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/012_The_Return

I’m still standing on the roadside, the house just a short walk away, and yet it feels like there’s an unscalable chasm between me and the door. This house—this place that logic suggests was once mine—offers no sense of recognition, no warmth, no sense of belonging. I had hoped that driving through these streets would spark some fragment of memory, the same way the skyline of Solai stirred something deep within me. But this... this place feels like a stranger.


I can’t shake the possibility that someone inside knows me—maybe even Alice. I keep replaying that memory of her in my head most nights, especially when sleep eludes me. The faintest hint of her perfume, the way the wind lifted her blonde hair, the emotion in her voice—those details bring a fleeting sense of peace in the chaos of my mind. That feeling of bliss when Clova unlocked the hidden message in the ring feels so far away now, but I hold onto it tightly, hoping it will guide me forward.


I drove here as fast as I could, chasing the faint hope of answers. And now, here I am, too paralyzed by anxiety to cross the street and knock on a stranger’s door. It’s 5:50 a.m. I’ve been standing here for twenty minutes, trying to string together the right words. What do I even say? “Hey, remember me?” I chuckle under my breath. As ridiculous as it sounds, it might actually be the best I can manage.

I need to pull myself together, so I’ve decided to keep recording.


Retracing my steps to this moment might help me gather the courage to take the next one. Three days ago, we returned from my first mission. The tension in the APV was suffocating. Caine sat in silence, staring out the window, his expression as blank as a slate. For someone who always had a sarcastic remark or a cocky grin ready, his quiet demeanour was unsettling. I kept glancing at him, waiting for some sign of the usual Caine to break through, but it never came.


When we arrived back at Shadowtask HQ, Caine disappeared into his living quarters without a word. That left Locke and me to debrief Data. Locke handled most of it, and I noticed he carefully omitted the part where Caine killed the gang member. I didn’t press him on it—I figured he had his reasons, and honestly, I wasn’t eager to relive that moment either. I kept quiet out of respect for Caine, even though the scene replayed over and over in my mind during the nights that followed.

The connection between the Red Dogs and Rico has been gnawing at me. I can’t shake the feeling that these thugs are just pawns, taking orders from someone higher up—a shadowy figure pulling the strings. And then there’s the android. I’ve seen androids before, but never like that. The public service androids in Solai are unmistakably machines, designed for utility and nothing else. They’re all clean lines and exposed mechanisms, no effort made to make them look human. But this one... it was different. It was human enough to fool the Red Dogs completely.


Fast forward to tonight—well, this morning, really. Sleep didn’t come, as usual. I lay on my bed for hours, unable to shut out the memory of Caine smashing that man’s skull. The fear in the man’s eyes, the sound of bone meeting metal, the sickening aftermath—it’s burned into my brain. Every time I close my eyes, it’s there, waiting for me.


Eventually, I snapped out of it, drawn back to the present by the faint sound of tapping keys. Data’s mechanical keyboard echoed through the otherwise silent HQ, accompanied by his rhythmic slurping of lukewarm coffee every thirty seconds.

I glanced at the clock—5 a.m. Four hours of lying there, spiralling in my thoughts. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I got up to see what Data was working on.

Data doesn’t sleep—not in the way the rest of us do, anyway. He swears by his “power naps,” short bursts of rest he takes throughout the day, but I’ve never seen him actually close his eyes, apart from the occasional blink.


Data had a perplexed look on his face as I stepped into the room, his fingers still hovering over his keyboard. I asked him what he was working on, and he began to explain, his voice laced with frustration. Apparently, someone in the city had managed to infiltrate the Shadowtask network using a wireless device running a modified version of Vivid. According to Data, this shouldn’t have been possible. His system was designed to be impenetrable, completely off-grid. Yet somehow, this unknown entity was attempting to extract information about the location of Shadowtask HQ.


I watched as his eyes darted across the screen, the lines of code reflecting in the glasses perched on his nose. He stared at the monitor for what felt like an eternity, his jaw tight with concentration. Then, suddenly, his expression shifted. Leaning back in his chair, he propped his feet up on the desk and grinned at me with an air of confidence that felt completely at odds with the situation.

