Chapter 1: The Warning
Miles knew three things for sure:
His sister was going to kill him.
His math teacher was probably a government spy.
The glowing orange crate under the tarp? Definitely not a trash can.
He hadn't meant to end up crawling through wet gravel behind a construction trailer at 3:12 a.m. in a school hoodie that still smelled like lunch meat. But that's the thing about bad decisions — you don't always notice them until you're knee-deep in one and someone's pointing a flashlight in your direction.
The beam swept past him, too close. He flattened to the ground, face mashed against something sticky and probably alive. Somewhere above, boots crunched. Then a voice — low, not angry, but official. Like the kind of voice that didn't need to yell because it had a badge and backup.
"—check the perimeter. It couldn't have gone far."
It. As in him? Or… something else?
Miles stayed perfectly still. If he breathed too loudly, they'd hear. If he moved, the tarp might rustle again. And if he sneezed — which he could feel coming, of course — he was absolutely doomed.
He squinted toward the crate, barely visible through a gap under the tarp. The glowing letters were still there:
CODE ORANGE – DO NOT OPEN PROPERTY OF— (the rest was scratched out)
Except now, the crate was open. Just a crack. Enough to show that whatever had been inside was gone.
He didn't know if it was some kind of military tech or a weird animal or—okay, maybe a mutant ferret. The point was, it wasn't supposed to be out here. And neither was he.
A second light flicked on, closer this time.
"Miles Reyes," said a voice behind him. Calm. Too calm."We know you saw it."
He froze.
How did they know his name? How did they know he saw anything? Who even were they?
He didn't wait to find out.
He ran.
All Miles wanted, two days ago, was a working bike and a normal Tuesday.Instead, he found a glowing crate.A gate that wasn't supposed to be unlocked.And something behind Building 14 that no one was supposed to see.
He didn't ask for this.But now? He couldn't walk away.
CODE ORANGE
Chapter 2: Route 14 October 14, 2014 — Two Days Earlier
Miles Reyes always took the same route to school.Down Glimmer Street, past the boarded-up bakery, over the crooked curb by the bus stop, and then the long stretch past the warehouses.
Building 14 was just one of them.
He didn't know what they stored in there—boxes, forklifts, secrets—but it looked like every other industrial block in the neighborhood: square, grey, and boring. Except maybe for the orange sign screwed into the front gate. Not the glowing one, not yet. Just a regular faded warning:
NO TRESPASSING. PROPERTY OF ECHOWARE INDUSTRIES.
That sign had been there forever. So had the tall metal fence and the security camera with the pigeon nest under it.
Miles didn't think much of it.
What he did think about was how his front tire wobbled every time he turned the corner by Building 14, because the road there was full of cracks and gravel. He kept meaning to patch it properly, but mornings were always rushed.
This one especially.
"MILES!" his sister yelled from the porch as he fumbled with his backpack zipper. "You forgot your lunch!"
"I'll survive!" he yelled back, already hopping onto his bike like some 80s movie character trying to outrun consequences.
He pedaled fast, hoodie half-zipped, headphones bouncing around his neck. The sun was just starting to rise over the rooftops, spilling yellow light onto the wet streets. A delivery truck honked at him, and he waved like it was totally normal to swerve into traffic with no breakfast and a half-deflated tire.
When he reached the stretch with the warehouses, something made him slow down.
He wasn't sure what.
There was nothing obviously wrong. No explosion. No smoke. But there was a man standing outside Building 14's gate. Not a delivery guy. Not a janitor.
He was wearing a long gray coat and just... staring at the door. Not moving. Not going in. Just standing like a statue with his back turned to the road.
Miles coasted past, eyes narrowing.
He almost looked like he was waiting for something. Or someone.
Then a gust of wind kicked up, and a scrap of orange tape fluttered out from under the gate.
He almost stopped. Almost.
But he kept pedaling.
He'd be late for first period if he didn't hurry. And besides, it was probably nothing. The guy was probably just a janitor on break. Or a tired worker. Or maybe a ghost, Miles joked to himself.
Still, he glanced back once, just to check.
The man was gone.
Miles didn't mention the man when he got to school.
Not to Ms. Valencia when she scolded him for being three minutes late.Not to Leo, who offered him half a soggy breakfast sandwich in homeroom. Not even to Ava, who always noticed when something was up.
"You look like you saw a ghost," she said, popping the tab on an energy drink.
Miles shrugged. "Just tired."
