The world hums with secrets, and I am their keeper. In the sterile glow of my laptop screen, I trace the jagged lines of energy spikes rippling across the Middle East—radiation levels fluctuating like the pulse of a dying beast. The data dances in crimson and amber, a silent scream of warning that no one else seems to hear. My fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling with the weight of what I've uncovered, what I cannot unsee. The air in my room is heavy, thick with the metallic tang of anticipation, as if the universe itself is holding its breath.
I've just left the Alpha Squad, their voices still echoing in my skull—talk of technology, of progress, of a world they think they understand. Fools. I stride across the cold concrete floor of my quarters, the slap of my boots a muted rebellion against the silence. My bag hits the corner with a dull thud, leather crumpling against the wall. I don't pause. I walk to the desk, its sleek black surface a void that swallows the dim light. My laptop opens with a soft click, a portal to truths I'm not sure I'm ready to face.
The control panel on the wall glares at me, a grid of buttons and switches promising to bend reality to my will. It's a mockery of control, a lie dressed in stainless steel. I reach for a knob, my fingers brushing the cool metal, and drag it across the panel with a slow, deliberate scrape. The far wall stirs, black rectangular panels flickering to life, bleeding color until they mimic the searing brilliance of sunlight. It pours into the room, a counterfeit dawn that casts long shadows across the floor, illuminating nothing but my own unease. I flip a switch, and a synthetic breeze sighs through hidden vents, carrying the crisp illusion of a spring morning. It's a lie, but it's a good one.
My gaze flicks to the screen atop the panel, its menu glowing with atmospheric presets. A beach scene taunts me, all golden sand and turquoise waves. I press it, and the room transforms. The walls shimmer, projecting a pristine shoreline that stretches into infinity. The air grows heavy with the briny scent of saltwater, and the soft crash of waves fills the silence, a rhythmic pulse that syncs with my heartbeat. I can almost feel the sand beneath my feet, warm and yielding, but it's a mirage. A beautiful, hollow fraud. Though i can't deny It's legitimacy. One could be fooled by the realistic shoreline. It felt like I could get up and walk to the water.
I sink into the chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and dive into my research. The War at Pacific Rim, 2068—a wound in history that refuses to heal. My fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up archives, reports, anything that might explain why technology, humanity's golden child, came to a shuddering halt. The screen fills with fragments of the past: shattered cities, skies choked with ash, machines that turned on their makers. And there, woven through it all, the ancient text. Its cryptic symbols pulse at the edges of my vision, clawing at my mind. I try to ignore them, to focus on the data, but they're relentless, whispering truths I'm not ready to hear.
The deeper I dig, the uglier it gets. Industries that once drove innovation from AI, biotech, and quantum computing have all collapsed like houses of cards. Their foundations cracked by a failing infrastructure. Nuclear engineering, weaponized with biochemicals, sparked an arms race that consumed nations. Each country scrambled to outdo the other, birthing machines and toxins that scarred the earth. And at the center of it all, one name rises like a specter: Primotech. Jacob Maxwell's empire, a titan that didn't just survive the war—it thrived.
My breath catches as I uncover the roots of Primotech's power. A partnership with Happy House, stretching back fifty years before the war, forged by Maxwell's great-grandfather and Toreon Kane's. Their families, bound by marriage, wove a tapestry of influence that spanned generations. Power for power's sake, a dynasty built on the bones of progress. I lean back, the chair groaning, and stare at the ceiling, where the projected waves ripple in mockery. The text creeps in again, its symbols burning behind my eyes. I give in, letting the words form, letting them speak.
"War is started by man, and ended by man," I whisper, the translation bitter on my tongue. The war wasn't chaos—it was orchestrated. A grand design, a distraction, but for whose gain? The question gnaws at me, a splinter in my soul.
A sharp knock on the door snaps me back to the present. I slam the laptop shut, the sound a gunshot in the quiet. "Come in," I call, my voice rough, edged with exhaustion as I reached for the panel to unlock the door.
The door creeks open and Liliana steps inside. Her silhouette framed by the sterile light of the corridor. Her eyes widen as she takes in the room—the golden sand, the endless ocean, the false sun blazing at 1 a.m.
"Wow," she says, her voice soft, almost reverent. "The sunny beach biome? At this hour?"
I force a smile, but it feels like a grimace.
"Got work to do. The sun—fake or not—helps me focus." My words are clipped, a shield against her scrutiny.
She tilts her head, her dark hair catching the artificial light.
"You okay? You seemed… off after we all talked in the locker room." Her concern is genuine, but it grates against me, a reminder of how exposed I am.
"I'm fine," I say, the lie smooth as glass. "Thanks for checking."
She nods, moving toward the door, but pauses, turning back.
"Do you really believe it? That the war was a distraction?" Her question is a blade, precise and unexpected.
My heart stutters. "How—" I start, but she cuts me off, her voice steady.
"I know you're the Oracle, Tawnie. I've followed your blog for years." She steps closer, her eyes searching mine. "Your last post, digging into the past like that… it's not like you. If you're that worried, it's gotta be bad."
I lean back, my hands gripping the arms of the chair, the leather cool against my palms. "It's just research," I say, my voice flat. "Theories. Nothing definitive."
Liliana smiles, a flicker of warmth in the dark. "Well, if you ever need to bounce ideas, find me." She slips out, the door hissing shut behind her, leaving me alone with the waves and the weight of the truth.
I turn back to the laptop, the screen dark but alive with possibilities. The text hums in my mind, a siren song of prophecy. The war was no accident. Someone pulled the strings, and I will find them. Even if it means unraveling the world to do it. The ocean roars, and I dive back in.