Confused, I asked him what was going on. He replied casually, "You know the device that’s been trying to infiltrate our network? Well, it’s currently on its way here. Fast. It’ll be here in three minutes."

His nonchalance made my stomach turn. "Right... okay. So what now?" I asked, half-expecting him to whip out some elaborate plan.


Data leaned forward and folded his arms on the desk. "I have a hunch this has something to do with you," he said. He explained that both my helmet and the mysterious device appeared to be running custom versions of Vivid. He then switched the central display to surveillance camera footage. One of the many screens lit up, showing a live feed of the street outside the building.

He pointed to the monitor and said, "I need you to go outside, alone, and wait for whatever—or whoever—is coming."


I blinked at him in disbelief. "What does this have to do with me? And why me, exactly? You know I’m not Caine or Locke. I don’t do that acrobatic-karate-boxing shit they love so much."

He waved off my concerns, telling me that both Caine and Locke would be on standby nearby, ready to step in if things went south. Somehow, his reassurance did little to calm my nerves.

With no better options, I agreed. He handed me my helmet with a smirk. "Take this. You know, to protect your head." His sarcasm was anything but comforting.

Reluctantly, I stepped outside, the cool air biting against my skin. I stood at the base of the building’s steps, my helmet in hand, as the faint hum of the city reverberated down the street. The quiet was unnerving, a stark contrast to the usual chaos of Solai.


And then I heard it—a distant but familiar sound, the low growl of a motorcycle engine cutting through the morning fog. I squinted down the street, and there it was, emerging from the haze. The bike was driving itself, its headlights piercing through the mist as it sped toward me.

For a moment, I stood frozen, dumbfounded. But deep down, I already knew. Before anyone else could piece it together, I recognized the sound of that engine. It was my bike.

The earpiece crackled to life as Clova’s voice cut through. "Wait, is that...?" she began, trailing off in disbelief.

Caine’s voice followed shortly after, his tone laced with amazement. "No fucking way..."


I couldn’t help but smile. "It’s my bike," I said, the realization sinking in. Locke chimed in with his own stunned reaction: "What the fuck?"

The helmet in my hand began to chirp, the heads-up display activating with a message that read: Vehicle recall in progress – Status 92%.

The bike slowed as it approached, its engine softening to a gentle purr before shutting off completely. It came to a stop just a few feet in front of me, sleek and silent.

Behind me, the front doors of HQ swung open. Data and Clova joined me at the top of the stairs, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. Moments later, Locke and Caine appeared, silently taking in the scene.

Clova broke the silence. "It’s yours, right?"

I nodded, grinning. "No doubt about it."


Data approached me, gesturing for the helmet. I handed it over, and he began inspecting it closely. Meanwhile, Locke crossed his arms and asked, "What’s going on? None of us are familiar with this tech."

"I have no idea," I admitted. "But it’s like seeing an old friend again."

Data’s voice cut through the chatter. "Autonomy," he said, turning the helmet over in his hands. "This is an autonomous vehicle. The first of its kind."

Curious, I moved closer to the bike. "What do you mean?"

Data explained that Arketeq had only ever implemented autonomy in public transport systems within Solai, never in consumer-level vehicles—and certainly not in motorcycles.


Caine pointed at the bike. "How did it get here without a key?"

Data slid the helmet onto his own head, the heads-up display flashing with the message: Invalid user ID. Helmet functionality disabled.

Intrigued, he removed the helmet and began recalling his earlier research. "It seems this helmet won’t function unless worn by the registered user with an ID chip. Specifically, your ID chip."

Clova stepped forward, her brow furrowed in confusion. "An ID chip? But... he doesn’t have one." I sat on my bike, the engine idling steadily beneath me, as a muffled discussion carried on behind me. The disbelief in their voices was clear even over the rumble of the machine. Clova was the first to voice what they were all thinking. “He doesn’t have a scar. We’ve scanned him. There’s no ID chip anywhere in his body…”

I raised my hands and studied my palms, turning them over and inspecting the smooth, unbroken skin. Of course, there were no scars—I already knew that. Data approached, handing me my helmet back as he replied to Clova.

“Vivid has only ever been programmed to identify users via one method: identity chips. These chips verify a person’s biometric and host-specific data. When we first found Pylot, we knew the programming behind his tech was unlike anything we’d seen before... but this? This is something else entirely.”

