Fragments of the Past

The hum of fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over Olivia’s workspace, a rented office she had secured under an alias, one of many precautions that suddenly felt flimsy. Jessica and Leanna were elsewhere, following their own lead. For now, this was Olivia’s burden. Just her, the past, and whatever secrets might be coaxed from the aging plastic casing of a 3.5-inch floppy disk.

The first obstacle had been finding a drive that could read it. Most modern systems had abandoned this kind of hardware decades ago. After hours of combing through second-hand computer shops and private tech dealers, she had finally tracked down a specialist, a retired systems engineer operating out of the back of a cluttered electronics repair store. He had been reluctant at first, grumbling about data this old being little more than dust. But after some fast-talking, a generous bribe, and a vague allusion to government black sites, he agreed to help.

Now the drive groaned as it struggled to read the fragile relic. Olivia sat tense, fingers hovering over the keyboard as the system attempted to reconstruct what remained. The first few passes returned nothing but corrupted files and error messages. Panic gnawed at her composure.

What if there was nothing left? What if all this effort had been for a ghost?

She forced another recovery program to run, adjusting parameters, scraping for fragments. The progress bar crawled: forty percent. Sixty. Seventy-five.

Then the screen flickered to life. Lines of data appeared, broken but readable.

Olivia exhaled, relief mixing with dread. The past was still here, clawing its way back into the light.

Vanguard: Prometheus.

She skimmed the files, eyes darting over familiar names and project terms.

Jessica Sanchez. Serial Number: LZ-017.

Her breath caught. The number from the Argentina lab. Seeing it again, here, under Project Prometheus, felt like a door snapping shut on coincidence.

Another name followed.

Jason Carter. Subject Classification: [DATA CORRUPTED].

The corruption rendered much of the next section unreadable, but fragments shone through: neurological mapping, memory transference, cerebral imprints. Then a final entry:

“Asset viability: compromised. Initiate contingency.”

Her stomach clenched. Contingency meant elimination. Jason had been marked for erasure.

The realization had barely settled when the air shifted behind her. A presence. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one.

Olivia spun, but the first blow landed hard, a fist driving into her ribs. She staggered, gasping, but didn’t go down. Momentum carried her sideways, and she twisted toward the pistol strapped beneath the desk.

Too slow.

Another strike slammed her shoulder, hurling her into the chair. Pain radiated down her arm, sharp and blinding. She lashed out with a boot, connecting with her attacker’s knee, buying a heartbeat of space. She lunged for the gun.

A gloved hand ripped the disk from the drive.

“No!” The word tore from her throat, raw and furious. She shoved forward, but the figure was already moving, retreat seamless and practiced. The door swung open, the night swallowed them, and just like that, they were gone.

Silence. City noise beyond the walls. Her own ragged breathing.

She forced herself upright, one hand pressed against her ribs. Blood at the corner of her mouth. A bruise swelling along her jaw. She looked at her reflection in the black screen and almost didn’t recognize it.

The disk was gone, but she still had the data.

Olivia jolted at the sound of a sharp rap at the door. Startled, she raised the pistol with both hands, trembling, ready for the follow-up —

“It’s me. Leanna."

Olivia sagged with relief, unlocked the door. Leanna slipped inside, eyes already scanning, cataloguing, assessing. But then her gaze locked on Olivia, the bruising, the cut lip, the way she cradled her shoulder.

Her composure broke.

“Jesus Christ, Liv.” She was at her side in an instant, pulling her into the light. “What the hell happened? Who did this?”

Olivia tried to smirk, but it faltered. “They got the disk.”

Leanna’s hands curled into fists. “And you nearly got killed. Damn it, you should’ve called us. You don’t get to sit here bleeding and pretend it’s fine.”

Olivia swallowed, steadying her voice. “I still salvaged the files. That’s what matters.”

“Don’t you dare minimize this.” Leanna’s voice cracked between fury and fear. “You’re family, Liv. I thought I was walking in here to find you dead.”

Silence fell, heavy and raw.

Olivia turned the screen toward her. “Bits and pieces survived. Enough to confirm what we already suspected. Jessica wasn’t an accident. She was the endpoint of something bigger. And Jason…” She hesitated, meeting Leanna’s eyes. “Jason wasn’t just a test subject. He was a failed prototype.”

Leanna stood frozen, anger and grief battling in her face. She leaned back against the wall, arms folded now, not in calculation but restraint, as if bracing herself against the weight of the truth.

The past wasn’t just resurfacing. It was clawing its way forward. And now, they weren’t the only ones chasing it.