It wasn't a lie. He was tired. Of school. Of fixing that stupid tire. Of every morning being a blur of yelling and forgotten lunchboxes.And maybe—just maybe—of pretending that nothing ever happened in their part of the city.
Classes dragged. Mr. Radley's science lecture was a snoozefest about electromagnetic fields, which might've been cool if it didn't come with a thirty-slide presentation in Comic Sans. The only exciting thing all day was someone pulling the fire alarm, and even that turned out to be an accident.
By the time the final bell rang, Miles had convinced himself the man outside Building 14 really had just been some worker on a smoke break.
Except—
As he pedaled home that afternoon, he caught a glimpse through the chain-link fence.The man wasn't there.
But the orange sign?
It looked... newer.
Or cleaner.Shinier.
And there were two zip-tie loops now, not just one, holding the gate shut.
Miles slowed down, staring through the bars as his bike coasted.
No lights. No sound. Just the same square building. Same grey walls. Same pigeon under the camera.
He didn't stop.
But he did pedal slower than usual all the way home.
That night, the Reyes household buzzed with the usual weeknight chaos. Forks clinked against plates as Miles poked at the last of his rice. Lacey rambled about a science project involving baking soda, and their mother tried—unsuccessfully—to stop the two from bickering across the table.
Their father mostly listened. He answered in short phrases, chewed slowly, and kept glancing at the clock, as though something beyond the dinner table was pulling at his thoughts. Miles didn't mind; he wasn't in the mood for talking either.
Later, when the dishes were stacked in the sink and Lacey had disappeared to watch cartoons, Miles passed by the living room and saw his father there.
He was holding a newspaper in one hand and a cigarette in the other. A curl of smoke drifted toward the ceiling, soft and steady. The living room lamp lit half of his face in warm gold, the rest shadowed, as if he were only halfway present.
Miles hesitated for a moment, then went upstairs.
That night, long after everyone else had gone to sleep, he found himself opening his bedroom window to peer out into the moonlight.
It felt like something had begun.
Even if he didn't yet know what.
Chapter 3: The FenceOctober 15, 2014 — One Day Earlier
Miles Reyes took the same route to school again.
Down Glimmer Street. Past the boarded-up bakery. Over the crooked curb where Lacey once scraped her knee. And then the long stretch of warehouses, still half-hidden in the early morning fog.
He told himself he wasn't going to look at Building 14.
But he did.
The gate was closed, just like before. The sign was still there—orange, metal, clean. But something else had changed. He couldn't say what exactly, but he felt it. Like how you can tell when someone's been in your room even if nothing's missing.
A new scratch on the fence, maybe. Or the way the gravel had been shifted. Or the fact that the pigeon was gone.
He coasted past, eyes narrowing again.
No man this time.
But for a brief second—as his bike bumped over the cracked pavement—he thought he saw the sign flicker.
Not glow. Just... shimmer. Like the metal caught light where there shouldn't have been any.
Then it was gone.
School was normal.
Or at least, everyone else acted like it was.
Miles couldn't focus. He forgot to turn in his math homework, answered "Canada" when Ms. Valencia asked what a simile was, and nearly walked into a locker during passing period.
"You're being weird," Ava said, catching up with him in the hallway.
Miles gave her a look. "I'm always weird."
"Yeah, but this is like... extra-weird." She raised an eyebrow, sipping from a straw jammed into her energy drink. "What's going on?"
He hesitated.
For a second, he thought about telling her. About the man. The tape. The flickering sign.
But he didn't.
"Just tired," he said.
"You said that yesterday."
"Still true."
She didn't press, but she didn't look convinced either.
Chapter 4: After HoursOctober 15, 2014 — 11:42 p.m.
Miles couldn't sleep.
Not that he was trying very hard. He'd been staring at the ceiling for over an hour, one sock on, one off, blanket twisted around his legs like a net. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that flicker. The sign. The shimmer. Like a blinking cursor in his brain that refused to go away.
At 11:32 p.m., he sat up.At 11:35, he put on his hoodie.At 11:40, he crept downstairs, holding his shoes in one hand.
The house was still.
His dad had long since finished his cigarette and was snoring softly in the living room recliner. A cold cup of coffee sat on the side table beside the newspaper. The headline read something about a power grid glitch, but Miles didn't stop to read it.
He slipped out the front door and onto the porch.
The night air hit him like a whisper: cold, damp, humming with silence.
