Chapter 11 - THE BLANK CANVAS | "I Woke Up on a Park Bench with a Ticket in My Pocket... and Blood Under My Nails."
Six months after the collapse of Vance BioTech, the city of Seattle was swallowed by a perpetual blanket of gray mist.
Sarah Miller sat at the small wooden counter of a quiet downtown bookstore, methodically stamping return dates on paper sleeves. She wore oversized wool sweaters, drank her tea lukewarm, and lived in a tiny studio apartment above a bakery that smelled of warm cinnamon and yeast. Her life was quiet, predictable, and utterly empty.
She had no memories before waking up on a damp bench in Puget Sound Park six months prior. In her coat pocket that morning, she had found three things: a driver's license with the name Sarah Miller, five hundred dollars in crisp hundred-dollar bills, and a train ticket from Chicago dated October 14th.
She had built a life out of that blank slate. But the peace was an illusion.
At 7:45 PM, as Sarah pulled the heavy steel shutter down over the bookstore entrance, a man stepped out of the shadows of the alleyway. He was tall, wearing a worn leather jacket, his hat pulled low to cover a missing left eye and a jagged, pink scar across his jawline.
"You look cozy, Seven," a rough, raspy voice growled.
Sarah froze. Her hand went straight to her pocket, her pulse spiking. "My name is Sarah. I don't know who you are."
"You don't remember me, but your wrist does," the man said, stepping into the streetlamp’s yellow glow. It was Julian. He looked thinner, harsher, like a ghost that had refused to stay buried. "Check your arm, Clara. The countdown didn't stop. It just went dark."
Sarah raised her left hand. Beneath her pale skin, right above the radial artery, a faint blue light was pulsing frantically beneath the surface—a light she had never noticed before.
"The neural purge you triggered in Chicago wiped the local servers," Julian said, taking a slow step forward. "It erased your memories. But it didn't kill the signal. Vance BioTech wasn't a company, Clara. It was a subsidiary. And the people who owned Arthur Vance just located your frequency."
May you like
Before Sarah could process the words, the rear windshield of a black SUV parked across the street shattered. Red laser sight dots danced across the wet pavement, locking onto Sarah’s chest.
"Run," Julian barked, drawing a suppressed sidearm from his coat. "The shadow board wants their prototype back!"
Related Stories
