A deafening alarm blared, its shrill, mechanical wail reverberating through the dimly lit corridor. Red warning lights pulsed against the cold steel walls, casting jagged shadows that danced with each flickering second. Agent Kieran Voss moved like a phantom through the chaos, his cybernetically enhanced muscles propelling him forward with inhuman speed. His lungs burned, his vision sharpened, and his neural implants flooded his system with tactical data—routes, exit points, structural weaknesses.

The facility was collapsing around him. Concrete fractures spiderwebbed along the ceiling. A ventilation pipe burst overhead, spewing hot steam into the air like a wounded beast exhaling its final breath. But Kieran had no time to acknowledge the destruction. He had a mission. A singular objective.

Ahead, past the debris and crumbling infrastructure, a vault door loomed—thick, reinforced, and closing by the second. Whatever lay beyond it, he knew it was the answer to everything. He didn't know how he knew—only that every fiber of his being screamed for him to reach it.

He pushed harder. His cybernetic limbs responded instantly, muscles reinforced with synthetic fibers contracting like coiled steel. The distance closed. Five meters. Four. Three—

The world flickered.

A single, imperceptible blink.

The red emergency lights dissolved into soft ambient glow. The scent of smoke and burning metal vanished, replaced by the sterile, faint aroma of fresh coffee. The ground beneath him was no longer steel plating but smooth, polished hardwood. His body, once mid-sprint, now stood eerily still. His hands were no longer reaching for salvation—they were wrapped around a ceramic coffee mug, warmth seeping into his fingers.

Rain tapped gently against a glass window before him, streaking in long, slow trails down the surface. Beyond it, the city stretched into the horizon—a sprawling metropolis of neon signs, hovering vehicles, and towering skyscrapers veiled in a mist of perpetual dusk.

Kieran's breath caught in his throat. What the hell just happened?

He turned his head slowly, heart pounding against his ribcage. His reflection in the window stared back—short-cropped black hair, chiseled jaw, piercing blue eyes that flickered faintly with the glow of his retinal implants. He looked… normal. Not like a man who had just been fleeing for his life.

But something was wrong. He remembered running. He remembered the vault. He remembered the alarm, the collapsing walls. Yet none of it was real. Not anymore.

A sharp pain lanced through his skull, a searing, ice-pick sensation behind his eyes. He groaned, gripping the edge of the countertop for support. Images flashed across his mind—fractured, disjointed. A corridor. A name he couldn't place. A whisper in his ear. A countdown.

His breathing turned shallow. He clenched his jaw.

Somewhere deep inside, beyond the synthetic implants and programmed reflexes, a whisper echoed in his mind.

"Run."

His muscles tensed. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. They were watching.

Kieran turned sharply toward the apartment's entrance, his instincts screaming before his rational mind could catch up. The door handle twisted—slow, deliberate.

Someone was coming.

And for the first time in his life, he had no idea who.