbling buildings. It appeared to be a perfect hiding spot – dark and secluded yet offering a clear view of the street if someone or something were to approach. With each cautious step towards the alleyway, Allen's muscles tensed, ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of movement or danger. His military training was kicking in, allowing him to move with a silent grace that seemed impossible with his imposing frame.

Stay focused, he reminded himself, his thoughts racing almost as quickly as his heartbeat.

Finally reaching the entrance to the alleyway, he paused for a moment, listening intently for any sound that might betray a hidden threat. Hearing nothing but the distant howl of the wind, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief before slipping into the shadows.

As Allen crouched in the darkness, his mind began to race once more, grappling with the countless questions that plagued him. Who was he? How did he end up in this forsaken place? And most importantly, how could he escape the ever-present feeling of being lost?

But despite his best efforts, the answers remained tantalizingly out of reach, hidden behind the veil of amnesia that shrouded his mind. And as the shadows deepened around him, he couldn't help but wonder if he would ever unravel the mystery of his past.

Well, only one way to find out, he thought, determination flaring in his eyes. Got to keep moving and stay alive.

A sudden, sharp cracking sound shattered the silence, and Allen instinctively dropped to his belly and pressed his body against the ground. His hands were steady despite the adrenaline surging through his veins—a testament to his training—with every sense heightened to its peak performance.

He homed in on the sound, trying to distinguish whether it was a threat or just the city's bones settling more into decay. He stayed still, almost blending into the shadows, his breathing slow and controlled. Beneath him, half-covered in rubble, lay a shattered digital poster. Its fractured surface flickered weakly, showing glimpses of an old newscast. The words flashed by—"Heroes of the State," "Commander Blake's Valor"—before the screen faded to black. The mention of Blake stirred something deep within him, a name that tugged at the edge of his awareness. But as quickly as it came, the thought evaporated, leaving him to focus on the now.

Time seemed to stretch; minutes felt like hours as he waited for another sign. Finally, after an agonizing wait, there was nothing but the whispering wind once again. "False alarm," he muttered under his breath with a mixture of relief and irritation at his jumpiness. But in this new world, paranoia was becoming a survival skill—one that he was rapidly honing.

Rising to a crouch, Allen advanced further out of his shelter into the alley. It twisted and turned like a serpent, leading him deeper into the unknown. As he moved, ghostly images flickered in his mind—a woman's face, a flash of a symbol that made his heart race with an undefined emotion—but they were suddenly gone again, leaving him with more questions than before.

As he struggled to calm his racing thoughts, he scanned the area, alert for any signs of danger. It was then that he noticed it – the gleaming eye of a surveillance camera mounted on a nearby lamppost, its lens sweeping the area methodically.

His heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively ducked behind a pile of debris, peering out with caution. The omnipresent eyes of a corporation that seemingly controlled every inch of the city scanned the area with precision.

Allen knew he needed to disable it. Doing so would give him a temporary blind spot under Techno-Synth’s watchful eye and maybe even provide a clue to what they were up to in this wasteland.

"Time to go dark." he said to himself.

He knew the camera's blind spots all too well; the knowledge seemed ingrained in his muscles, an echo of a past that was both familiar and foreign. He waited for the camera to make its mechanical sweep away from him before he moved again, slipping through the blind spot with a predator's precision.

He timed his approach perfectly, climbing quickly, he yanked his tattered jacket over the lens just as it panned in his direction. With the camera temporarily blinded, he took the opportunity to dismantle it, careful not to trigger any silent alarms that might have been set up as a countermeasure.

Allen fiddled with the camera's innards. Every system has its back doors, its weaknesses, he thought as he worked. His hands moved with the confidence of someone who had done this countless times before, despite the lingering fog in his memory.

With a final twist, the camera gave a soft whir and went dead, its red recording light winking out like a snuffed flame. For the first time since awakening in this urban tomb, Allen felt a quiver of triumph.

He slid down against the wall to sit on the sidewalk, taking a moment to catch his breath and let the wave of relief wash over him. He couldn't afford to be careless; there would certainly be more cameras, more sensors to evade. But for now, he was invisible to any prying eyes.

The break was short-lived; he knew he couldn't linger in the open for long. He scanned the area once more, searching for any other electronic eyes that might compromise his newfound anonymity. Finding none, he pushed himself to his feet, his mind already strategizing the next move.

He navigated the labyrinth of streets with a cautious agility, every so often pausing to listen or peer around corners. It was during one of these pauses that he leaned back against the cool concrete of a wall, feeling the rough texture against his skin.

Allen’s eyes caught the remnants of a painted symbol on the crumbling wall—a crescent moon crossed by a bolt of lightning. It was almost invisible, but he remembered it from somewhere. It was a signal, a marker used by the resistance in the days before everything had collapsed. The "Voice of the Forgotten." They had broadcast stories of Techno-Synth's victims, stirring rebellion in the shadows. Was that still happening now, somewhere within these ruins?

Closing his eyes, he focused on steadying his breath, finding solace in the rhythm of inhaling and exhaling. In these small moments of stillness, he could almost forget the chaos that had become his reality.