Sliding the helmet over my head, I hesitated briefly, unsure of what would happen after Data’s failed attempt to use it. As the visor settled over my eyes, the heads-up display flickered to life. User identified, system functionality restored.

Before I could even process what the words meant, the bike roared to life beneath me, the engine purring as if it had been waiting for this moment. No key. No input. Just a seamless connection.


“Holy shit!” Caine exclaimed, bursting into laughter. His cocky demeanour was back, the tension from the mission a few nights ago seemingly forgotten. Clova, however, stood frozen, her wide-eyed expression flicking between Data and the bike as though searching for an explanation.

I gripped the throttle and gave it a few revs, the sound filling the space around us. It felt incredible to be back on the bike, the vibrations beneath me grounding me in a way nothing else could.

Data, ever the analyst, couldn’t help himself. “We suspected there was some level of integration between your gear, but this? This is far beyond what we anticipated. It must be the result of the custom version of Vivid running on both your helmet and the bike. My guess? The bike found you—it was searching for you, using the helmet as a beacon to pinpoint your location.”

“Searching for me?” I asked, my voice filled with confusion. “How is that even possible?”


Data leaned in, his tone measured. “Your bike, helmet, and you are paired together through some kind of coded bridge. The helmet acts as the control interface, while you serve as a ‘master key.’ That means only you can issue commands or control its functionality. I’d wager the bike is programmed to locate and return to its registered user if separated for too long or if a recall command is issued—likely a theft prevention measure.”

Caine and Locke stepped closer to examine the bike, their curiosity evident.

“How’s it recognizing him as the host without an ID chip?” Locke asked, his voice gruff with skepticism.

Clova interjected, “It shouldn’t be possible.”

“You’re right,” Data agreed. “It’s not possible. At least, not by Vivid’s standards. Recognizing a user without an ID chip, retinal scanner, or facial recognition? That’s unheard of. How is it distinguishing us from him?”

Caine draped his arm lazily over Locke’s shoulder, grinning ear to ear. “This is fucking sick!” he said, his amusement clashing with Locke’s agitation as the latter shrugged him off.

Clova, unable to hide her excitement, stepped closer. “We need to bring it inside—into my lab. I want to run tests, reverse-engineer it, figure out what makes this thing tick.”


Data nodded thoughtfully but placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get to that, but let’s give Pylot a moment with it first.”

I was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information being thrown at me, but an idea began to form in my mind. If the bike, the helmet, and I were truly connected, then perhaps I could issue commands directly to it.

“Data,” I asked hesitantly, “if I’m connected to the bike like you say, can I ask it to do things? Like give me information?”

He smirked. “I’d imagine so. Think of it as an autonomous vehicle like the APVs, but with one crucial difference: it only listens to you.”

I decided to test it. “Show me my recent destinations,” I said tentatively.

The helmet bleeped softly, and a side-scrolling list of destinations appeared on the heads-up display in my visor. The team fell silent, their eyes fixed on me as I scanned the data.


“What does it say?” Caine asked, his curiosity barely concealed.

The most recent entry read: 192 Walter St, Solai.

“That’s here,” Data pointed out. “Shadowtask HQ.”

Nervously, I scrolled to the next destination. Clova tensed visibly, her unease radiating from her every movement. “This isn’t a good idea,” she murmured, her voice laced with concern.

Ignoring her, Data urged me on. “Where else?”

I scrolled again, the next destination revealing itself in bold text: Financial District, Waterside, Solai.

The air seemed to thicken as the words hung in the space between us. Clova shook her head, her agitation growing. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”


Caine’s voice echoed in my mind as I stared at the address on my visor: “That's where you left your bike before our little run.” His words seemed distant now, barely registering as the gravity of the new destination consumed me—‘No. 7, Green Lake, P7 [Home].’ The word home pulsed in my thoughts, adrenaline rushing through me like a storm. Was this truly my home? Or was it just another breadcrumb on this endless trail of fragmented memories?

As I read the address aloud, Clova’s audible gasp snapped me back to the present. She took a cautious step back, her expression a mixture of shock and unease. Data and Caine turned sharply toward Locke, their reactions betraying a shared recognition of the address. Locke, who had been pacing around the bike like a restless predator, froze mid-step. His heavy stride closed the distance between us quickly.


