Port Aster doesn't sleep; it just holds its breath. Down in the Neutral District, the air tastes like ozone and scorched rubber, a constant reminder that the city’s heart is pumping nothing but industrial rot. I was leaning against a rusted shipping container, checking my optics for the third time, when the comms crackled to life. It was Lena Voss, and she sounded like she’d just swallowed a handful of glass.

"Kai, if you’re still breathing, you’re late," she hissed, her voice cutting through the static. "The extraction window in Sector 4 is closing in twelve minutes. If you aren't out by then, you’re just another ghost for the Helix Meridian sweeps to mop up."

"Relax, Lena," I muttered, adjusting my harness. "I’m just enjoying the ambiance. The silence in this warehouse is almost poetic. Almost."

I wasn't lying about the silence. The old industrial sector was supposed to be a dead zone, but something felt wrong. The dust on the floor was disturbed, and not by the wind. Beside me, Tomo Ark was hunched over a terminal, his fingers dancing across a decrypted interface. He was supposed to be my tech support, but right now, he looked like a man trying to solve a puzzle that didn't want to be solved.

"Kai," Tomo whispered, his face pale in the glow of the screen. "You need to see this. I found a local cache in the internal server. It’s a timestamped recording from two days ago. It’s you."

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty warehouse. "I haven't been in Sector 4 in weeks, Tomo. You know that."

"Tell that to the video," he replied, sliding his tablet toward me.

I looked. On the screen, a version of me—wearing the same gear, moving with that specific, twitchy gait I’d spent years perfecting—was clearing a room in this very warehouse. I was precise. Cold. I wasn't the guy who makes bad jokes to hide his nerves; I was a professional executioner. And in my hand, I was holding a sleek, black drive that wasn't on my manifest.

Before I could process the impossibility, the warehouse lights flickered and died. A heavy, rhythmic thudding echoed from the loading bay. Helix Meridian security teams don't announce their arrival with polite knocks. They move like a landslide, crushing everything in their path. Marshal Dren’s drones were already whining overhead, locking onto our heat signatures.

"Extraction is off the table," I said, my voice suddenly steady. The humor had evaporated. "Tomo, pack it up. We’re going out the back, through the ventilation shafts."

"What about the drive?" Tomo asked, clutching the device he’d pulled from the terminal.

"Keep it," I said, drawing my sidearm as the first flash-bang detonated near the entrance. "We're going to need a hell of a lot more than luck to figure out why I’m currently haunting myself."

The Cost of Curiosity

We scrambled through the service tunnels, the sounds of Helix soldiers shouting orders echoing behind us. Every step felt like a gamble. In Port Aster, information is the only currency that matters, and I was suddenly realizing I was broke. I had no idea who I was working for, or if I had already sold my soul to someone I didn't remember meeting.

As we burst out into the rain-slicked alleyway, Rhea Knox was waiting. She was leaning against a parked transport, her rifle slung low, watching us with those hawk-like eyes that had seen too many runners die for secrets they couldn't handle. She didn't look surprised to see us running for our lives.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Kai," she said, flicking a cigarette into the gutter. "Or maybe you just realized that in this city, you're never the only one pulling the strings."

I didn't answer. I just kept running. The Black Drive was heavy in Tomo’s bag, a silent, ticking time bomb of a mystery. I had survived the night, but as I looked back at the darkening silhouette of the warehouse, I couldn't shake the feeling that the version of me in the video wasn't just a recording. It was a warning.

If I don't remember doing the mission, who is currently controlling my life? And more importantly, how many more versions of me are out there, waiting for their turn to strike?