Suddenly, his lungs hitched in his throat as the distant hum of a drone reverberated through the air. Panic set in – every muscle tensed, his heart pounding like a drum.

"Shit," Allen whispered, looking about frantically for a hiding place. The mechanical buzz grew louder, closer, threatening to expose him. He couldn't afford to be caught, not when there was still so much to figure out.

An abandoned building loomed nearby, its windows shattered, and the facade cracked. Allen rushed towards it, the adrenaline coursing through his veins lending speed to his powerful stride. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the ever-persistent hum of the approaching drone.

"Please, let there be a safe spot in there," he silently pleaded, pushing the heavy door open with a creak that seemed amplified by the dead silence.

Inside, the darkness surrounded him, shielding him from the outside world. As his eyes adjusted, he spotted a dark room off to one side – a sanctuary from the relentless pursuit of the drone. With a sigh of relief, he slipped into the space, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.

"Close call," he murmured, running a hand through his tangled dark hair. The pounding in his chest slowed, but the fear still lingered, a constant companion in this dangerous world.

Can't let my guard down again, he thought, his eyes narrowing with determination. That's how they get you.

He listened intently, straining to hear any sign of the drone's departure. As the hum of the drone finally faded into the distance, Allen allowed himself a moment of relief, the weight of his situation settling into his tired bones. He knew there would be no solace until the truth was uncovered. His headache still pounding, he closed his eyes and again practiced his breathing.

When he opened his eyes, they were sharp and clear, reflecting a resolve as unyielding as the broken city around him. Out of the corner of his eye, a glint of light in some debris caught his attention. He quickly turned to get eyes on it. He lost sight of it, then moving his head to the side a little bit he caught it again.

Walking over to the pile hiding the mysterious item, he dug a little bit, pulling out a small digital device—a relic from before Techno-Synth solidified its grip on the world. With a few taps on its cracked screen, he tried to access any local networks that might still be operational, any sliver of information that could give him an edge.

The screen flickered but eventually displayed a series of weak signals—remnants of a once vast and interconnected web. Allen's fingers danced across the surface as he worked to bypass security protocols that had likely not been updated in years.

A map began to materialize onscreen, its lines and contours distorted by time and neglect. He was about to dismiss it when a blink of light caught his attention—a signal transmitting in a pattern that spoke of intention rather than random static. It was a beacon, a call.

Allen's pulse quickened. This could be the break he needed, perhaps a remnant of some underground communication network or even another survivor trying to reach out. The signal's origin was buried in layers of encryption, an old technique, but one Allen recognized. It was familiar—too familiar. Techno-Synth had used a similar tactic, cloaking misinformation campaigns as truth. A trap? Maybe. Or perhaps a remnant of those fighting back, someone using the shadows to spread their own message, just as the rebels had done before the fall.

With practiced precision, he initiated a trace on the signal, staying prepared to sever the connection at any hint of foul play. As the layers of encryption fell away under his persistent probing, a message began to form on the device's screen:

"Rally Point Delta at dawn. Be vigilant."

The words were cryptic yet promising. Rally Point Delta—he vaguely recalled references to such places from his fragmented memories, hidden locations where those opposed to the tyrannical government could meet and share resources.

He glanced up at the sky through the skeletal frames of the building, calculating how much time he had before dawn. Not enough to waste idly; he knew he had to move if he was going to make it. Allen pocketed the device and set out once again, his purpose renewed and his determination rising. With each step towards Rally Point Delta, he could feel the weight of his unknown past and the importance of his near future pressing upon him like the pollution-laden air he breathed.

The city's dead arteries spread out before him, a twisted maze of streets and avenues that once teemed with life. Allen navigated them with a grim familiarity, avoiding the unstable structures and the occasional remnants of Techno-Synth's vicious automatons—silent now, but a stark reminder of the regime's ever-present threat.

The night deepened around him, a blanket of darkness pierced only by the occasional flicker of broken streetlights and hourly broadcasts echoing through hidden speakers and small orb shaped propaganda drones flying high above, the orbs projected holographic messages onto the sides of buildings, some reading "Unity. Safety. Order." And "Together we stand. Trust Techno-Synth.". Allen's senses were fully alert, attuned to the slightest sound or shift in the dark.

As he neared what he presumed to be Rally Point Delta's coordinates, a sense of trepidation gripped him. He slowed his pace, each footstep deliberate and silent. This part of the city seemed different, more intact than the ruins he'd traversed earlier. It was as if this area had been spared the brunt of whatever calamity had befallen the rest.

Chapter 2

A soft glow on the horizon signaled the approach of dawn. Allen stood motionless at the edge of Rally Point Delta, his eyes scanning the gathering below through a crack in the crumbling wall that concealed him. His tall, muscular frame was coiled tight, every sense attuned to the subtlest of shifts in the air, all while his gaze remained fixed on the figures moving stealthily in the dim morning glow.

The meeting, a hushed congregation of weary resistance fighters, had drawn him here. His breath misted softly in the chill air, vanishing as quickly as it appeared, much like the fragments of memories that teased the periphery of his consciousness.

Without warning, the stillness beside him fractured. “Put your hands up!” a voice cut through the quiet, “You’re not as invisible as you think,” the voice snapped again.

