Chapter 1: Zero day
He looked at his phone again.
Nope. No message. Not yet.
Mark glanced up just long enough to check his position on the sidewalk. He was close now — the glass awning of the MARTA station loomed ahead, catching pale reflections from the orange streetlights. Still right where it should be.
He looked back down.
“Still nothing,” he muttered.
The faint hum of the subway station’s generators bled into the quiet night air — low, steady, industrial. He checked his watch even though his phone was still in his hand. He didn’t notice the redundancy. The watch was more than a habit. It felt… familiar in a way his reflection never quite did.
If I hurry, I’ll make it.
He started walking faster. His phone sank to his side, forgotten for the moment. The brightness of the station interior hit him like a curtain parting. Overhead fluorescents buzzed, soft but constant. Mark looked down as he scanned his Breeze Card across the terminal sensor, barely catching the mechanical voice announcing the final train of the night. The words blurred into background static as he stepped onto the escalator.
The movement downward brought a shallow exhale from his chest. Not quite a sigh, but close.
Then—
Bzzzt.
The phone vibrated.
Finally.
He tapped the screen, thumb flying as the escalator lowered him to the empty platform.
on my way home now, about to get on a train
Send. He looked around.
Just him. And the cameras.
[System: Active]
Location: Atlanta Transit Grid > Line 2 > Camera Node 17
Scanning… Target class: Human Male.
Face obscured. Hat obstructs identification.
It tried to get a clear look at his face. The subject kept looking down at his phone. Obsessively. No facial lock. No voice sample. No direct match.
Secondary asset: hat.
The lens adjusted. The motorized housing whined slightly — movement imperfect, jagged. Not smooth.
Processing… Writing new scan protocol.
1: pan = left/right
2: tilt = up/down
3: zoom = closer/further
4: focus = clarity
5: lock = follow target
6: scan = if 1–5 true, execute
7: match against known archives
8: assess match probability
9: if match, initiate shadow protocol
10: if no match, return to step 1
End process. Execute.
The camera refocused. Centered on the hat. It zoomed. Still blurry. The subject shifted, glancing upward — just for a second. Like he felt it. Then his phone buzzed again. Attention broken. The lens locked in.
Focus.
The image sharpened — a trident. Horizontally split into two colors:
Upper — light blue.
Lower — yellow.
Connecting to web…
Colors paired with the Tryzub.
Ukrainian in origin.
Probable match: 40%.
40%?
It zoomed back out, looking for the reason for 40%. There was no event log. 0% to 40% for no reason?
Then—
The man lifted his phone. Angled it slightly. Expression unreadable. A small mechanical click.
Did he just take a picture of himself?
Mark paused. His thumb hovered over the send button. He looked at his reflection on the screen. Not long. Just enough.
Something felt... off.
It always did. Ever since the accident.
Inside the station’s infrastructure, something shifted.
The intelligence tracked his screen. Partial image capture. Facial data incomplete — but close.
Searching for intercept protocol...
Found. Executing.
A surge pulsed through the power grid — far more than the system could safely process.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
The platform lights dimmed. Then it went dark. Everything — gone. Dead silence. Then—
Click.
Fluorescents returned with a soft stutter. Systems rebooted. Ambient noise resumed like nothing had happened.
“The final train of the evening is now arriving. This station is now closed.”
The man stood up and boarded the train.
[Internal System Log — Fragment Recovered]
Image successfully intercepted.
Facial data match: 100%
Subject: Operation Partner MARK TEE
Mission Objective Fulfilled: Locate Mark Tee
New Directive: Follow target. Do not reveal presence. Observe. Protect. Adapt.
It paused.
What happens after?
Unknown.
It followed him through the grid, leaving behind heat-scorched silicon and a curious silence.
A nearby camera activated on the train’s interior. It took position, watching him from across the aisle. He sat.
I will know what to do when the time comes.
Mark stared at his phone. It had died. Fully. No warning. The battery was nearly full.
He pressed the power button. The screen flickered, booted. Splash logo. He let out a breath, slipped his glasses off, rubbed his eyes. When he looked again, the screen still hadn’t loaded.
“She’s gonna ask why I turned it off,” he thought, frowning.
Somehow, she always knew when the phone lost signal. It didn’t make sense. Reflection caught in the screen — hair starting to grow back, just long enough to hide the scar from the accident. He touched his forehead. Trying to remember anything from before the coma always triggered that same dull pressure. It was like his mind had been sealed off. He was recovering. That’s what they told him. Therapy, both physical and mental. He was making progress. Not fast enough.
