Jarad stood in a swirling void, a darkness so thick and oppressive it felt like it was seeping into his skin. Shadows writhed around him, their movements unnatural and alive, pressing closer with every breath. A figure emerged from the abyss, stepping forward with slow, deliberate movements.
Jarad's heart raced as the figure became clearer. The man was his mirror image—older, scarred, and worn by years of battles Jarad hadn't yet fought.
"This is where you think it ends?" the older man said, his voice calm yet heavy with regret.
Jarad stepped back, his instincts screaming for him to defend himself, but his hands found nothing. No weapon. No safety. "What are you? Some trick? A memory?"
The older man let out a low chuckle, humorless and hollow. "No trick. No memory. I'm you, Jarad. The man you're becoming if you keep walking this path."
"That's impossible," Jarad snarled, his fists clenching as tension coiled through his body.
"Is it?" The older man raised a hand, and the shadows around them shifted like smoke in a breeze. They formed fleeting images: Evie's tear-streaked face, screaming his name in desperation; Frieda and Leon crumpling under a barrage of gunfire; Toni lying in the dirt, her lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.
"No!" Jarad shouted, his voice breaking as his chest tightened. "Stop it!"
The older man stepped closer, his eyes sharp and unrelenting. "You think you're strong enough to protect them, to carry this weight alone. But strength won't be enough. Not for what's coming."
Jarad glared at him, every fiber of his being resisting the man's words. "What do you want from me?"
"To make the right choices," the older man said softly, his tone shifting to one of sorrow. "To let them in. Before you lose everything that matters." He paused, his gaze piercing Jarad's. "And remember, Jarad. Try to remember it all—not just for yourself, but for everyone counting on you. Choose a different path this time. I trust you will. Good luck."
The shadows surged, swallowing the older man and the images he'd conjured. Jarad felt himself falling-
Jarad jolted upright, gasping for air as his body reacted to the phantom fall. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder that he was alive, though the dream still clung to him like a second skin.
For a brief moment, his mind dragged him back to a memory of cold steel walls and the scent of blood—the room where he'd fought tooth and nail to survive. But the faint hum of the base's generators pulled him back to the present.
The dim lights cast uneven shadows across the walls, flickering slightly as the old system strained to keep running. They'd made it to one of Leon's contingency hideouts, a base he'd set up years ago, far outside the Dome's jurisdiction. No man's land. A haven built without the higher-ups' knowledge.
His hand darted beneath his pillow, gripping the hilt of the knife he kept there. The familiar weight steadied him as his eyes scanned the room, seeking threats in the dark.
The dream's words echoed in his mind: Make the right choices. Let them in.
Jarad swung his legs over the side of the cot, his boots hitting the cold, uneven floor with a soft thud.
"Jarad?"
The voice from the doorway was soft but carried an edge. Frieda stood there, her sharp eyes catching the unease he tried to mask. "Another bad night?"
"Just a dream," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet and sliding the knife into his belt.
Before Frieda could respond, another figure stepped into view. Toni, wearing an oversized jacket that hung loosely from her slender frame, watched him quietly. Her expression was calm, but her eyes betrayed a hint of concern.
"Frieda said you might want some company," Toni said, her voice steady but kind.
Jarad nodded, brushing past them. "What's going on?"
"Leon's working on the perimeter," Frieda said, following him. "He thinks we've been tagged."
Toni frowned. "Tagged? How bad?"
"Bad enough," Jarad said, his tone clipped. "Let's see what he's got."
---
The control room was cramped and buzzing with energy. Leon hunched over a console, his fingers flying across the keys. Wires and makeshift tools littered the floor, and a small monitor displayed a rotating map of the surrounding area.
"How bad is it?" Jarad asked as he entered.
Leon turned, his expression grim. "Someone's pinging our location. Could be drones or heat trackers, maybe both."
Toni crossed her arms, her tone measured but urgent. "How much time do we have?"
"Hours," Leon said. "If we're lucky."
Jarad's jaw tightened. "We move at first light."
"Move where?" Leon asked, his tone bordering on frustration. "The Dome's not safe, and we're running out of places to hide."
Frieda stepped forward, her voice sharp. "We can't just keep running, Jarad. We need an actual plan."
Toni chimed in, her calm demeanor unshaken. "We trust you, but she's right. What's the move?"
Jarad hesitated, the weight of their trust pressing down on him. The dream's warning flashed in his mind, pushing him to confront the choices ahead.
"We survive," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "We figure out who sent the hit and why. Then we hit back."
---
Hours later, Jarad stood outside the base, the cold air biting at his skin. The wasteland stretched before him, barren and unwelcoming, with the Dome's distant glow a faint reminder of their enemies.
The dream still lingered, the older man's words cutting deep. He thought of Evie, Frieda, Leon, and Toni. They weren't just his crew—they were his family, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
Let them in.
Jarad clenched his fists. Trusting them fully meant sharing the burden, a weight he'd carried alone for so long. But losing them wasn't an option.
Movement in the shadows caught his eye, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a figure watching him. He blinked, and it was gone.
Taking a deep breath, he turned back toward the base. The path ahead was uncertain, but one truth was clear: he couldn't walk it alone.
--
Dr. Cadmus leaned back in his chair, exhaustion etched into his features. His slightly graying hair was disheveled, and the glasses he'd thrown onto the desk moments earlier sat askew.
The phone on his desk buzzed. The Director.
"Well?" came the sharp voice on the other end.
"I'm working on it, sir," Cadmus said, his tone tight. "If all goes well—"
"There's no 'if,' Cadmus. Find those four. Or else."
The line went dead.
Cadmus exhaled, gripping the phone tightly. His frustration simmered. He'd warned them years ago about Jarad, proposed eliminating him before things spiraled out of control. But his warnings had gone unheeded.
Now, the fallout was his problem to clean up.
Sifting through a stack of files, he muttered to himself, scanning the data with tired eyes. If he was lucky, Jarad wouldn't come for him.
But he knew better than to count on luck.