Mia Turner materialized from the shadows aiming her gun, her presence sudden and surprising. The stark morning light played across her angular features, bringing into view the intensity that always lurked within her keen eyes. She scanned Allen with a look that mingled challenge with recognition.

Allen's hands rose slowly and deliberately, as if conceding to gravity's pull. He locked eyes with Mia, his expression unreadable yet undeniably tranquil amidst the threat of her firearm. "I didn't come here for trouble," he said, his voice calm and even.

Mia's grip on the gun didn't waver, but there was a flash of curiosity behind her guarded demeanor. "What did you come for then?" she demanded, her tone sharp and precise.

"A common cause," Allen replied, tilting his head slightly towards the assembly below. "The same shadows that hide you, hide me. But I suppose introductions are overdue—I'm…” Allen paused for a moment, “well I don’t actually know who I am."

Her expression remained skeptical, but Mia lowered her weapon a fraction, inching towards cautious acceptance. Suddenly feeling like she might recognize the man, she said, with reserve.

“You don’t have a name?”

"I’m not exactly sure to be honest,” Allen replied, while staring down the barrel of the automatic rifle holding him at bay. “I woke up yesterday in the middle of this hell hole, and I have no memories, and I have no idea who I am.”

Leaning in for a closer look, Mia began to realize that she might be holding a real legend at gunpoint. Her mind raced, trying to figure out how it could possibly be him in the flesh, alive and breathing. Could it be possible he survived?

Mia's head snapped to the north, her eyes narrowing. The silence of the morning shattered by a distant but unmistakable whine—a sound that made Allen’s blood run cold. In one fluid motion, she was at his side, her hand gripping his arm with a strength that did not match her frame.

"Drone," she hissed, the word slicing through the still air like a blade.

Allen tensed, instinctively reaching for the weapon he no longer carried. His eyes followed hers, and there it was—an ominous speck in the distance, growing rapidly larger as it approached. The silhouette was all too familiar: a dragon drone, its sensors sweeping for signs of life, for any hint of rebellion against the iron fist of Techno-Synth.

"Come on! We’ve got to move, now!" Mia's command left no argument, her body already in motion. She had already mapped their escape in her mind, every step and turn calibrated with the precision of a chess grandmaster contemplating the endgame.

With a reluctance born of years spent standing his ground, Allen allowed himself to be pulled from his vantage point. They darted between the shadows of the skeletal buildings, silent except for the soft fall of their boots on the rubble-strewn pavement.

Mia led with an urgency that burned in her dark green eyes, though her breaths came even and measured. Her knowledge of the city's ruins was intimate, a lover's caress guiding them through the twisted arteries of a once-pulsing metropolis.

"Left—now!" Her voice was a whip crack, and Allen obeyed without thought, ducking into the gaping maw of a collapsed storefront. The drone's incessant hum grew louder, a harbinger of destruction so close now that each beat of its rotors sent ripples through the dust at their feet.

"Down." Mia's whisper was a ghost as she swept aside a tattered curtain of vines, revealing a narrow crevice between the fallen debris. They slipped through just as the drone rounded the corner, its shadow passing over the space they had occupied moments before.

They crouched in silence, the drone's searchlight probing the darkness mere inches from their sanctuary. Allen felt the thrum of its engines vibrating through the ground at his feet, the chilling reminder of what awaited them should they be discovered.

But Mia was a ghost in this graveyard of civilization, her presence frozen in time as she held her breath, waiting for the mechanical predator to pass. It did eventually, the sound of its departure a fading buzz.

In the quiet that followed, Allen looked at Mia, her features etched with the grim determination of their predicament. Her quick thinking had saved them both, and as the adrenaline of the moment faded, a newfound respect settled within him.

Who is this girl? he thought to himself.

"Okay, let's move," Mia whispered, emerging from the dark like a wraith. Her eyes held the fire of resistance. And Allen followed, knowing that in this desolate landscape, trust was not freely given—it was earned.

They traversed the city's streets with a synchronicity born of necessity. Not a word passed between them; the situation demanded silence. But in this speechless exchange, a mutual understanding was cemented—one that acknowledged the gravity of their combined purpose. Mia navigated them through the ruins, her body language articulating directions more clearly than any spoken command.

Allen kept pace, a step behind and slightly to her right, covering angles she couldn't. Though this dance of survival was new to him, his body remembered the steps, a muscle memory that hinted at a history of combat. Something within him responded to Mia’s confidence with recognition. It was as if they had fought side by side in another life, one that his fractured memory could not recall.

Eventually, they arrived at an unassuming steel door nestled within the rubble, almost invisible to the untrained eye. Mia paused, glancing back at Allen with a stare that was equal parts warning and reassurance. She pressed her hand against a cold, biometric scanner—contraband tech that had survived the fall. The door clicked open with a sigh, showing its age and disuse.

Inside, the space was surprisingly intact; a bunker of sorts, shrouded in darkness except for the faint blue glow of emergency lights that lined the floor. They descended stairs worn by the passage of desperate feet, delving deeper into what remained of the old world’s bones.