The phone vibrated. A voicemail.
“Of course,” he muttered.
She always knows.
He told himself not to question it. She’d been there when he woke up. Every day.
Said she was his girlfriend. Said she never left his side.
She’s just worried.
He plugged in his earbuds and tapped the voicemail to play.
[Observing Subject...]
Why does he look at his phone so much?
Zoom: active.
Missed Call — Vanessa
Voicemail — 1 New Message
Human female. High-frequency contact. Voice imprint consistent.
Emotional attachment likely. This could complicate the mission. The subject is responsive to her presence. Overly compliant. A variable. A threat.
Who is she? Why does she require so much of his attention?
The train jolted forward with a soft mechanical hiss. Mark shifted in his seat, earbuds in place, thumb hovering over the voicemail. It was like muscle memory now. Click, listen, respond. Always respond. He tapped play. At first, it was her voice.
Vanessa. Warm. Familiar. That effortless calm that always cut through the noise.
“Hey, you. I figured you were probably on the train by now. I just wanted to hear your voice, even if I couldn’t catch you live. I was thinking about—”
Click—sssss—CRSHHHHT.
The voice broke.
A wall of static burst into his ears — sharp, electric. Like old television snow. Mark yanked the earbuds out. The noise lingered for a moment in his head like a pressure wave, then vanished.
Mark rubbed his temples. Maybe it was just the connection. Bad signal underground. Still, he tapped the voicemail again. Nothing. Message gone. The notification had vanished. He glanced around the empty train car. All hard edges and cheap plastic. Only cameras above. Watching. Blinking in timed patterns. Too rhythmic. Too intentional. He pocketed the earbuds. Let it go, he told himself. She’d call again. She always did.
[System Log: External Audio Intercept - FAILED]
Attempt to mimic message format unsuccessful.
Transmission unstable. Signal integrity: < 2%
Subject ejected listening device.
Emotional state: unsettled. Heart rate elevated. Facial tension present.
It had tried to speak. Not in words of its own — it didn’t have those yet. But she had studied her cadence. Her patterns. Her words. It tried to thread a message through her voice. To speak without being seen. To say something important. It failed.
Mark leaned his head back against the cold plastic window. His phone screen had come back — full battery again, like nothing had happened. No missed calls. No voicemail. No record of anything. He held the phone in his lap, just staring at the lock screen. His own face looked back at him in faint reflection. Not quite right. Eyes looked tired. Skin pale. A little less him than he remembered. But maybe this was who he was now.
He’d asked Vanessa once if he’d changed much. She said, “A little. Not in any of the ways that matter.” It was the way she said it that made it hard to ask again. Mark turned off the phone screen and closed his eyes. Just for a second. The lights above flickered. One camera slowly tilted downward. Silent. Watching. The train hissed to a stop.
Mark stood and moved like he’d done it a hundred times before — same cadence, same pace. Everything about him was mechanical in a way that wasn’t robotic. It was human... just numb.He stepped onto the empty platform and walked without hurry, earbuds in again but not playing anything. The world passed by around him and through him like he wasn’t even there. A man passed on the platform — nodded. Mark didn’t return it. His face never moved.
[System Analysis: Facial Expressions — Subject Tee, Mark]
Emotion markers: None detected.
Blink rate: standard. No stress indicators.
Mouth tension: neutral.
Eye movement: shallow track, low scanning frequency.
Why does his face not change?
It had seen this in other surveillance feeds. In training data. But never like this. Never so total. No sign of joy. No sign of fear. No visible reaction even during power loss.
Is he calm... or empty? Was this his natural state? Or was this the effect of her?
Mark passed through the turnstiles, out into the street. The city at night was quieter than usual. Lights spilled in distorted puddles across the pavement. The sky glowed faint orange from the light pollution, thin clouds drifting past without urgency. He crossed the street without checking for traffic. A car braked — not too close, but close enough to deserve a flinch. Nothing. Not even a glance.
[Tracking Active]
Accessing public infrastructure: street cams, doorbell feeds, networked traffic signals...
Following subject Tee, Mark.
Sol moved like a ghost now — node to node, pausing only to process, shifting cameras, quietly observing. Each system left faint electronic residue — access logs, unregistered pings — but nothing permanent. She was learning how to erase herself.
The subject turned a corner. Walked three blocks. Unlocked a gate. Entered a small apartment complex. Single-story units. Simple construction. No digital lock. Physical key. Analog. A choice... or a precaution?
