#Underground Wars
#016
The abandoned tramway was a world of its own.
Rust coated the tracks like a second skin. Broken station signs hung from the ceiling, half-torn, half-burned. Somewhere far down the line, water dripped steadily, like a ticking clock.
Asher and Eden moved carefully, their footsteps muffled by layers of dust.
Every so often, Eden would stop and listen, head cocked. Asher didn't ask what she was hearing. He trusted her instincts—and besides, the silence was oppressive enough without filling it with words.
At last, Eden pointed to a crumbling stairwell leading up from the platform.
"Juno's waiting topside," she said. "There's a rendezvous spot."
Asher nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion press down. But under it, something new had started to kindle.
Anger.
Not the blind fury of panic—but a cold, deliberate rage.
Bliss had crossed a line.
Breaking memories was one thing.
Breaking choice was war.
They climbed in silence.
The stairwell opened into a shattered lobby—an old service station abandoned before the Bliss grids had fully swallowed the city. Neon graffiti peeled from the walls. Broken vending machines lay gutted along the sides.
And in the center of it all, waiting like a ghost herself, was Juno.
She looked worse than when they'd left her—pale, trembling slightly—but her eyes lit up when she saw them.
"You made it," she breathed.
Eden rushed forward, hugging her tightly.
Asher let himself smile—just a little.
But the moment shattered as Juno pulled back and pressed something into Eden's hand.
A small, battered data core.
"This," she whispered, voice shaking, "is everything."
Asher leaned in, frowning. "What do you mean?"
Juno's hands trembled as she spoke.
"Memories. Records. Proof. Everything Bliss has been hiding. I copied it before they wiped the Deep Storage banks."
Asher's heart slammed against his ribs.
"How much?"
Juno laughed—a brittle, exhausted sound.
"Too much. Not enough."
She pressed the core closer to her chest, as if it could shield her from the enormity of what she'd done.
"Names," she said. "Dates. Experiments. The first Ghost prototypes. The memory fracture algorithms. Even blueprints for how they plan to roll it out city-wide."
Eden's face darkened. "Mass memory dampening."
Juno nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"They want to make obedience automatic," she whispered. "No rebellion. No choice. Just... blank compliance."
Asher took a deep breath, steadying himself.
"Then we can't just run anymore."
The words settled over them like ash.
Juno wiped her face with the back of her hand. "There's a network. People who've been preparing for this. Small cells. Scattered. Scared. But if we can get this data to them..."
She didn't finish.
She didn't need to.
They all knew the stakes now.
Asher squared his shoulders.
"Where's the nearest cell?"
Juno hesitated.
Then she knelt and scratched a crude map into the dusty floor with a broken pipe.
"Here," she said, pointing. "Old Sector 9. Deep inside the ruins."
Asher frowned. "That's halfway across the dead zones."
"Exactly," Juno said grimly. "No Bliss surveillance. But also no help if things go wrong."
Eden touched the data core, voice low. "We won't survive a direct run. Not with the Ghosts on us."
Juno nodded.
"That's why we need allies first. There's someone nearby. A man named Calder. Ex-Bliss engineer. He knows how to jam the memory dampeners."
Asher exchanged a look with Eden.
Another risk.
Another hope.
"How far?" he asked.
"Two sectors east," Juno said. "Through the lower tenements."
Eden sighed. "Wonderful. Perfect place for Ghost nests."
Asher grinned despite himself.
"Guess it's our lucky day."
They packed quickly—scavenging old supplies from the station's skeleton: bottled water, expired ration bars, a single half-charged stun baton.
Not much.
But enough.
As they moved out, Asher felt a shift in the air.
A tension.
Like the city itself was holding its breath.
They stayed low, slipping through alleyways choked with dust and decay. Every window they passed seemed to watch them. Every broken billboard seemed to whisper.
Bliss was everywhere. Even here.
But cracks were forming.
They passed walls scrawled with graffiti:
REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE.
TRUTH IS A CHOICE.
MEMORY IS FREEDOM.
And beneath it all, in blood-red paint:
THE AUCTION ENDS.
Asher's gut twisted.
He remembered the stories Juno had told him—stories of entire districts wiped clean overnight, of children forgetting their own mothers, of soldiers turned into blank weapons.
It wasn't just about surviving anymore.
It was about stopping it.
They ducked into an abandoned metro tunnel as sirens wailed somewhere distant.
Inside, the world was colder.
Darker.
Juno huddled closer to Eden, clutching the data core like it was her own heart.
Asher led the way, scanning the darkness ahead.
After what felt like hours, a dim light appeared—flickering in the gloom.
A signal.
Asher tensed, signaling the others to stay back.
He crept forward carefully, muscles coiled to spring.
The light came from a makeshift shelter wedged between collapsed tracks: a tarp strung up over scavenged crates, a single generator sputtering fitfully beside it.
And standing beside the generator was a man.
Tall. Worn. Eyes sharp as razors.
He wore a patched jacket covered in old resistance symbols—and a Bliss engineer's ID tag half-burned into oblivion.
Calder.
The man Juno had spoken of.
He spotted Asher instantly, leveling a battered plasma cutter in his direction.
"Friend or foe?" he barked.
Asher didn't hesitate.
"Memory is freedom," he said.
Calder lowered the weapon slowly.
"Then you better come inside."
---
They gathered inside the shelter, the tarp fluttering in the stale breeze.
Calder listened in silence as Juno explained everything—about the Ghosts, the fracture lines, the data core.
He didn't react visibly.
But when she finished, he reached under a crate and pulled out a heavy satchel.
Inside were parts. Tools. Devices Asher didn't recognize.
"You're right," Calder said. His voice was gravel. "You won't survive a run to Sector 9 alone."
He pulled out a small black disc, no bigger than a coin.
"But with this?" he said, smiling grimly. "You might."
Asher leaned closer.
The disc hummed faintly, a ripple of energy around its edges.
"A pulse dampener," Calder said. "Short-circuits Bliss's memory weapons for about five minutes."
Asher's heart leapt.
It wasn't much—but it was hope.
Real hope.
Calder's face hardened.
"But listen carefully. You only get one shot. Once you trigger it, every Ghost, every Bliss drone in the area will know exactly where you are."
Eden accepted the disc, her hand steady.
"We'll make it count," she said.
Calder nodded, almost approving.
"And one more thing," he said. He pulled out a folded piece of paper—an old analog map.
"There's a second network forming. Bigger. Smarter. Not just survivors. Fighters."
He tapped a red circle deep inside the dead zones.
"Find them," he said. "If you want to win."
Asher took the map, feeling the weight of destiny settle into his hands.
They had a chance now.
A real chance.
Not just to survive.
But to fight back.
To reclaim their memories.
To reclaim their freedom.
They looked at each other—Asher, Eden, Juno—and without speaking, made a silent vow.
This was the beginning.
The real war was starting.
And they would be ready.