The bunker expanded into a wider chamber, where hushed voices and the clinking of metal on metal suggested life persistently enduring against all odds. This was where the heart of the resistance beat strongest, a clandestine symphony of rebellion conducted beneath the tyrant's feet.

Mia gestured to Allen to wait by a rusted pillar as she navigated toward a group of people huddled over maps and screens aglow with data streams. She exchanged short nods and quiet words with several individuals before returning to his side.

"This is it," she said softly, her voice carrying a sense of solemnity. "The hub of our operations. There are only 5 of us calling this place home now, but you’ll be safe here.”

Allen surveyed the space, taking in the rebel bunker with a mix of awe and uncertainty. The walls, lined with mismatched screens and archaic tech, spoke volumes about the ingenuity and resourcefulness of those who defied Techno-Synth.

He stepped closer to Mia, lowering his voice to match hers. "How do you manage to stay hidden?" he asked, his curiosity piqued by the seeming impossibility of their existence beneath the ever-watchful eyes of their enemy.

Mia's lips curved into a wry smile, tinged with the hint of secrets she was not yet willing to share. "Let's just say we're good at being ghosts. It helps when you know your opponent's blind spots."

A sudden pang of familiarity hit Allen as he watched Mia interact with her team. There was chemistry here—a shared purpose that transcended individual fears and aspirations. In this darkened cavern of hope, he found himself yearning to be a part of something again, to fight for a future he couldn't remember but somehow deeply desired.

Before he could ponder further, Mia spoke. "This is Anne," she said, motioning toward a woman with steel-gray hair who looked up from her console with intelligent eyes that blinked with recognition upon seeing Allen. "She's our comms expert. And that's Sam—he's good with drones and surveillance."

Sam, a skinny man with restless hands, gave a short nod before returning to his work, disassembling what appeared to be a downed drone like the one they had just evaded. The table was littered with scavenged parts—gears, wires, and chips—a chaotic yet purposeful disarray.

Allen felt some deja vu as he observed the scattered technology, like echoes of knowledge he once possessed but could no longer grasp. He watched Sam's fingers move with precision, dismantling the Techno-Synth drone.

Suddenly Anne was standing next to him, “Good to see you made it out alive Mercer.” The sound of that name sent a shock through Allen’s bones. “Who?” he replied blankly.

“Mercer” Anne quipped. “The Allen Mercer! you are a legend sir, everyone thought you were dead though, so I’m glad to see you made it out alive.”

“Wait,” Allen pondered, the name ringing in his ears, “Allen Mercer,” he repeated the name aloud and then it struck him. “Holy shit…That’s Me!” grabbing Anne’s shoulders with both hands, a smile plastered across his face. “Thank you, Anne, thank you so much, you just helped me remember my name.”

Anne's eyes widened at the sudden contact, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards in understanding. The revelation had ignited something in Allen, a spark that danced across his features. For the first time since he had stumbled into the ruins, a fragment of his identity had been reclaimed.

"You're welcome," Anne said softly, gently extracting herself from his grasp. "But keep it down, will you? We can't afford to attract any unwanted attention, even down here."

Allen released her, the gravity of their situation settling back onto his shoulders. But the weight felt different now—less like a burden and more like a purpose. He looked around at each member of the small group, his eyes finally resting on Mia.

"You knew," he stated, not as an accusation but as an acknowledgment.

Mia held his look steadily. "I had my suspicions," she admitted. "There were rumors about a man with your... capabilities. Someone who was a thorn in Techno-Synth's side before most of us even realized how deep the thorns were planted."

A mixture of confusion and clarity swirled within Allen. "But why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't my place to," Mia replied, her voice firm yet not unkind. "And honestly, I needed to be sure you were who we thought you were, not just another memory-wiped pawn the corporation sent to infiltrate us. We can't be too careful these days."

Allen nodded in understanding. Trust was a commodity more valuable than any currency in this shattered world, and he was grateful for whatever sliver he had been granted. The fractured shards of his past were slowly piecing together, and with each revelation came a renewed sense of determination.

"Alright," Allen said, squaring his shoulders as if shedding the remnants of his confusion. "So how do I help? What's the plan?"

"That," Mia said, her eyes brightening with an intensity that seemed to set the dim bunker alight, "is what we need to figure out. Their grip is tightening. They're upgrading their surveillance tech, drones are becoming harder to dodge, and we've lost too many already."

Sam looked up from his workbench, chiming in with a tone tinged by grim acceptance. "We hit them where it hurts whenever we can," he suggested. "Their data centers, their communication hubs and the like, if you disrupt the flow of information then you in turn, disrupt control."

Anne, standing nearby, crossed her arms and leaned in. “That’s where the Shadow Web comes in,” she said. “It’s an underground network that evades their surveillance. We’ve set up servers hidden in the ruins, linked by encrypted signals. We communicate through pirate radios and the hidden servers—things Techno-Synth can’t easily track.” Anne added, “The Whisper Networks are even more low-tech. Information is passed in person, coded in messages, graffiti, or even through old-fashioned notes. No electronics, no traceable signals—just people passing the word, quietly. It’s risky, but it’s how we stay ahead.”

