Herald of the Future

Harbinger. The same name as my captain. Only he can explain this parallel, so I ask, “Harbinger, do you recognize this?”

I show the blueprint of the mask. Seeing the document gives Harbinger pause, which spurs Jen to glimpse at the incriminating document.

“Project:Harbinger… That’s just like your codename, captain!” Jen exclaims, coming to the same realization as me.

A silence fills the room. Was revealing this document to Harbinger a mistake?

But ever the professional, Harbinger simply dismisses my implied accusation, and he brashly states, “A sheer coincidence. The reason I chose my name, Harbinger, is because of my high proficiency in combat. My instincts, forged on the battlefield, allow me to predict the enemy’s movement better than most. And sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, the enemy reacts exactly as I foretold… hence the name Harbinger, meaning herald of the future.”

I don’t press the issue further, but a chilling revelation invades my mind. Harbinger, herald of the future… If I were to take the meaning literally, then is the purpose of the mask to grant its wearer the ability to predict the future?

And how much do I really know about Harbinger?

Is he somehow involved in all this?

Is that why Harbinger’s instincts have been so on point?

Did he already know where the patrols were…

…because he’s working for the enemy?

But if that was the case, why leave behind any evidence at all?

Without prompting, as if he read my mind, Harbinger shares a story to address my concerns, “Around the time of the Great War, a legend, a myth was shared across the soldiers on both sides of the war. A mask with the ability to access all digital information in the world. With nearly every message, every schedule, and every purchase tracked digitally, I suppose one could have the knowledge to… predict the future.”

Harbinger steps back and admits in a lighter tone, “That’s why I’m really called Harbinger. I made a promise to a friend from the Great War that I’d change my name. It was a stupid request, sure, but I thought of no better way to honor their memory.”

He’s sincere. I believe him. And I safely store the blueprint of the mask inside my backpack.

With the intel secured, we formed up in front of the massive door, continuing our mission.

“Dreadnought, what’s that distress signal looking like?”

I pull out the communications device and confirm that Trace’s distress signal is indeed still behind the door, unmoving. Trace is tantalizingly close now.

“It’s strange that he hasn’t connected with us, given how close the range of our communicators are,” Jen comments with a concerned look. “Why bother with a recording?”

Harbinger, seemingly knowing as little as we do, surmises, “He was never one to shut up, but I trust there is a good reason for keeping quiet. It is our job to get to the source of the signal and completely decode it. Leave no man behind. Do not forget that!”

Jen begins to form a plan of action to get through the door. “All right, I recommend planting explosives at the center of this door, close together. That should allow us to break—”

Ignoring Jen, Harbinger draws his pistol and shoots the hydraulic mechanism attached to it, causing the door to open as water gushes out from the gaping bullet hole in the mechanism.

With the gunshot echoing across the hall, Harbinger holsters his gun and comments with a wry smile, “Let’s hope there was no one here to hear that.”

With nothing but silence and darkness to greet us, we proceed through the massive door…

The connecting room is nearly empty, save for a modern television screen and another sealed door beyond the television.

Unlike the rest of the facility, this room is covered in windows, almost as if this room were meant to be the control tower for the rest of the facility.

“Could this be a trap?” Jen whispers, skeptical of the empty room and the odd placement of a modern television in this old facility.

“If Trace is beyond the doors, we must risk anything to get him back,” Harbinger replies softly. “Dreadnought, check the television… perhaps someone left us a message.”

I walk toward the television, and my communications device chimes repeatedly. And as I approach, I see another communications device just like mine resting below the television.

We have found the distress signal, but not the man who left it.

I reach for the communications device when…

WHIR!

Without touching the television, a video plays on screen. We are shown an overhead view of an experimentation room, not too dissimilar from the room with the evidence we found. A young man around my age with spiky hair, sporting a bomber jacket, desperately searches the room’s cabinets, knocking them over when they did not produce what he was so urgently seeking.

“Trace!” both Harbinger and Jen blurt out, confirming the identity of the man in the video.

He does not respond.

Smash!

The sound of glass shattering emits from the television. The rebellious young man in the video turns around in shock. He reflexively draws his gun, takes a shooting stance, ready to respond to his would-be attackers in kind.

“Wait! What are you doing in here?!” The video feed suddenly cuts out, then…

BANG! The sound of gunfire echoes from the television.

“No…!” Harbinger gaps, running to the door behind the television and kicking it down without second thought. “Trace…!”

Jen and I followed suit.

Beyond the doors is the experimentation room from the video, with its walls covered in blood and scratches…

Harbinger and Jen stop dead in their tracks, staring blankly at what they found.

I follow their gazes to find…

Trace’s mangled, bloodied body leaning against the wall.