The sky above was a dull expanse of shifting gray, a constant canvas of ashen clouds that stretched endlessly toward the horizon. The sun was a pale smear, barely casting any warmth, its rays filtered through the ever-present veil of the Mist clinging to the earth. Every breath of air was dry yet tinged with the metallic taste of decay — the signature of a world that had long since passed the point of recovery.
Jack and Lena stood at the threshold of the underground facility, taking in the barren wasteland that greeted them. Jagged ruins dotted the landscape — skeletal remains of cities, crumbled towers, and rusted vehicles half-buried in the dirt like the bones of giants.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. They'd made it out. But freedom had a cost — knowledge, power, and a new enemy stirring beneath their feet.
> "Where now?" Lena asked, brushing dust from her hair. Her voice was steady, but exhaustion laced her words.
Jack stared into the distance, where a faint shadow of a structure rose against the skyline.
> "There's an old outpost north of here," he said. "I heard scavengers talk about it — place called The Outpost of Forgotten Names. If anyone knows what's happening in the world, it's the people hiding there."
> "And if the Red Circle finds us first?"
Jack's eyes glimmered faintly, that crimson shimmer still haunting his gaze.
> "Then I'll make sure they don't leave alive."
They began their march, cutting across the wasteland. Hours passed, their boots crunching over cracked soil and debris. Occasionally, the wind stirred the Mist lying close to the ground, swirling it into ghostly shapes that vanished as quickly as they appeared.
Jack moved with purpose, but inside, his mind was a battlefield. The Echo of the Eclipse was no longer a dormant passenger — it whispered constantly, showing him visions of power, of worlds beyond comprehension. Fragments of memories that were not his flashed in his mind: alien cities, otherworldly beings of shadow and light, and always the same voice:
> "We are not your enemy, Jack. We are what comes after. Embrace us... or be nothing."
But Jack resisted, gripping tightly to what made him human — his memories, his rage, his purpose.
By dusk, they reached the outpost.
It was a fortress cobbled together from remnants of the old world — concrete slabs, rusted steel, and walls patched with salvaged armor plates from vehicles and mechs. Turrets made from jury-rigged machine guns scanned the perimeter, their lenses glowing faintly. The entrance was a massive gate, scarred by previous assaults but still standing proud.
As they approached, a voice barked from an intercom hidden among the scrap:
> "State your names and your business, or get torn apart."
Jack stepped forward.
> "We're not here to fight. My name's Jack, this is Lena. We're looking for refuge. And... information."
Silence followed, then the voice replied, sharper this time:
> "Information? About what?"
Jack hesitated, then decided there was no point in lying.
> "The Eclipse."
The silence grew heavier. Then, with the groan of strained metal, the gates began to open, just enough for two people to slip through.
> "Step inside. But keep your hands where we can see them."
They entered cautiously. Inside, the outpost was alive with activity — a patchwork society of mercenaries, scavengers, exiled scholars, and wanderers. Makeshift homes made from cargo containers, market stalls selling everything from bullets to food, and walls painted with defiant graffiti: "We are the forgotten — but we remember everything."
A group of armed guards met them, weapons trained but fingers disciplined. At their center stood a woman, tall and sharp-eyed, her hair tied back, scars crossing her face like a map of her battles.
> "I'm Captain Mara, leader here. You're lucky I'm curious, Jack. Nobody talks about the Eclipse without drawing attention."
Jack studied her, noting the way her eyes flicked between him and Lena, assessing threats, opportunities.
> "We're not enemies," Jack said. "We're hunted. And I need answers."
Mara motioned for them to follow.
> "You'll get them — if you survive the night. This outpost doesn't shelter freeloaders. Everyone earns their place."
> "What do you want?"
Mara's grin was cold.
> "There's an old Citadel relay nearby. We've been trying to hack into it for months — it's shielded and guarded by Mist-Touched. You help us break in, and I'll give you access to our archives. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for."
Jack glanced at Lena, who nodded. She was tired, but resolute.
> "We'll do it," Jack said.
> "Good. Then rest up. We leave at first light."
As they were led to a resting chamber — a reinforced container outfitted with makeshift beds — Lena slumped onto the mattress with a groan.
> "We don't get a break, do we?"
Jack sat across from her, staring at his hands. The crimson hue beneath his skin still faintly shimmered, as if the Echo itself was eager for the next fight.
> "No. Because the world doesn't stop. And neither will they."
> "Them?"
> "The Red Circle. The Citadel. The First Host. They're all coming. And I need to be stronger."
He looked at her, eyes serious.
> "But I need you to tell me if I ever change. If I stop being... me."
Lena's gaze softened.
> "I will. But I think... we're past the point of normal, Jack."
She was right.
As night fell, Jack sat awake, eyes fixed on the dark sky above, where no stars shone through the thick clouds.
The Mist was changing him.
The question was — would he change it first?