Mia nodded thoughtfully before turning back to Allen. "And having someone with your... particular history," she said, eyeing him in a new light, "could provide us with an advantage we've never had before." She paused, considering her words carefully. "If you're willing to tap into that history, to use whatever memories and skills you can dredge up against them, then we might stand a chance."

Allen’s mind raced. “Okay…but what exactly is this ‘particular history?’” he said hoping she would share something about his past.

Mia hesitated for a moment, scanning the faces of their small band of rebels for signs of objection. Finding none, she pulled up a chair next to Allen and gestured for him to sit.

"You were a high-ranking security officer for Techno-Synth," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "But you were different—rumor has it that you questioned their methods, their morality. You had access to some of their most sensitive operations before... before something changed."

Allen felt his pulse quicken with each word; some memories flashed in his mind. He remembered tight corridors, cold screens, and orders that didn't sit right. A gnawing feeling that clawed at the back of his brain.

"And then you vanished," Mia continued. "Some say it was a botched operation; others think you tried to expose them and got caught. What's clear is that you know their systems, their protocols. If anyone can break through their defenses, it's you."

A torrent of emotions washed over Allen as he processed Mia's revelation. He was both an amnesiac and a turncoat, a man whose hands were likely stained with actions he could no longer recall.

“But I don’t remember any of that Mia?” Allen questioned.

Mia wasn't finished. "There's more," she said quietly. "You didn't just disappear into thin air. There was a raid—one that Techno-Synth executed with frightening precision. And on that day, we lost not just a potential ally, but you left behind secrets that could have ended this war."

Allen's breath caught in his throat. He tried to imagine the situation she described, tried to visualize himself as the man she sketched out—a walking enigma clad in corporate armor, privy to their darkest deeds. The thought of what secrets his mind might hold, now locked behind a door he couldn't open, was maddening.

"Mia, I..." he began, but words failed him.

"Look," Mia said gently. "No one's blaming you for what happened per se—it's not your fault that your memories are gone. But if there's even a chance you could remember something—anything—that can help us dismantle them from the inside out... we have to take it."

Allen stared at the faces around him—faces filled with hope and desperation—and felt an unwavering resolve solidify within him. He didn't know if he could become the man they needed him to be, but he had to try.

"I'll do it," he declared, voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "I'll do whatever it takes to recover my memories and get back at whoever did this to the world.”

Mia’s expression softened, seeing the resolve in Allen’s eyes. "We will, Allen. But we need to be smart about this. We need more information, and I know just the person who can help us. We will head out first thing in the morning, now go get some rest, you’ll need it.”

Chapter 3

Allen hoisted the worn rucksack over his shoulder, its straps frayed from years of use. The weight of it was a reassuring burden; within lay the survival essentials: water filtration tablets, protein bars that tasted like chalk, and a compact toolkit that Mia had insisted they bring.

Putting his hand on his hip and checking his newly replenished holster, He surveyed the dimly lit cavern one last time, the walls echoing with the whispers of the underground rebel base.

"Ready?" Mia's voice cut through the stillness; her silhouette framed by the sturdy door that marked their exit.

"Let's do it," he replied, his voice solid despite the uncertainty clawing at his insides.

They moved through the abandoned service tunnels with purpose, the rhythmic clank of their boots against the concrete made an ominous drumbeat. Allen's fingers brushed through his short dark hair, a sign of apprehension he could never quite shake off. They said nothing, each lost in the gravity of what lay ahead. The Outlands were a lawless expanse where only the resilient—or the mad—dared to tread.

Emerging through one last heavy door, closer to the city’s edge, they still had quite a way to go. The scent of decay filled the air, a tangible reminder of the world that lay in ruins before them. Allen's eyes scanned the horizon, where skeletal buildings clawed at the ashen sky, their dark forms once again hulking reminders of a civilization that had thrived here. Mia gestured towards a map, the screen on her portable device flickering with a pale glow, showing routes and markers that only those initiated into the rebellion's cause would comprehend.

"Routes have been updated," she said in a low tone, her eyes not leaving the screen. "Techno-Synth patrols have increased. We'll need to reroute through sector seven."

Allen nodded silently; his intent stare fixed on the maze-like pathways ahead. Sector seven was notorious for its unpredictability—a labyrinth of ruins that many had entered but few had left. But they had little choice. The direct paths were suicide with drones sweeping relentlessly.

As they entered the sector's outskirts, they encountered remnants of life before the fall—an old playground with rusted swings creaking in the wind, a shattered doll with unseeing eyes staring from beneath a pile of rubble. The silence was oppressive, the only sounds were their footsteps and the distant buzz of drones like angry hornets searching for prey.

They ducked into an alleyway as a drone buzzed by overhead. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a Techno-Synth soldier and his k9 on patrol appeared rounding the corner. Allen and Mia were caught somewhat off guard.

Allen’s instincts kicked in, he drew his side arm without hesitation and shot a single round straight through the soldier’s cheek. Having no hand to hold it back and being well trained, the dog leapt into action, grabbing Allen’s arm and preventing him from firing another shot.

“Oh Fuck!” Mia shouted as she pulled her gun, putting the dog down with a quick shot. “You ok Allen?”.

“Yeah, I’m good” He replied.

