Memory Repeats the Man

The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and machine oil. Jessica crouched behind the low concrete barrier, her eyes scanning the compound’s perimeter through the night-vision scope.

It had taken Olivia half a day to track the location to a private facility on the outskirts of Mexico City, buried under layers of false corporate names. But Jessica didn’t need confirmation. She had felt it the moment she saw the satellite images.

Vanguard’s ghost still had a heartbeat. A steady one. And at its center stood a man who should have been dead.

* * *

Jessica moved fast and quiet, slipping through the outer defenses with practiced ease. The guards were ex-military professionals, not rent-a-cops, but they weren’t expecting someone like her.

A second later, she was through the fence, her boots landing without a sound on the inner compound’s gravel path. The main structure loomed ahead, a fortress of steel and glass, bathed in cold floodlights.

A few years ago, she would have kicked down the door. But that was the old Jessica. Now, she played the long game. She took her time, so when she slipped inside through an unguarded service tunnel, she didn’t feel a single trace of hesitation. Only the slow, creeping certainty that she had been here before.

She kept to the shadows, moving through empty corridors that felt unsettlingly familiar. Not just the architecture, but also the smell of the air and the way her footsteps barely echoed. It was all a sense of deja vu. Like she had done this before.

Somewhere in the distance, an automated announcement played in Spanish. The voice was calm, clinical, like something from a hospital. Jessica’s breath hitched because she had heard this voice before. Not in Mexico. Not in this life. But in a memory buried deep.

She swallowed hard, pressing forward. She would unpack the nightmare later. For now, she needed to find him.

* * *

She reached the secured wing without resistance. Which meant one thing. He was waiting. He was expecting her.

Jessica slipped through the final security door, stepping into a large, dimly lit office. There, standing behind a sleek metal desk, was the dead man himself. Mr. Black. Same suit. Same piercing eyes. The only difference? This time, she was the one pointing a gun at him.

Jessica didn’t lower her aim. “You should be six feet under.”

Mr. Black smiled faintly. “And yet, here we are.”

His voice was the same. That quiet, knowing amusement. Like they were picking up a conversation instead of playing a deadly game.

Jessica’s grip tightened. “Give me one reason not to finish the job.”

He tilted his head slightly, “You still don’t understand, do you?” His tone wasn’t mocking. It was mournful. As if he pitied her for not seeing the truth sooner.

Jessica’s jaw clenched. She had spent her entire life chasing answers, but this time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear them.

Mr. Black stepped forward, slow and deliberate. And when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of something he had been waiting years to say. “You were never meant to remember.”

Jessica’s pulse hammered. Because she had heard those words before. Not from him, but from herself. She had even written them in her diary.