He got on his bike and pedaled.
The city felt different at night. Emptier. More alert. Like the buildings were watching him.
He rode past Glimmer Street, past the cracked curb, past the spot where his sister once dropped an entire tub of strawberry yogurt.
His flashlight bumped lightly in his backpack with every pedal stroke.
And then—there it was.
Building 14.
Still. Silent. Looming.
He slowed to a stop across the street. His breath fogged in the air.
The orange sign wasn't flickering.
It was glowing.
Faintly. Like an ember. Like a warning.
Miles waited.
Nothing moved. No man. No sound. No cars.
He stepped off his bike, shoes crunching softly on the gravel. He crossed the street, he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. When he reached the gate, he stood there for a long moment, staring through the chain-link.
The building was exactly the same.
But it felt different. Alive, almost.
His fingers hovered near the gate's bars. Cold metal. Still locked. The zip ties were still there. Tighter now?
Then—
A click.
Not loud. Not close. But real.
It came from behind the gate.
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
He reached slowly into his bag and pulled out the flashlight.
Clicked it on.
White light washed over the gate, the gravel, the bottom of the sign.
And then it hit something else.
A mark.
Faint. Fresh. Like a footprint in the dust.
Boot tread. Right near the inside of the gate.
Miles leaned closer.
And the flashlight flickered.
Just once.
He looked at it. Tapped it.
It flickered again. Then held steady.
He looked back through the gate.
The footprint was gone.
He blinked.
Had it been there at all?
Miles backed up slowly. Not running. Not panicked.
Just… careful.
He got on his bike and rode home without looking back.
Chapter 5: StaticOctober 16, 2014 — Morning
Miles woke up with the flashlight still in his hand.
His hoodie was twisted halfway off, one sleeve tangled behind his back. He sat up slowly, blinking against the early morning light leaking through the blinds. His body felt like he hadn't slept at all—even though he must have passed out the second he got home.
He checked the time.
6:43 a.m.
Barely enough to eat, change, and fix that stupid tire. Again.
But first, he looked out the window.
The neighborhood looked normal. Boring. Absolutely nothing glowing, flickering, or lurking in the shadows.
He closed the curtain and rubbed his face.
Had he really seen a footprint?
Downstairs, the morning chaos was in full swing.
Lacey was brushing her hair with a spoon while their mom shoved a Tupperware of fried rice into his backpack. Their dad was reading the newspaper again, coffee in hand—no cigarette this time, but the window was cracked open anyway.
"Why do you look like a zombie?" Lacey asked, shoving toast into her mouth.
"He probably stayed up watching alien documentaries again," their mom said.
"I didn't," Miles muttered.
Which was technically true.
He sat at the table, brain still swimming. His dad glanced at him over the rim of his mug.
"You okay?"
Miles nodded.
Then froze.
The headline of the newspaper caught his eye.
"LOCAL POWER SURGE DAMAGES SECURITY SYSTEMS"
Small font. Page three. But he saw it. Just for a second. And underneath it:
"Echoware Facility Cites Internal Faults—No Statement Yet"
He stared.
And then—just like that—his dad flipped the page.
He didn't mention the headline.
Not during breakfast, not while brushing his teeth, not even when Lacey spilled water on her math folder and accused him of cursing her
But it stuck in his head all the way to school.
Echoware. Internal faults.
That was the company name on the sign. The one on the gate. The one that had been there for years—faded, ignored, boring.
So why was it in the news now?
Why this week?
He arrived late again.
Second time this week. Ms. Valencia gave him her signature raised eyebrow and pointed to the clock. Miles mumbled an apology and slid into his seat.
Ava leaned over from two rows back.
"You look like you haven't slept in five years," she whispered.
"Thanks," he whispered back.
"No really. Are you okay?"
He hesitated.
"I don't know."
She blinked. That wasn't the usual brush-off she expected. For a second, she looked like she might ask more—but then Ms. Valencia clapped her hands and launched into a lecture about metaphors.
Miles opened his notebook but didn't write anything down.
His thoughts were still at Building 14.
At the sign.
At the footprint.
And at the weirdest part of all:
His flashlight. It had been fully charged before he left. But now?
It barely flickered when he tried it again in his bag.
Lunch came, but Miles barely touched his food.
He sat under the usual tree by the fence, picking at his sandwich, watching clouds drift over the gym roof. Ava and Leo were arguing about whether time travel movies ever made sense, but Miles wasn't listening.
