HiveComb

It had been raining non-stop since the break of dawn. The weather was chilly with the streets becoming streams of water, and the sky, a blanket of gray sorrow. The detective sat alone in a quiet corner of the bar, her coat was wet, her boots muddy, and her heart aching.

She wasn't there for a drink. She was waiting for someone;

The man who had left this message for her;

If you want the truth, meet me at Jack's Bar. 9 PM. Come alone.

Now it was 9:46.

Mira looked around impatiently. The bar was nearly empty. An old bartender was behind the counter cleaning the glasses, only a few grumbling customers sat silently.

Then she noticed a man sitting in the farthest corner, face hidden by shadows, alone, and having what could have been a cup of coffee.

Mira got up and walked toward him. Her steps were slow and deliberate.

He didn't look up.

You're late. Mira stated.

Or maybe... you're just early. The stranger replied calmly.

His voice was deep, rough, like one who had smoked for so many years or one who had seen too much in life.

He pushed across the table a small glowing chip. Mira looked at it but didn't pick it up.

I have been chasing this case for two years. People going missing, no family, no school records, nothing. She said flatly.

What do you think? The stranger asked, lifting up his face which was still buried in shadows. That they were erased? That someone wiped out their past?

Mira nodded. That was the only explanation she had found and it didn't sit right with her.

You are wrong, detective. They could not have been erased, they were never real, to begin with.

Mira blinked, unsure.

What do you mean?

The man leaned forward, and for a moment, she saw his face, old scars, tired eyes, and a strange blue glare from his pupils. It was not natural, definitely enhanced.

They were made, grown, grown like plants, but with fake memories, false names, false lives. They were never born. They were created.

Mira's body rippled with shock.

That is not possible. That's science fiction.

Everything is science fiction... until it becomes real. He chuckled softly.

Mira stood gazing down at the glowing chip, her heart racing.

Was the stranger speaking the truth? Could that be the reason why each victim in her case had a life with no origin from anywhere?

You are late to the game, detective. These experiments have been going on for years, what you are just seeing now, are the fragments they allowed fall through the cracks.

Who are the people involved?

Your employers, "The Echo Division". You think you’re a decent detective working to solve crimes, but what you are actually doing, is cleaning up all their mistakes.

Mira shook her head.

No, it's not true! I’ve worked so hard to bring justice.

The stranger smiled cynically.
Have you? Or have you only been chasing shadows?

For a while, they sat in silence while the rain outside drummed harder against the windows, in a rhythm that seemed ominous.

Why are you telling me this now? Mira whispered the question with a sense of foreboding.

Because you deserve to know. And because… you’re one of them. The stranger replied.

Mira’s heart stopped.

What did you just say?

You’re a prototype, one of the early ones. A success story, so to speak.

He stood now, tall and dark in the dim light.

That chip holds your file, the real one. Not the fake childhood and all those stories about growing up in the countryside, and going to detective school, It shows when you were activated, who made you and who you were designed to be.

Mira screamed;

You’re lying.

Check the chip. You'll see for yourself.

She wanted to argue. To fight. To grab him. But her hands felt weak, and her chest felt hollow.

The man walked past her, pulling his coat tight, then he said these last words before leaving.

You’re not the first. You won’t be the last. But maybe… you’ll be the one who finally puts an end to all......these experiments.

And then he was gone, swallowed by the storm.

Mira stood there, frozen. The chip sat on the table, glowing gently, almost kindly. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up.

Her hand hovered over her coat pocket. Should she look? Could she bear it?

She stepped outside. The rain hit her face like ice. Her mind was loud, screaming questions.

Had her whole life been a lie?

Was she just a tool someone built to play a part?

And if so…

Who was she now?

A real person or just a prototype?

The storm raged on, but inside her, something else was beginning to stir. Not fear. Not doubt.

But fire, the fire of truth.

The truth and nothing but the truth.

Even if she was late to the game…She was still in it.

She was going to finish it.

Image generated with AI

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