Annie jolted awake from the same nightmare she's had over the years, she could taste ash in her throat like it was real. Her heart hammered against her ribs and she freed her legs that were tangled in the sheets. It was the same dream again, her running through a burning maze. No matter how fast she ran, the flames always got to her.
Gasping for breath, Annie fumbled to on the lamp on her nightstand, dawn was still hours away, and she dragged in a shaky breath, willing her scared heart to stop racing.
Thirteen years. Thirteen long years since that night. The fire, the screams, the suffocating smoke – these were the memories that haunted her dreams. The faces of her parents, once vivid in her mind, now remained out of reach, their details fading with each passing year. All she had left were the echoes of her loss and grief.
Throwing back the covers, Annie walked to the window, her gaze settling on the mighty building across the street – Beckings Industries. The company logo, a stylized lightning bolt, glinted in the pre-dawn light, a constant reminder of her purpose. Vengeance had become the air she breathed.
Work at "The Drive," a coffee shop, was her daily routine, a mask she wore to navigate the world. Today, however, the familiar routine felt hollow. With the chatter of customers, the sounds made by the espresso machine, the clinking of spoons against ceramic cups – the sounds all seemed muffled, a distant echo in her busy mind.
Toolz, her ever-reliable assistant, came in from the back room, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Toolz knew her story better than anyone, his loyalty had been her constant source of solace.
"Rough night, boss lady?" he asked, his voice a hushed whisper despite the empty shop.
Annie nodded, forcing a smile. "Just another visit from the fire brigade," she said dryly. Toolz, a burly young man with a shaved head and an infectious grin, leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Speaking of infernos, I got something juicy."
His words sparked a flicker of life in Annie's eyes. Information – that was the fuel that kept her fire burning. "Spill it, Toolz,"
"Remember Mr. Thompson, the security guard from Beckings Industries you had me sweet-talk a few months back?" Toolz said.
"Vaguely," Annie replied, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "The one with the fondness for gossip?"
Toolz chuckled. "Bingo! Well, turns out he finally caved. Apparently, there's a…project underway at Beckings. Top secret, hush-hush stuff. Goes by the codename 'Phoenix.'"
Phoenix. It couldn't be a coincidence. Could this be it? The very name sent a tremor of fear through her. "Anything else?" she pressed; her voice barely audible.
Toolz shook his head. "Not yet. Mr. Thompson promised to keep his ears open, but this project seems to be tightly wrapped. But hey," he grinned, "where there's smoke, there's fire, right?"
Annie returned his grin, a humorless flash of teeth. "Indeed, Toolz. Indeed."
* * * * * * * * *
It was after closing time at The Drive and Annie was back in her apartment, a makeshift room above the bustling coffee shop. The walls were adorned with photographs and newspaper clippings, each a piece of the puzzle she was desperately trying to solve. A picture of her parents, their faces beaming with joy, took center stage. Beneath it, a news report on the fire, the cause listed as "suspicious."
Toolz's information about Project Phoenix had solidified a suspicion that had been nagging at Annie for years. Beckings Industries was somehow involved. But how? What was Project Phoenix, and why did it bear the same name to the file with her?
Spreading out various documents on her desk, bank statements from the months leading up to the fire showed unusual transactions. A security company with a dubious reputation. A cryptic email exchange mentioning "silencing a loose end." The pieces were starting to fall into place, forming a picture both terrifying and exhilarating. Beckings was hiding something, and Annie was determined to expose it. But before she could launch a full attack, she needed more concrete evidence, a weakness to exploit.
Across town, a sleek black car pulled up to a private helipad. A figure emerged, tall and imposing, his face hidden by the shadows cast his fedora cap. Joseph Beckley, now CEO of Beckings Industries and a man whose ruthlessness was heard around town; a town he hasn't stepped in in years until now, he adjusted his cufflinks before striding towards a waiting limousine.
Inside the car, Joseph pressed a call to his most trusted confidante, a ghost in the machine, a man known only as "The Ghost."
"The shipment arrives tomorrow," Joseph said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Ensure its…discreet handling."
Consider it done, Mr. Beckley. But regarding that loose end…" The Ghost's voice trailed off. Joseph clenched his jaw. "Silence her permanently," he ordered.
The line went dead, leaving Joseph to think in the suffocating silence of the car. Project Phoenix – the culmination of years of research and ambition. It held the key to his ultimate goal, a power the world had ever seen. But the path to that power was paved with blood, and the child who survived the fire that took her family all those years ago was an obstacle he couldn't afford at the moment.
The problem was the girl, the sole witness, had vanished. Years of searching had yielded nothing but dead ends. There were no clues about the whereabouts of the missing heir to the Bolt legacy – a legacy entwined with Project Phoenix in ways Joseph still didn't fully understand. The limousine drove off, Project Phoenix would be his legacy, and no one, not even a ghost from the past, would stand in its way.
Meanwhile, in her room, Annie now known only as "Raven" thought to herself, Project Phoenix would be exposed and whoever was behind the fire that stole her life would pay for the ashes that had become her existence.