The archive was freezing.
Not the kind of cold that came from bad insulation — this was intentional. Preserved. Controlled.
Every breath Arwa took came out like a ghost, curling through the dim blue light that pulsed from the servers. Zayaan began scanning for physical storage units, while she gravitated toward the center terminal, her fingers hovering just inches above the interface.
A part of her — still battered, still healing — expected it to reject her.
But the system flickered to life at her touch.
Welcome back, Dr. A. S.
Zayaan froze. "Doctor?"
Arwa stared at the screen. Her chest rose and fell, shallow, controlled — but her voice, when it came, was clear.
"Dr. Arwa Sayem. Biochemical neural research. Lead on Project REVERB."
Zayaan stepped toward her. "That's what they called it? The program that erased people?"
"No." Her eyes stayed on the screen. "That's the one that brought them back."
She tapped into the secured files. Names appeared — hundreds of them. Patient numbers. Dates. Then folders marked:
Subject M-4X.
Subject C-2N.
Subject A-0N.
And then, one that stopped everything.
Subject Zero: S. Arwa.
Zayaan's voice was barely a whisper. "You were the prototype."
Arwa didn't speak. She clicked it open.
Inside: timestamps. Video logs. Memos.
The first file auto-played — a flickering video of a younger Arwa standing in a lab coat, hair tied back, eyes sharper than steel.
"I'm logging this now because they're changing the protocol. What started as memory mapping is turning into erasure. I didn't sign up to erase people. They think I'll go along with it — but I won't. If I disappear, know this wasn't an accident."
Zayaan swore under his breath.
More files opened.
Another log: her voice, trembling this time.
"They found out. My access is being revoked. I think they're planning to use me next. If they do, I've already coded a fail-safe — it's embedded in Subject M-4X. He doesn't know it. But if he finds me, if I ever come back... the system will respond."
Zayaan's heart pounded. "That's me."
She nodded slowly.
Then the final file.
A still image. A chart — overlaying two neural maps.
One labeled: Subject Zero – erased
The other: Reconstruction in process
Below it, in her own handwriting:
"If this works… I won't remember this message. But maybe, I'll still remember enough of me."
Arwa turned away. Just for a second.
Not from weakness — but because grief has its own gravity. And sometimes it pulls harder than fear.
Zayaan touched her shoulder. No words.
She didn't cry.
But she did speak — a small, steady sentence that cut like glass.
"They didn't just erase me. They turned me into proof."
She faced him, that quiet fire in her again.
"And now we use that proof to burn them down."
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