Allen shook off the numbing pain radiating from his arm, the dog's iron grip having drawn blood through his jacket. His heart hammered against his ribs, the adrenaline singing in his veins urging him to move. Mia's sharp features were set in a grim line as she swiftly scavenged a data pad from the fallen soldier's belt.

"We need to go. Now," she urged, pocketing the device. "Those shots will have every drone swarming here within minutes."

The urgency in her voice spurred him into action despite the throbbing in his arm. They hastened away from the scene, darting through the maze of rubble with practiced stealth. Shadows played tricks on their eyes, every piece of twisted metal and broken stone seemed like it could be another enemy lying in ambush.

As they navigated further into sector seven, the atmosphere of destruction weighed heavily on them. Once grand edifices now stood as mere shells of their former glory, the hollow wind moaning through their exposed frameworks as if lamenting the past.

Allen glanced at Mia, her eyes were focused ahead, scanning for signs of trouble. In that moment he recognized not only her strength but also the burden she bore; this rebellion was more than a fight for her, it was personal.

The distant whir of the approaching drones grew louder, a reminder that time was their enemy. Allen’s arm ached, but he pushed through the pain, his determination refusing to let him falter. They ducked into a decrepit building with walls covered in graffiti—the symbols of the rebellion.

"This place," Mia whispered, glancing around the crumbling walls, "It’s where the Founders of the resistance were executed.

Techno-Synth wanted to erase them from history, but we keep their legacy alive." She reached into her pack, pulling out a small, outdated communication device. "This is Echoes of Freedom," she said, showing the device. "It’s an underground broadcast that airs stories of people who’ve fought back, who’ve resisted Techno-Synth’s lies. The Founders started it. Now, it’s all we have left of their voice." Allen stared at the device, its screen flickering softly in the dim light. "It’s dangerous to listen to," Mia continued. "But sometimes, just hearing those stories—it gives people hope."

Allen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold. He stared at the walls, now understanding the significance of the hastily drawn symbols. Blood had been spilled here for the same cause they were fighting for.

“They must have been really great people.” Allen added.

“Absolutely,” Mia replied, “we would all be speaking “Techno-Synth” right now if it wasn’t for them, they gave us a chance.” She turned toward the area where everything had taken place that fateful day, with a big sigh she bowed her head in a quick moment of silence. Allen joined her.

Now with the drones gone and feeling safer, they resumed their trek through sector seven, avoiding open spaces and using the shadows as their ally. The map on Mia’s device was a beacon in the darkness, guiding them through the maze of destruction.

Suddenly, Mia grabbed Allen’s arm and pulled him to a stop—a signal so urgent he instantly dropped to one knee, scanning their surroundings. Up ahead, barely visible through a crack in a dilapidated wall, were more Techno-Synth soldiers; this time it was not just a solo patrol but a whole squad, accompanied by an armored hovercraft that silently glided over the rubble. Its searchlights swept back and forth like predatory eyes seeking out the smallest hint of defiance. They couldn't afford a head-on confrontation.

Allen’s gaze shifted to the left, catching sight of a flickering console, still attached to the wall. The screen displayed a distorted image, the words barely visible: "Unity and Order for All—Techno-Synth, Your Future." His stomach twisted as the message repeated. Even broken and abandoned, Techno-Synth’s propaganda lingered like a ghost, a constant reminder of the control they claimed over everything. He glanced at Mia, who shook her head in silent disgust. They exchanged a look that conveyed volumes.

Silently, they began retracing their steps, taking a longer, less hazardous route that took them through collapsed buildings and over precarious terrain. The ever-present whir of drones seemed to stalk them, a mechanical predator on the hunt.

As they maneuvered through the ruins, Allen’s mind raced. The data pad Mia had taken from the soldier could contain valuable intelligence—patrol patterns, supply routes, maybe even communications protocols. If they could make it to the Outlanders base without being captured or killed, it could possibly help turn the tides in their favor.

They reached an area that had once been a residential block, now nothing more than a graveyard of concrete and steel. After diligently working their way through the neighborhood they could begin to see some distance between them and the city.

As the edge of the Outlands began to materialize, the harsh urban decay gave way to a more rugged, untamed landscape. Allen and Mia navigated through this transition with caution, aware of the dangers that the lawless lands held, but also hopeful for the sanctuary it promised.

The silence was interrupted abruptly as a rustling sound erupted from the thick underbrush to their right. With a sudden burst of movement, a large rabbit darted out from the bushes. Its rapid, bouncing escape sent a scattering of leaves into the air, its unexpected appearance both startling and comical.

Relief washed over Allen as he straightened up, a chuckle escaping him despite the residual adrenaline. He nudged Mia lightly with his shoulder, teasing, “Damn! You were so scared.”

Mia, who hadn't flinched at the rabbit's sudden appearance, quickly responded with her own shove to Allen’s shoulder. “I saw you shaking at the sight of that deadly beast,” she retorted, her voice laced with amusement.

Their laughter echoed in the cool evening air, a brief respite from the tension that had built up during their long trek. The momentary fright from the rabbit had dissolved into a shared moment of levity, lightening the mood as they continued their journey into the Outlands.