“Did you just say Green Lake, P7?” His voice was sharp, almost accusatory.

I hesitated before answering. “...Yeah. Could this be my home?”

“It’s possible,” Data interjected, his tone measured as he tried to steer the situation back under control. “Though we should get this bike inside and run some tests before taking this any further.”

Locke ignored Data entirely, running both hands through his hair in agitation. “What the fuck is going on?” he muttered, his pacing resuming in erratic circles around the bike. His presence was electric, his agitation filling the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.

But Locke’s turmoil was background noise to me now. My thoughts were laser-focused on the address displayed on my visor. I couldn’t hear Data’s continued explanations or Clova’s cautious urgings to bring the bike inside for analysis. The word home was a beacon, pulling me away from their voices, their logic. I thought of Alice. I thought of the ring. I thought of every fragmented image and whispered memory that had haunted me. And suddenly, I couldn’t bear to wait another second.

Midway through one of Data’s sentences, I cut him off. “Helmet, give me directions to ‘home,’” I said firmly. The visor blinked in response, and within a second, a clear route to the address illuminated before my eyes. Fifteen minutes away. That was all that separated me from what might be the answers I’d been chasing all this time.


I turned to face the rest of the team, gripping the handlebars tightly. They knew what was coming.

Data shouted, “You should wait! We need time to figure this out!” His voice was steady, but there was urgency beneath it.

Clova was less composed, panic flashing across her face as she glanced between me and the others. “Caine!” she barked, her voice sharp, almost desperate. “Stop him!”

Caine hesitated, his brow furrowing as he weighed his options. For a moment, his eyes locked with mine. It wasn’t just a silent exchange—it was an understanding. I’d kept his actions in the alley a secret, and now, he was returning the favor. Slowly, Caine crossed his arms over his chest, standing still as stone. He wasn’t going to stop me.


Clova’s frustration boiled over. “Caine, what the hell?! Locke?!”

Locke, who had been pacing like a caged animal, suddenly stopped. He stood still for a moment, his head tilted as though listening to something only he could hear. Then, without a word, he sprinted down the street, disappearing into the same foggy shroud my bike had emerged from earlier.

“What the fuck?!” Clova yelled, throwing her hands up in disbelief. “What’s going on?!” I tried to reassure her, though my words felt hollow even as I said them. “I’ll come back,” I promised, revving the engine. And with that, I took off, the bike roaring as I accelerated into the sleeping city.


The streets of Solai blurred around me, neon reflections shimmering on the rain-slick roads as I followed the directions displayed on my visor. My mind raced alongside the engine, caught between fear and hope. I thought of the word home, and I thought of Alice. If this place held answers, it might also hold her.

As I neared the suburbs of Prospect 7, the towering skyline gave way to open spaces, trees, and quiet streets. The visor displayed a sub-menu option: View Destination Details. My heart pounded as I issued the command, revealing a phone number alongside the address. Without hesitation, I initiated a call through the helmet’s interface. The dial tone was a cruel tease, ringing out only to end abruptly with an error message. The number was invalid. I tried again, and again, but each attempt ended the same way. Frustration mingled with my nerves. Whoever—or whatever—was tied to this address felt like a ghost, always just out of reach.


When I arrived, I parked the bike on the opposite side of the road, staring at the house. It was a striking structure, modern and expansive, with a glass façade that reflected the faint glow of the pre-dawn sky. The building stood alone, surrounded by trees and acres of land. It looked pristine, untouched, like a photograph in a real estate magazine. If this had been my home, then I must have lived a very different life before all of this.


Despite its grandeur, the house felt cold and distant. There were no lights on, no sign of life inside. I sat on the bike, engine idling, trying to muster the courage to cross the street. The word home loomed large in my mind, yet the house itself was as unfamiliar to me as a stranger’s face.

I checked the time on my visor. It was 5:50 AM. Sunrise was just beginning to cast a faint glow on the horizon. I decided to wait until it was fully light before approaching. My stomach churned with nerves, but I knew I had to do this. Whatever was waiting for me inside, it was time to face it.








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