Ethan leapt from one rooftop to another, his breath catching in his chest as the gap between buildings yawned below.
For a moment, time seemed to stretch, the wind roaring in his ears. He landed hard, his feet skidding on the rain-slicked surface, but his body moved instinctively, already preparing for the next jump.
Questions clawed at the edges of his mind—how was he doing this?—but he buried them under the sheer urgency of survival. The only thing that mattered now was getting as far away as possible.
As he landed on a new rooftop, he spotted a place to hide. Relief rushed over him like a fleeting breeze as he crouched behind an air vent, but it didn't last.
The laughter rang out, cutting through the haze of fear like sunlight through storm clouds. It was innocent, pure, and achingly familiar, lingering in his mind like a ghost.
His chest tightened, and he clutched at the memory, desperate to hold onto it. But it slipped away, leaving only a hollow ache in its wake.
Who was it? Who had he lost? The questions gnawed at him, even as his chest heaved with effort.
It wasn't just the sound—it was the warmth, a sensetion he couldn't name. His fists clenched.
Who are you? Why can't I remember? The not-knowing was worse than the fear of the drones overhead.
As he shook his head to clear it, a metallic glint caught his eye—a larger air vent on the side of a nearby skyscraper.
Without hesitation, he ran toward it, his movements fluid and instinctive. Kicking it open with surprising force, he slipped inside, dragging the cover back into place behind him.
The confined space pressed against his back and shoulders, the cold metal biting into his skin. The air reeked of rust and mildew, but it was a safe haven—for now.
Ethan crawled forward, his breath shallow, the scrape of metal against his palms drowned out by the drone's hum above. He forced himself onward, each movement a desperate bid to stay ahead of the lights sweeping the rooftops.
After what felt like an eternity, a faint light pierced the darkness ahead. He dragged himself toward it, his muscles protesting with every inch.
The vent forked into two directions, and he instinctively took the left. The light grew stronger, and soon he reached the grate. Peering through, he saw a dimly lit office—a strange oasis of order in the chaos of his escape.
The room was pristine, lined with bookshelves and humming monitors. Papers were scattered across a polished desk, a nameplate reading "Director Alan March."
Leather chairs and polished wood panels gave the space an air of power and authority. It was empty, silent except for the faint hum of electronics.
The room was designed with very fine wood all over, although now it was empty, a sanctuary in the chaos of his escape.
Ethan turned and braced himself against the sides of the vent and kicked the grate loose. It clattered to the carpet below, louder than he intended.
He froze, listening. No sound. He dropped into the room in a crouch, landing with a grace that still felt foreign to him.
The quiet of the office pressed against his ears, the muffled city noise outside only emphasizing the sterile stillness.
Ethan straightened, his eyes darting to the door. He didn't have long. Moving quickly, he scanned the desk, his hands brushing aside papers and folders.
A sleek tablet caught his eye, but when he tapped the screen, a biometric lock appeared—unauthorized access. Of course. He abandoned it and turned to the room itself, searching for anything useful.
His heart jumped as muffled footsteps echoed beyond the walls. The sound of boots, accompanied by the crackle of radios, sent his pulse into overdrive.
He grabbed a letter opener from the desk—a pitiful weapon, but better than nothing—and pressed himself into the shadows behind the desk as the door handle turned.
The door creaked open, and a soldier stepped inside, their visor casting a faint glow as they scanned the room. Ethan tightened his grip on the letter opener, his body coiled and ready.
The soldier's visor glinted in the dim light, their head turning slowly toward the vent grate. A sharp intake of breath escaped Ethan before he clamped his lips shut.
The soldier's boots creaked against the polished wood, each step deliberate, as if they could feel the tension in the air.
The glow of their visor edged closer, casting faint shadows that seemed to stretch toward him.
Ethan stayed perfectly still, his muscles screaming as he suppressed every instinct to act.
His steps creaked against the polished wood of the office. Ethan crouched lower, the desk pressing against his back.
His fingers tightened around the letter opener, the cold steel a pitiful shield against the shadow of the soldier's weapon.
Don't breathe. Don't move.
The soldier's hand hovered over their sidearm, but then, after a long pause, they stepped back toward the door.
"No sign here," the soldier said into their radio. "He must have moved to another floor." The door clicked shut behind them.
Ethan exhaled shakily, his heart pounding in his ears. He couldn't stay. The room was a temporary sanctuary, but it would become a trap if they doubled back.
His eyes darted around, landing on a maintenance hatch near the back wall. Without hesitation, he pried it open, wincing as the hinges screeched in protest.
The narrow passage beyond led downward, and he slid into it, descending into the unknown.
....................
As Ethan vanished into the bowels of the building, the lead officer in the bank's security room clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed on the footage of Ethan's rooftop escape.
The man's movements were impossible—inhuman.
Enhanced individuals.
He'd dealt with them before—stronger, faster, deadlier. But this one was different. Whoever erased this man's identity didn't just want him hidden; they wanted him erased entirely.
And that terrified him more than the idea of Ethan slipping through their fingers. It seems he will have to involve the BES.
"Control," he said into his radio, his voice tight with tension. "This isn't a mistake. He's enhanced. Whoever erased his identity wanted him gone completely."
The lead officer's voice tightened over the radio. "And if we don't contain him, we could be looking at another Delta Incident."
The words hung heavy, unspoken terror filling the silence. Everyone knew what Delta meant—a catastrophe that nearly dismantled the city's infrastructure, caused by one enhanced individual.
The response crackled through. "Understood. Drone units tracking. Stand by for containment orders."
The officer's gaze hardened. Enhanced individuals were common, but this one was different. He radiated precision, instinct, and speed.
Whoever wanted him erased had gone to extraordinary lengths to bury him.
"Delta-4 to all units," the officer barked. "Surround the perimeter. Incapacitate the subject on sight, but keep him alive. Repeat: alive."
Before he could lower his radio, a crackling voice cut through. "Unit 7 reporting—subject is no longer in the building. Visual lost."
The officer's grip tightened, his voice a growl. "He's playing us. All units, reconfigure the search pattern. He won't get far."
.........
Far from the rain-soaked city, in a sterile command center, a faceless operator monitored the feeds.
In a world where every action, every breath, was recorded and archived, the idea of someone slipping through the cracks was unthinkable.
For someone to be "unidentified" wasn't just rare—it was a systemic impossibility.
When Delta-4's report confirmed Ethan's enhancements, the Bureau of Enhanced Security (BES) took notice, the government sector that worked on the issues concerning the enhanced.
The Bureau of Enhanced Security (BES) wasn't just a department; it was the government's iron fist.
They didn't just contain enhanced individuals—they controlled the narrative. For someone like Ethan to exist outside their system wasn't just a breach; it was an existential threat to their dominion.
For decades, the BES had ensured no enhanced individual could exist unregistered, let alone unidentified. Ethan wasn't just a breach—he was an anomaly that could unravel the system itself.
The footage and alerts were immediately routed to their command center. Within minutes, Commander Lira Cade, a seasoned operative with an iron reputation, was mobilized with her team.
She stared at the feed with a quiet intensity; she wasn't about to admit it to her team, but the way he moved—so precise, so controlled—reminded her of someone she'd once trusted, someone who'd betrayed her.