His eyes kept drifting toward the school building.
Specifically, toward his locker.
He didn't know why. Just a feeling. Like gravity was pulling his focus back there, even when he tried to tune it out.
Fifth period rolled around.
He stopped by his locker to switch out his books—until he saw something tucked into the slats of the door.
Folded. White. Like a receipt or a note.
Miles glanced around. Hallway: mostly empty.
He pulled the paper free.
No name. No writing on the outside.
Just one thing, handwritten in thin, sharp ink:
"Stop looking."
His chest went still.
He opened it. That was all.
No signature. No context. Just those two words.
Stop looking.
He stood there for a moment, frozen.
Then the bell rang.
And the hallway came back to life.
Chapter 6: GlitchOctober 16, 2014 — Afternoon
Miles didn't throw the note away.
He thought about it—twice—but it ended up folded back into his hoodie pocket, like his fingers couldn't let it go. He didn't show it to Ava. Didn't mention it to Leo. Not yet.
But all afternoon, he kept checking over his shoulder.
Was someone watching him? Or had it just been a prank?
Except… who would write that? Who even knew he was looking?
By last period, the paper felt like it was burning through his pocket.
When the final bell rang, Miles didn't bike straight home.
He coasted down the sidewalk, eyes darting between cars and windows, until he reached a bus stop three blocks from the warehouse stretch.
He didn't need to see Building 14 again.
But he wanted to.
From a distance, the block looked empty. Still.
But the gate?
It was open.
Just a crack.
No sign of the man. No glowing light. No sound.
Just the chain-link door swaying ever so slightly in the breeze—like someone had forgotten to zip-tie it shut.
Or someone wanted it open.
Miles stood behind a parked van, hands clenched tight around his handlebars.
He could go. Right now. No one would see. No one would know.
He reached for the flashlight in his bag.
Still dead.
He glanced at the sun—barely an hour from setting.
And then something buzzed.
Not in the air.
In his pocket.
He pulled out his phone.
The screen was glitching. Flickering between his home screen and static.
Then it shut off entirely.
Black screen.
Dead.
Miles took a step back.
The breeze kicked up.
And the gate creaked wider.
Chapter 7: InsideOctober 16, 2014 — 5:21 p.m.
Miles pushed the gate open with two fingers.
It gave easily.
No resistance. No snap of zip ties. Just a quiet creak that scraped the air like a whisper.
The lot beyond the fence was emptier than he expected. No trucks. No crates. Just gravel, oil stains, and a few weeds curling up between cracks in the pavement.
And the building.
Building 14.
Up close, it looked taller. More worn. The grey walls were streaked with rust and grime. The windows were all blacked out. No handles. No buttons. Just a single metal door—closed tight.
He walked slowly, each step louder than it should've been.
When he reached the door, he paused.
No keypad.
No knob.
Just a small slit above the frame that looked like it used to hold a badge reader. Now it was cracked and flickering—one corner still glowing orange in pulses.
His flashlight was dead. His phone was dead.
But the door?
It hissed.
And then it opened.
Just a few inches.
Not by touch. Not by sound.
By itself.
Miles stared into the dark.
Everything in him screamed to leave. Run. Pretend none of this ever happened.
Instead, he slipped inside.
The first thing he noticed was the cold.
It wasn't outside cold. It was... deeper. Artificial. Like the air hadn't moved in years.
He was in a hallway. Narrow. Metallic. Lit only by strips of dim orange lights that pulsed along the edges of the ceiling.
No signs. No voices.
Just the steady hum of a building that felt—somehow—awake.
He took one step. Then two.
Then something behind him clicked.
He turned.
The door had closed.
He stared at the door.
No handle on the inside, either.
No sign of a switch. No panel. Just smooth, sealed metal and the same soft hum pressing against his ears.
He was trapped.
But weirdly... not panicking.
Not yet.
The hallway stretched forward in quiet pulses of orange light. Miles started walking.
His footsteps echoed—soft at first, then sharper, like the air was tightening. He passed closed doors on either side, some labeled with half-scraped stickers.
LAB 3ASTORAGE—NGINEERING (the E and N were missing)
Everything looked abandoned. But clean. No dust. No spiderwebs. Just unused.
And then he heard it.
A click. Soft. Mechanical.
He froze.
It came from behind one of the doors—Storage, maybe. He stepped closer.
Waited.
Nothing.
But as he turned to leave, a light flicked on under the doorframe.
