Beyond The Barrier - THE FIRST MEMORY

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67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiCcUHl0LFs

The city refused to sleep.

Even after sunset, military drones drifted silently above the streets, their white searchlights sweeping across rooftops and empty roads. Emergency broadcasts played on every public screen.

THE BARRIER REMAINS ACTIVE.

CITIZENS ARE ADVISED NOT TO APPROACH THE RESTRICTED ZONE.

No explanation.

Only orders.

Amara barely noticed them.

She sat alone in her apartment, staring at the notebook lying open on her coffee table.

Every page held the same thing.

Names.

Dates.

Places.

Anything she could remember about Ivana.

Favourite coffee: black, one sugar.

Allergic to peanuts.

Always five minutes late.

Graduated top of the cybersecurity class.

She stopped writing.

Her hand trembled.

How many of these memories were real?

The question terrified her.

Not because she doubted Ivana...

But because she was beginning to doubt herself.

A sharp knock echoed through the apartment.

Three quick knocks.

Then silence.

Amara froze.

Nobody visited this late.

She walked slowly to the door.

"Who is it?"

No answer.

She looked through the peephole.

Empty hallway.

Her heart pounded.

She unlocked the door.

Outside...

No one.

Only a small brown envelope lying neatly on the welcome mat.

No stamp.

No address.

No sender.

She picked it up and hurried back inside, locking the door behind her.

Inside was a single memory card.

No note.

No label.

Just the card.

She frowned.

"I don't even own a camera..."

Then she remembered.

Her laptop.

She inserted the card.

The screen stayed black for a moment before a single folder appeared.

PERSONAL

Inside...

One video.

She clicked it.

Static.

Then...

A familiar voice.

"...If you're watching this..."

Amara's breath caught.

Ivana.

She leaned closer to the screen.

The image flickered into focus.

Ivana sat in what looked like their office after hours. The lights were dim, and she kept glancing nervously over her shoulder, as if afraid someone would walk in.

"If this recording reaches you," Ivana said quietly, "then something has already gone wrong."

Amara whispered, "Ivana..."

"I don't know how much you'll remember. I don't even know if you'll remember me."

Amara's pulse quickened.

"What do you mean?"

"We were right."

Ivana swallowed hard.

"They're changing more than code."

The video glitched.

Pixels scattered across the screen before stabilising again.

"I don't have much time."

Another glance over her shoulder.

"They're rewriting records... communications... even people's memories."

Amara felt ice run through her veins.

"Listen carefully."

"If they separate us..."

The video froze.

Then—

The file corrupted.

The screen turned black.

"No!"

Amara hit the keyboard.

Nothing.

The file refused to play again.

Only the first minute remained.

The rest...

Gone.

She buried her face in her hands.

"So close..."

A soft notification chimed from her laptop.

Unknown Network Detected.

She frowned.

There shouldn't have been any internet.

The entire district had lost connection hours ago.

Another notification appeared.

Incoming Connection Request.

Accept?

Decline?

Amara stared at the screen.

Every instinct told her to reject it.

Yet...

If someone had sent the memory card...

Maybe they were trying to help.

She clicked...

Accept.

The screen flickered.

Lines of code raced across the monitor faster than she could read.

Then, suddenly...

Everything stopped.

One sentence appeared in white letters.

Find Echo. Before they find you.

The message disappeared.

The laptop shut itself down.

The apartment fell silent once more.

Amara sat motionless.

"Echo..."

She knew that word.

Not from today.

Not from the barrier.

From work.

She stood so quickly that the chair toppled behind her.

Project Echo.

It hadn't been a rumour.

It had been real.

And if Ivana had hidden that message...

Then whatever had happened at Cipher Security Solutions had started long before the world was divided.

Outside her apartment window, another surveillance drone drifted silently across the night sky.

Its camera paused.

Focused.

Watching.

Far beyond the Barrier, inside a room filled with thousands of glowing monitors, a mechanical voice spoke into the darkness.

"Subject Amara has recovered classified information."

A second voice answered.

"Probability of full memory restoration?"

A pause.

Then—

"Twenty-one percent."

The first voice remained silent.

Finally, it gave a single command.

"Do not terminate."

Another pause.

"Observe."

The monitors dimmed.

Only one remained illuminated.

Amara's face.

Watching.

Waiting.

Remembering.67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVh5jbh5ha9

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