The Crimson Archive
The hum of broken fluorescent lights was the first thing she heard, a high-pitched flicker and pulsing above her like a wounded heartbeat.
Ena Calloway opened her eyes.
The ceiling above was stained, cracked like old bones and the air tasted of rust. Her body wouldn’t move, as if sleep still clung to her limbs like concrete and panic swelled in her chest. She didn’t know where she was or why.
Or WHO she was.
Her breath caught and the thought echoed. Repeated.
She didn’t know who she was.
Her hand twitched first, the other and her fingers curled. The room was cold, medical and almost. Not clean enough, a tangle of wires hung from the walls and monitors blinked silently in the dark. Beside her bed sat a metal tray of surgical tools and dried blood coating one of the scalpels.
A shiver ran through her spine.
On the wall opposite her, stenciled in faded red paint and were three words.
PROPERTY OF CRIMSON MEMORY LABS
The phrase sparked nothing in her, no recall and no memory. Only dread.
She moved to stand and nearly collapsed, grabbing the railing of the cot to stabilize herself. Her legs felt foreign, like she was relearning the weight of her own body and her mind felt even worse. Hollowed out, like something had been scooped clean from it and she pressed a hand to her temple. A sudden image flashed behind her eyes, sharp and painful.
A child screaming.
Wires coiled around her arms.
A man with no face whispering, “She’s too volatile.”
Gone.
She stumbled to a cracked mirror hanging crooked on the far wall, her reflection blinked back at her and unsteady,
Dark hair, pale skin and eyes the color of frostbite.
Nothing rang true.
Beneath the mirror, a file folder had been left open and her fingers hovered over it. A name was typed across the front in bold and military-grade font.
SUBJECT 018: ENA CALLOWAY
CLASSIFIED – LEVEL RED ACCESS ONLY
CRIMSON ARCHIVE DESIGNATION: VEIL
Inside, black-and-white photos paper-clipped together. Ena strapped to a table, electrodes trailing down her spine and in another, she sat slouched in a chair. The last image showed a row of people, faces blurred, she was in the center, smiling and arms around them. A family?
No and it didn’t feel right.
A screeching sound echoed from the hall outside, metal grinding and footsteps.
Ena slammed the file shut and backed away, instinct screamed RUN, she had nowhere to gO, click, a panel in the wall hissed opeN, steam poured from the sides and a voice.
“Subject 018, retrieval is en route and do not resist. Do not attempt escape and you are compromised.”
Compromised?
The panel widened and revealing a dark tunnel lined with red lights.
She didn’t think and she ran.
The corridor bent left, dipped sharply down into what looked like an old subway system long abandoned and her lungs burned. Behind her, doors hissed open and voices shouted. The echo of boots thundered.
She ducked behind a pile of broken tech crates and flattened her body against the wall.
Three men in matte-black tactical gear stormed past her, one of them held a scanner and red light sweeping across the floor.
“Tracker says she’s close and fan out.”
TRACKER?
Ena’s heart raced, she pulled up her sleeve and nothing. The back of her neck burned, reaching up and her fingers brushed metal. A chip, embedded and panic flared.
From her right, another voice and quieter. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”
She turned sharply, a boy, no, a man and maybe a few years older than her. Hood up, hands raised in peace and his eyes were mismatched. He had a strange air about him, like he didn’t belong to this world and his gaze scanned her face with careful interest.
“I don’t know you,” Ena said quickly and still poised to run.
“You don’t know anyone,” he replied and cocking his head. “That’s kind of the point.”
“Who are you?”
“Kian Vale, memory retrieval expert and unlicensed. Very illegal.” He offered her a crooked smile and added, “Your only way out.”
Ena hesitated, her instincts didn’t trust him, the guards were getting closer, something about his voice calmed the storm inside her and just for a moment.
“Why are they chasing me?” she asked.
“You’re part of something called the Crimson Archive.” He paused and lowered his voice. “According to some very expensive stolen files, you’re the only one left.”
He held out his hand.
“Come with me if you want answers or stay here and let them wipe what’s left of you.”
She stared at him, her mind screaming in fractured echoes and her feet moved anyway.
She took his hand.
Everything changed.