The landscape around them grew wilder, with thick underbrush and towering trees that blocked out much of the sky. As they navigated through this rugged terrain, the natural world seemed to watch them with quiet curiosity. The path became more challenging, with roots snaking across the ground and rocks jutting out, eager to trip the unwary traveler.

As they walked, Allen found himself glancing at Mia, taking in her confident stride and the way she moved with such familiarity in this untamed environment. It was clear she had made this journey many times before. Her familiarity with the landscape, coupled with her quick reaction to the rabbit, reminded him of the countless stories she must hold—stories of survival and resistance.

"Mia," Allen started, breaking the silence that had fallen between them since their laughter had subsided. "How often have you traveled these parts?"

Mia looked over, her eyes reflecting a mix of thoughts. "Quite a few times. It’s necessary to connect different parts of the resistance, and sometimes, to escape Techno-Synth’s many patrols."

Allen nodded, processing her words. The concept of widespread resistance still felt a bit foreign to him, his memories of such alliances fragmented at best. "And the people we're about to meet... What are they like?"

"They're like us," Mia replied. "Fighters, survivors. Some of them have been here since the beginning of the resistance. They’ve lost homes, families and more... but not their hope. You’ll fit right in."

Allen wasn’t sure about fitting in, but he appreciated her confidence in him. The path they were on now started to decline, leading them deeper into a valley surrounded by dense foliage. As they descended, the sound of distant voices began to carry over the wind, a sign that they were approaching their first destination.

Finally, after navigating into a densely wooded area, they came upon a clearing where a small camp was nestled against the backdrop of steep hills. Makeshift tents and shelters were scattered around, each constructed with whatever materials were at hand. It was a far cry from the structured military bases Allen faintly remembered, yet there was a sense of order and purpose in the layout.

People milled about, some tending to a central fire, others checking equipment or talking quietly in groups. As Mia and Allen approached, the activity within the camp paused, curious eyes turning their way.

Mia raised her hand in greeting, a smile breaking across her face.

"Friends!" she called out, her voice carrying across the clearing. "This is Allen, the one I've told you about!"

A murmur ran through the crowd, and one by one, people began to approach, their expressions ranging from cautious interest to open curiosity. A man, broad-shouldered and with a scar running down one cheek, stepped forward, extending his hand to Allen.

"Name’s Roth," he said, his grip firm. "Heard a lot about you. Welcome to the Outlands."

Allen shook his hand, feeling the sincerity in Roth's welcome. "Thank you," he managed, his voice steady despite the whirl of emotions. "It’s good to be here."

Mia introduced Allen to a few other key figures within the camp, each of them nodding with a mixture of curiosity and respect. The story of his mysterious past and his sudden reappearance had preceded him, creating a buzz of whispered speculation among the group.

As night fully settled over the camp, Allen found himself seated around a fire with Mia and several other rebels, the light from the flickering flames dancing on their faces. They shared stories of their skirmishes with the enemy, their losses, and their small victories.

Allen listened, absorbing every word, every laugh. It was here, among these outcasts and rebels, that he began to feel a part of something larger than himself—a movement for change.

As the flames flickered, Roth leaned back against a log, his eyes distant. “You know, I wasn’t always with the Outlanders,” he began, voice low. “I used to run solo, scavenging, surviving... until I met the Founders.” His gaze swept across the fire, landing on Allen. “They found me when I was nothing but a broken man, angry at the world. But they saw something in me, something I hadn’t seen in myself for a long time.”

“They recruited you?” Allen asked, intrigued.

Roth nodded, his hand brushing the scar on his cheek. “Yeah. They didn’t just recruit me—they saved me. Showed me what it really meant to fight, not just to survive, but to resist.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “They believed in something bigger than themselves, and I couldn’t walk away from that.”

Mia scooted closer to him, her presence a comforting constant. As the fire crackled, she leaned over, her voice soft. "See? I told you. You belong here."

Allen looked at her, then back at the flames, their light reflecting in his eyes. "Maybe I do," he admitted, allowing himself to feel the warmth of the fire and the community. In a rare moment since waking up on that desolate street, he felt a glint of hope, a sense of purpose.

As the embers died down and the rebels retired to their tents, Mia and Allen remained, lost in conversation under the starlit sky. "We'll need to move at first light," Mia said, her voice low. "There are patrols to avoid, and we need to reach the main base by noon tomorrow."

Allen nodded, feeling more resolved than he had in days. "I'll be ready," he affirmed, the weight of his lost memories still pressing on him but now tempered by a renewed sense of purpose.

The sun was a white scar in the gray canvas of the sky when Allen and Mia broke camp. With the makeshift outlander camp now behind them, they trudged through the desolate expanse of the Outlands, the weight of their packs a constant reminder of the journey ahead.

"Keep your eyes sharp," Mia said, looking back at the horizon where the ruins of the old world clawed at the heavens like skeletal fingers.

Allen nodded, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of the knife strapped to his thigh. The Outlands were notorious for their unpredictability; desperation turned even the most docile into predators.

It wasn't long before the stillness shattered.

"Hold it right there?" The voice was like gravel thrown against metal, harsh and uninviting.

