Fear was not the first thing he felt.
It was something deeper—heavier than fear itself.
They intend to kill me.
The sentence did not come as a thought, but as a raw inner voice, as if it had risen from a layer older than consciousness itself. The air around him felt taut, stretched tight like a bowstring about to snap.
Then… that sound.
Not an explosion.
Not a scream.
But a short, metallic vibration—as if something invisible had torn through the air.
Fire order.
He didn't hear it only with his ears. He felt it in his bones.
And in that same instant, a strange knowing crept into him—illogical, unexplained… yet absolute.
I know where they will aim.
It wasn't learned knowledge. It was memory without a past.
The right side. There.
The shot was fired.
His body bent before his mind issued the command.
The bullet passed beside his head—hot, sharp—leaving a scar in the air before vanishing.
He rolled and crashed into a rusted dumpster. The stench of rot and damp iron assaulted him, as if the city had exhaled decay straight into his face.
He hid behind it, chest heaving.
Footsteps.
More than one.
They were moving toward him… yet they didn't look at him.
That confused him more than the bullets.
As if their eyes passed through him.
As if he were a shadow—or a flaw in the scene.
How? Can't they see me?
A step closer.
A shadow approaching.
Now.
Victor lunged—not with thought, but with savage instinct.
He tackled one observer to the ground; the impact of flesh against concrete was dull, hollow.
His fists rained down—blow after blow—but something was wrong.
No resistance.
No visible pain.
As if he were striking an empty shell.
Then he realized the mistake.
Sharp, mechanical whirring.
Lenses rotating.
Weapons rising.
Oh God… am I going to die here?
Two shots.
Fired at the same time.
But…
They didn't hit him.
The two observers collapsed—limp, like puppets with their strings cut.
The silence that followed was heavier than the noise.
What is this?
Did someone… shoot them?
A new voice.
From above.
A human voice.
Clear. Undistorted.
"Stay back… he's still alive. Step away."
It wasn't a mechanical command.
It was the voice of a human… free.
Victor moved quickly. Then came the sound of something being torn away—metallic, visceral—like an artificial heart ripped from a soulless chest.
The observer convulsed once… then stilled.
Dead.
The stranger descended lightly from the rooftop.
He stood before Victor, looking at him the way one looks at an open wound.
"Doesn't that hurt?"
The pain was there, but distant.
"Somewhat," Victor replied, as if it belonged to someone else.
"Tell me… who are you?" Victor's voice was hoarse. "And why did you save me?"
The stranger smiled—a small, tired smile.
"You ask too many questions."
He paused, then said:
"Think of me as someone like you. My name is Louis. One of Ashval's warriors. We need to return to headquarters."
The name passed through Victor's mind without catching on anything.
Ashval. Headquarters.
Emptiness.
"Sorry… I don't understand anything you just said."
He took a step forward.
"And I have no reason to trust you. I'll take this corpse, if you don't mind."
Louis's expression shifted.
"No need… no need to hide. You're from Ashval, too."
Then he froze.
"Ashval's laws forbid removing the mask of the Unsynced—"
At that exact moment,
Victor removed the mask.
The air froze.
Shock spread across Louis's face—raw, unmistakable.
"What is this…?"
He swallowed.
"Don't tell me you're—"
"It's normal," Victor said with strange calm.
"Normal?! What do you mean, normal?"
"Like me. Human."
Louis stepped back.
"I don't understand… either you, or the truth about the Unsynced."
"So that's what you call them?" Victor said. "Unsynced."
Louis stared at him as if he were a living riddle.
"Where are you from? How do you not know about them?"
"Where am I from?"
He stopped.
"I don't know."
A heavy silence fell.
"Wait…" Louis said slowly. "Tell me—what's your name?"
Victor opened his mouth… and nothing came out.
"My name is…"
He faltered.
"I don't remember it. No… I don't know it."
Louis went pale.
"You don't know your name?"
He laughed a short, nervous laugh.
"That's… impossible."
He stepped closer.
"Come with me. Maybe I can help you."
"How?"
"We'll try to restore your memory. Or part of it."
"That easily?"
"Convincing my father won't be easy."
He smiled.
"But we'll try."
---
The city drifted away behind them as they walked toward the gate.
Dim lights reflected on the asphalt like distorted memories.
Louis asked strange questions.
Victor had no answers.
Then the car appeared.
Louis ran, shouting:
"Dad! Dad! I'm back!"
The man stood by the car, his features hard—carved from anger like stone.
Louis leapt to hug him—
but the fist came first.
A punch to the stomach.
"Where have you been, you ungrateful son?!"
"You've delayed us long enough!"
Louis groaned.
"And how wouldn't I? We come to Norvana and you won't even let me walk around!"
"We're wanted!" the father shouted. "No time for wandering!"
Louis straightened and pointed at Victor.
"Doesn't matter. Look what I brought."
The father studied him closely.
"Who is this?"
"He's… honestly, I don't know."
"How do you not know?"
Louis whispered in his ear. "He says he doesn't remember anything."
The father approached Victor and bent slightly.
"My name is Hamilton. A pleasure to meet you. What's your name?"
Victor hesitated.
"Robert."
Then quickly added: "And I'm like you."
Hamilton smiled—a smile that never reached his eyes.
"My son said you have no name."
"I don't trust you," Victor said. "So I won't tell you."
"Distrust is understandable," Hamilton replied. "Come with us."
"What?" Louis stared at him. "You believed me?"
"I believed you."
Then he looked at Victor. "But I won't trust him until he enters the first capsule."
Victor frowned.
"I don't understand anything… I understand the language, but it's not… complete."
Hamilton shouted:
"Get in the car and stop talking! Damn this generation!"
Victor froze for a moment, then said with awkward, almost comic hesitation:
"O–okay."
---
Inside the car, Louis kept asking questions.
"How old are you?"
"Where were you?"
"Do you have a family?"
Then the question.
A hand movement.
One finger.
Time stopped.
"Wait… what do you mean?"
"Haven't you dropped that stupid question yet?" Louis said.
"Explain the gesture."
"This… is the number one."
Victor hesitated.
"One… and what is one?"
The silence was terrifying.
Hamilton finally interrupted.
"It seems you've lost your memory. Don't you remember where you were before meeting Louis?"
"I told you I don't trust you."
"But you have no choice."
Victor took a deep breath.
"Before meeting Louis… I was running from masked people."
"And before that?"
"I was… I was… aaagh!"
Pain exploded in his head.
Blurry images.
Voices.
Falling.
He screamed… then fell into darkness.
"He fainted!" Louis said in alarm.
Hamilton tightened his grip on the wheel.
"No choice. Ashval is close. We'll take him to the doctor."
"Mr. Ilio…" Louis whispered. "He'll find a solution."
---
[SCENE CHANGE]
A dark place.
Dozens of armed men stood in rows.
A figure stood on a platform, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"Oh natives of Earth…"
His words were heavy, deliberate.
"Will we allow something virtual to steal our lives?"
Cheers erupted—raw, hungry.
"Ashval has been seized. Only four cities remain."
Silence.
"Scream—declare war on artificial intelligence!"
The chant began, rising like a wave:
"Long live Lord Ilio!"
"Long live Lord Ilio!"
"Long live Lord Ilio!"
---
To be continued…