The Himalayas swallowed the transport whole. One moment, the sky was a razor-cut blue; the next, whiteout winds screamed across the peaks, reducing visibility to arm's length. Amir leaned into the gale, his thermal suit whining under the strain. Ahead, Clara's silhouette flickered like a ghost—her breaths synced to the rhythmic pulse of The Archive's homing beacon.
"Keep up!" she shouted over the storm. "The entrance cycles every thirty minutes!"
Lina lagged behind, her steps unsteady. The nano-toxin's black veins now crept past her collarbone, staining her neck like spilled ink. Karim gripped her arm, his usual smirk replaced by grim focus. "Don't die here," he muttered. "Too damn cold for a funeral."
The Archive revealed itself in fragments—a obsidian door carved into the mountainside, its surface etched with The Line's evolving symbols. Clara pressed her palm to a frozen scanner. Ice cracked as gears groaned, the door sliding open to a cavernous elevator shaft.
"Welcome to the Library of Lies," she said, stepping into the void.
---
The Archive — Core Sector
Warmth hit them first, then the smell—aged paper, ozone, and something metallic. The elevator opened to a cathedral of knowledge, its vaulted ceilings lost in shadow. Endless shelves stretched into the gloom, stacked with analog files, data crystals, and artifacts Amir couldn't name—a rusted Soviet-era AI core, a bloodstained Silk Road ledger, a pistol engraved with EchoTech Prototype #1.
"This isn't a vault," Lina breathed. "It's a graveyard."
"Correct."
The voice came from everywhere. A figure descended a spiral staircase, her robes the color of parchment. She was ancient, her face a map of wrinkles, eyes milky with cataracts. Yet her voice cut like steel. "I am Kaela, Third Archivist of The Line. You seek the Antidote Index."
Amir stepped forward. "And the truth about the vault beneath Nexus."
Kaela's smile was a thin crack. "The cure first. Secrets after." She gestured to a terminal embedded in a stone plinth. "Access code?"
Clara hesitated. "High Command's transmission gave coordinates, not codes."
"Then you are unprepared." Kaela turned away. "The Index is not for the unworthy."
Karim drew his pistol. "How's this for worth?"
The Archivists materialized from the shadows—a dozen robed figures, their faces hidden, pulse rifles humming. Kaela didn't flinch. "Violence here is… unwise."
Amir gripped Karim's arm. "Stand down." He faced Kaela. "What do you want?"
"A trade. The Index for a memory." She tapped the terminal. "The Archive's AI requires a neural imprint—a lived experience. Something *real*."
Lina coughed, black spattering her glove. "Do it."
Amir jacked the neural link into his temple. The world dissolved.
---
Memory Extraction: Amir Khayal
He's fourteen, crouched in a storm drain as Silhouette drones sweep the slums. His sister, Lina, presses a rusted knife into his hand. "Stay quiet," she whispers. Footsteps echo above. A shadow falls—not a drone. A man in a gray coat, The Line's symbol on his sleeve. He drops a bread loaf into the drain. "Eat. Tomorrow, you fight."
The memory shattered. Amir gasped, collapsing against the terminal.
Kaela studied the holographic replay, her milky eyes reflecting the boy in the drain. "Adequate." The shelves shifted, revealing a hidden chamber. Inside, rows of vials glowed under UV light.
"Antidote Index," Kaela said. "Choose wisely."
Clara scanned the labels. "Rebirth-7 Antidote… here!" She grabbed a vial, injecting Lina. The black veins receded, Lina's breath steadying.
Karim lingered on a vial labeled *Echo Prime Core Stabilizer*. "Souvenir," he grinned, pocketing it.
Amir turned to Kaela. "Now the vault."
The Archivist's gaze darkened. "Follow."
---
The Black Floor
Beneath The Archive's public levels lay a sub-basement sealed by a door of blackened steel. Kaela pressed her palm to the lock. "What lies here predates The Line. Predates *us*."
The door opened to a circular chamber, its walls lined with cryo-pods. Inside each floated a body—men and women in 20th-century attire, perfectly preserved.
"Founders," Kaela said. "The original Line. 1989 was not our birth. It was our *rebirth*."
Clara approached a pod labeled *Mikhail Vorne*. Her grandfather. "He died in the Soviet collapse."
"No," Kaela said. "He was put here. To sleep. To wait."
Amir's terminal buzzed—a file auto-downloaded. *Project Eternal Watch. Objective: Preserve leadership through the apocalypse. Revival date:…*
The date field was blank.
"The vault beneath Nexus is the same," Kaela said. "Your leaders are not a council. They're ghosts. And The Voice…"
Screams echoed above. The Archivists' pulse rifles fired in bursts.
Kaela shoved Amir toward the exit. "The Ghost is here. For you."
---
The Ghost
He stood amid the carnage, a silhouette in Line fatigues, face obscured by a black visor. Archivists lay at his feet, their robes smoldering.
"Clara Vorne," the Ghost said, voice synthesized. "You've been marked for extraction."
Clara froze. "Jarek?"
The Ghost removed his helmet. Scarred, bearded, eyes hollow—Yami's brother, presumed dead in the Jakarta purge.
"Hello, sister," Jarek said. "Time to come home."
To Be Continued…