Two figures emerged from the trees, their faces obscured by cloths wrapped around their heads, leaving only their wary eyes visible. Allen and Mia froze, slowly raising their hands, looking down the barrels of the two guns that held them at bay.

"We're not looking for any trouble," Allen called out to the men, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "We’re just passing through."

"Perfect, now get down on your knees" One of the figures chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "Now empty your packs and don’t try anything stupid." The man stepping closer to Mia and pressing his gun against her temple.

Realizing they were in no position to negotiate; they both slung their packs from their shoulders to the ground. The man pressed his gun even harder into Mia’s head making sure she and Allen didn’t even consider make any aggressive movements.

Suddenly two shots rang out in quick succession. Both the men dropped and crumpled up like wet rags. “You guys okay?” a voice yelled from inside the tree line. Allen and Mia both snapped their heads in the direction of the familiar voice.

Roth and two other Outlanders emerged, the barrel of his rifle still smoking. “Bet you’re glad to see us?” Roth said with an almost humorous tone. “These two assholes have been causing a lot of trouble on this route lately, robbing people, so I figured we better tail you guys for a bit and make sure they didn’t get the drop on you.”

Mia stood up taking a deep breath. “God damn right we’re glad to see you Roth, but we had it under control.”

Roth raised an eyebrow at Mia's comment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Sure you did," he said dryly, his look shifting to Allen as he offered a hand to help him up. "No harm in having a little backup, though."

Allen accepted the hand and rose to his feet, clapping Roth on the shoulder in silent gratitude. He was beginning to understand that in this new world, trust had to be earned quickly, and actions spoke louder than words.

Roth gave Allen a friendly nod, holstering his rifle as the other Outlanders began to check the fallen assailants for any salvageable supplies. “Well, I guess you two should get going now. Daylight is burning.”

“Thank you Roth.” Mia said gratuitously, as she gave him a strong hug and a pat on the back. Knowing she had probably just avoided being killed thanks to his helping hand. “Stay safe out there," Roth replied, releasing Mia and turning his head to the horizon. "Remember, Techno-Synth patrols could be anywhere. Don’t let your guard down."

Allen watched as Mia shouldered her rucksack again, her movements efficient and precise. The close call had shaken them, but it also reinforced the sense of urgency that drove them forward.

With a final nod to Roth and his companions, Allen and Mia set off once more across the rugged terrain, their steps synchronized. The silence of the Outlands enveloped them again, but now with an awareness that they were not alone.

As they walked, Allen found himself glancing at Mia again. Her beauty, coupled with her ability to handle seemingly any situation, struck something inside him. He couldn’t figure it out yet, but he knew he was lucky to have crossed paths with her.

Hours later, as the sun began its descent, barely casting shadows through the thick forest cover, they arrived at the main Outlanders base. It was a fortress of salvaged materials, imposing and resilient—a testament to human tenacity.

"Welcome," a deep voice boomed from the gate.

There stood Knox, the Outlanders leader, larger than life. His presence was a beacon, commanding and solid. The rebels who flanked him looked to him with reverence, the air around him charged with respect and purpose.

“Hi Knox, great to see you,” Mia smiled as she greeted him with a big hug.

"Knox," Allen said, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Eyeing Allen from top to bottom, Knox gave a curious response "So, you’re the legendary Allen Mercer. We thought you were dead."

Allen met his gaze, sensing the respect and underlying tension. "So I’ve been told.” Allen replied. Knox finally accepted his handshake.

The rebel leader's grip was firm, his piercing look assessing them both. "Mia, Allen. I've been briefed by Anne and Sam. Come, let's walk. There are things you need to see."

They followed Knox through the compound, each structure and face telling a story of the rebellion. They passed workshops where weapons were forged from scrap, medical tents where healers worked miracles with limited supplies, and training grounds where young recruits were molded into warriors.

"Everyone here has lost something to Techno-Synth," Knox explained, his voice somber. "But in loss, we found unity."

He stopped before a large communal fire where a group of rebels shared meager rations. Their laughter, tinged with defiance, pierced the ever-present gloom.

"Meet Lena," Knox gestured toward a woman with eyes as sharp as the blade she cleaned. "She is our lead tactician."

Lena nodded, her look appraising. "I've heard of your skills," she said to Allen, a challenge and an invitation all at once.

"And this is Jonas," Knox continued, introducing a wiry man with hands stained from explosives. "He knows every inch of the Outlands."

Jonas offered a grin that hid his dangerous expertise. "And I hear you're not too bad with tech," he said to Mia.

"Well, I hope to live up to the reputation," Mia replied, the corner of her mouth twitching in a semblance of a smile.

As night fell and the fire crackled, the outlanders gathered close, their faces illuminated by the dance of flames. In their eyes, Allen saw reflections of his own resolve, the same mixture of hope and fear, courage and doubt.

"Tonight, we share our stories, our burdens," Knox announced, his voice resonant. "Tomorrow, we fight not just for survival, but for freedom."

In the glowing light, Allen felt the weight of his past and the pull of the future. Here, amidst the fractured remnants of society, he found a new sense of belonging. And as the fire cast its glow on the assembly of outlanders, he knew this was where his true fight began.

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