Just a sliver.
Just enough to show that someone—or something—was on the other side.
His heart pounded.He reached for the door.Touched the edge.And—
"Miles Reyes."
He stopped breathing.
The voice was mechanical. Not robotic, not human. A weird in-between. Like a computer trying to sound calm.
"You are not authorized."
Miles backed up. Fast.
"Please exit the facility."
A sharp buzz rang out. The hallway lights flickered once.
Twice.
Then everything went dark.
Chapter 8: ProtocolOctober 16, 2014 — 5:46 p.m.
Total darkness.
No backup lights. No glow from the hallway strips. Just black.
Miles stood frozen, breath shallow, ears straining for anything—footsteps, voices, another warning.
Nothing.
The silence was so thick it felt physical.
He turned slowly, hands out, trying to feel the wall. Cold metal brushed his fingertips. He shuffled sideways, inch by inch, until he found a corner and pressed his back to it.
Don't freak out. Don't freak out.
His phone was dead. Flashlight too.
He was alone.
He reached into his backpack anyway, out of habit, fingers grazing the sketch from earlier—his drawing of the fence and sign.
And then—a hum.
Faint at first.
Then louder.
Something powering back up.
The hallway lights blinked on—not orange this time, but white.
Harsher. Brighter.
And something was different.
A panel had opened at the far end of the hall.
Miles stared.
Beyond it, not another hallway—but a room.
Large. Circular. Lit from the floor up.
And in the center—a crate.
The same one from the construction site two days later. The one that glowed.
Except this one wasn't glowing yet.
It was buzzing.
Vibrating slightly. Held in place by thick cables and clamps. On one side, the words:
"ECHOWARE — PROTOTYPE 014-CX // CODE ORANGE"
Miles stepped forward.
Then another voice. From above. Same tone. Same calm.
"Containment breach in progress. All personnel evacuate immediately."
He didn't move.
"Protocol: Observe. Do not interfere."
The lights flickered.
And the crate began to open.
Chapter 9: 014-CXOctober 16, 2014 — 5:50 p.m.
The crate cracked open.
Not like a normal lid. More like a mechanical bloom — panels sliding outward, air hissing from inside as if it had been sealed for years.
Miles stepped back instinctively, raising an arm over his face.
The lights strobed—once, twice—then settled into a dull red glow.
Inside the crate was…
Not what he expected.
No weapon. No tech. No glowing alien orb.
Just a boy.
Or—at least, something that looked like one.
He was floating upright inside the crate, suspended by thin cords that attached to his arms and shoulders like marionette strings. His eyes were closed. His hair was buzzed short. He looked… maybe fourteen?
His clothes were some kind of black utility uniform with orange symbols stitched into the fabric. His skin had a strange undertone—too pale, too still.
Then his eyes opened.
Bright orange.
Glowing.
Miles stumbled back.
The boy didn't move. Didn't speak.
But the voice returned. Calm. Mechanical.
"Subject 014-CX activated. Standby mode compromised. Initiating secondary protocol."
The boy's head tilted slightly.
Then the cords released.
He fell forward—
—and landed perfectly on his feet.
Still silent.
Still staring at Miles.
"You're not supposed to be here," the boy said, voice flat but human. "Not yet."
Miles swallowed hard.
"Who—what—are you?"
The boy looked at him. Not with confusion. Not with anger. Just recognition.
"You're early."
"I didn't think you'd come alone."
The lights above flickered again, and something behind the boy sparked.
Then came the third voice.
Rougher. Not mechanical. Not calm.
"RUN."
Miles didn't ask.
He bolted.
Chapter 10: Exit RouteOctober 16, 2014 — 5:53 p.m.
Miles didn't stop to look back.
He sprinted down the hall, shoes slamming against the floor, lungs burning.
Behind him—footsteps.
Not fast. Not stomping. Just steady. Unbothered. Like whoever—or whatever—was chasing him didn't need to run.
He reached the sealed door.
It hadn't opened the first time. No handle. No switch.
Come on. Come on.
He slammed his palm against the side. Nothing.
Then—a beep. The scanner above flickered back to life. Orange. Faint.
"Unauthorized—"
He didn't wait for it to finish.
He grabbed a rusted fire extinguisher from the wall and swung.
Sparks. A flash.
The panel cracked.
The door hissed open just enough for him to slide through.
He turned—and caught one last look.
The boy in black stood at the end of the hall, still inside the red-lit room. Still staring.
And just behind him, barely visible in the shadows—
Another figure.
Taller. Unmoving.
Watching.
Miles flew out of the gate, bike forgotten on the ground, and took off running down the street.
Only when he reached the end of the block, panting and wild-eyed, did he finally stop.
No one was behind him.
No alarms. No sirens. Just wind and empty sidewalks.
But something had changed.
Something had started.
Back home, 7:12 p.m.
Ava sat on her porch with her laptop open, one earbud in.
She stared at the blinking chat screen.
Ava: where r u??Ava: dude u said 10 minsAva: miles?
She frowned.
He was never this quiet.
Then, down the street—she saw him.
Walking alone. Hood up. Eyes wide. Hands shaking slightly.
He didn't see her.
He just walked past like he'd seen a ghost.
And maybe... he had.
Chapter 11: FalloutOctober 16, 2014 — 10:41 p.m.
Miles didn't talk at dinner.
He barely touched his food, mumbled something about homework, then disappeared upstairs before anyone could press.
He locked his door. Closed the blinds. Double-checked the window.
Then he sat on the floor and finally let his hands shake.
What had he seen?
Who was that boy?What was that other figure?And why did the voice—that third voice—tell him to run?
He didn't have answers.
Just one name stuck in his head:
Code Orange.
And now it was out.
His flashlight still didn't work.
His phone stayed dead for another hour, then blinked back to life like nothing had happened. No missed calls. No low battery warning. Just a black screen that returned to normal.
Except for one thing:
A new note in his phone's files.
Untitled. Unopened. Auto-saved at 5:53 p.m.
Exactly when the crate opened.
He tapped it.
One sentence:
"Subject is awake."
Miles stared.
His fingers hovered over the screen—delete or save?
He didn't choose either.
Elsewhere — Unknown Time, Unknown Location
The boy sat in the dark.
No cables. No crate. Just a room—white walls, glass panels, a metal table.
He blinked.
He remembered the boy who ran.
Miles Reyes.
And he remembered the voice.
The one that wasn't part of the program.The one that shouldn't have activated.
He looked up at the black dome camera in the ceiling.
"He's not ready," the boy said quietly.
No reply.
But something in the wall hummed in response.
Chapter 12: The BreachOctober 17, 2014 — 2:15 a.m.
Miles couldn't sleep.
He paced. He checked the window. He re-read the message on his phone a hundred times.
"Subject is awake."
He didn't tell anyone. Not Ava. Not Leo. Not even Lacey, who would've joked about him being "haunted by a government ghost."
But the part that wouldn't leave his head wasn't the boy, or the crate.
It was the voice that told him to run.
The voice that knew his name.
He went downstairs to get water.
The kitchen was dark—but not empty.
His dad was sitting at the table, still in his button-down shirt from work. No tie. Sleeves rolled. A cigarette burned low in the ashtray. The same old newspaper sat beside a folder that hadn't been there before.
Miles stopped cold.
His dad looked up.
"You're not asleep?"
Miles didn't answer.
His eyes dropped to the folder.
ECHOWARE INDUSTRIES — INCIDENT 014-CX
[ACCESS: LEVEL 3 / INTERNAL USE ONLY]
The breath left his chest.
"You knew," Miles said.
His dad didn't move. Didn't deny it.
"Did you follow me?"
"No," his dad said. "But I knew you would go."
Miles's fists clenched.
"Why?"
His dad exhaled smoke, slow and quiet.
"Because I went too. Once."
He slid the folder across the table.
Photos. Schematics. Black-and-white scans of that same warehouse. That same crate.
The same boy.
"We thought he'd stay locked. We thought we had time," his dad said. "But things don't stay buried forever."
Miles stared.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because some things... you can't come back from, kid."
Outside, a low rumble passed through the sky. Not thunder.
Miles moved to the window.
Far off—just above the rooftops—something flickered orange.
The warehouse was glowing.
Again.
He turned back to his dad.
"What do we do?"
His dad stubbed out the cigarette.
"We don't run."
EpilogueOctober 18, 2014 — 3:07 a.m.
Footage recovered from Building 14 showed no record of entry.
No facial data. No heat signatures.
Just a single frame—distorted, static-filled—of a boy standing in front of the open crate.
His eyes glowing.
Behind him, another figure moved.
And somewhere in the system logs, three words blinked red:
CONTAINMENT BREACH — CODE ORANGE
End of Book One.