"The most dangerous secrets aren't the ones hidden behind locks and codes, but the ones encrypted in plain sight—in memories we trust, in people we love, and in the moments we think we understand completely." - Unknown Author
Date:
December 11th, 10:00 PM, Year 2050 - Current
December 11th, 5:47 PM, Year 2047 - Simulated
Location: Hope City, Guarding Tribe HQ
Code: J.H
The painting of Hope City seemed to pulse beneath my fingers, not with the usual static protective field but with something alive, something breathing. I'd seen the frequency disturbances before—had studied them extensively in training—but this was different. This wasn't a glitch. Someone had intentionally encoded something here, using the protective field as a carrier.
"System, analyze the frequency pattern."
"Pattern analysis inconclusive. Anomalous data structure detected."
I reached toward the canvas, my fingertips hovering millimeters from the surface. The air between us shimmered like heat rising from concrete in summer.
"Warning: Direct contact with compromised frequency field not recommended," the system advised.
But I was already moving forward, drawn by a force I couldn't explain—a gravity pulling me not down but in. My fingers brushed the field.
The world inverted.
Colors scattered, fractured, then reassembled. The York Building dissolved around me like sugar in rain. For a moment, I existed nowhere—suspended between reality and memory. Then my senses flooded back all at once.
The smell hit me first—ozone and metal and cooking fires. Then sound—voices calling, distant machinery, the perpetual hum of generators. Finally, sight returned, and I saw it.
Hope City.
My knees nearly buckled. It had been so long since I'd seen these streets whole. The sprawling network of makeshift buildings rising from the abandoned industrial district—steel and plastic and desperation fashioned into a community. Cables stretched between buildings like urban vines. Markets bustled in the shadows of massive, ancient cranes. Children ran through narrow alleys.
"This isn't possible," I whispered.
My voice sounded strange—hollow, as if I were speaking inside a vacuum. I glanced down at my hands. They seemed solid enough, but when I reached for a passing vendor, my fingers passed through him like smoke.
This wasn't Peace Walker tech. This was something far more advanced. A perfect memory capture, accurate down to the smallest detail—from the graffiti tags marking Guarding Tribe territory to the specific pattern of rust on the water tower that loomed over the eastern quarter.
I knew exactly when this was.
Forty-eight hours before everything ended.
A young woman brushed past, her red jacket bright against the muted landscape. I knew her—Min, one of our scouts. She was carrying medical supplies we'd raided from Meridian's private stockpile. She'd be dead in two days.
Min turned down a familiar alley, and I followed, pulled by the knowledge of where she was going. The path descended into the old subway tunnels, past three security checkpoints that she moved through with practiced ease.
The tunnel opened into a cavernous underground chamber—once a maintenance depot for subway cars, now the central headquarters of the only crew in Hope City that would take in anyone, regardless of skill or background. The only crew that challenged Meridian's authority.
My home.
The Nest, we'd called it. Half fortress, half refugee camp. People moved with purpose through the space—repairing weapons, distributing food, training in combat circles. Medical stations lined one wall, where our doctors treated anyone who needed help. In the center of it all stood a massive digital map of Hope City, territories marked in shifting colors.
And there, gathered around the map, was Guarding Tribe's inner circle.
Lars—tall, scarred, steady-handed—pointing at the northwestern quadrant. Jin beside him, her dark hair cropped short, arms crossed as she argued some tactical point. Three other commanders nodded in agreement with whatever she was saying.
And then two more figures entered the room.
My breath caught in my throat.
The first was me—younger by only a few years but somehow a lifetime away. I watched myself walk with confidence I'd since lost, eyes clear of the shadows that now haunted them.
But it was the man beside me that made the simulation around me waver.
Darius.
Broad-shouldered, black hair falling over violet eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Even here, even then, I could see the minute mechanical movements in his posture—the too-precise way he held himself, the occasional unnatural stillness when he processed information. But it was so much more subtle then.
He clapped a hand on past-Jack's shoulder, and I could almost feel the phantom pressure. They were laughing about something.
"Three years," I whispered. "Only three years ago."
The inner circle gathered closer as Darius spread his hands over the map. His voice reached me with perfect clarity, as if he were speaking directly into my mind.
"Tomorrow, Hope City becomes what its name always promised."
I moved closer, driven by a desperate need to understand what I was witnessing.
The map of Hope City glowed with life—a digital representation broken into color-coded territories.
Red for Meridian's control, covering nearly half the city. Purple for Guarding Tribe, a patchwork of sectors that looked almost like a defensive perimeter around the most vulnerable parts of the city.
"Meridian's going to be at the Central Hub tomorrow night," he said, tapping the center of the map.
A massive structure appeared in holographic detail—the former city hall that Meridian had converted into his personal fortress.
"Annual resource allocation ceremony. The one time each year when he pretends to care about the people he's starving."
"Security will be tripled," Lars said, his voice low and practical.
The tactical specialist drew a finger around the perimeter of the Hub.
"Full scanner sweeps at every entrance. ID verification. Armed guards with military-grade weaponry. Meridian's paranoia has been worse since the riots last month."
Jin snorted. "Paranoia implies his fears are unfounded."
She pulled up footage of Meridian's guards opening fire on protesters three weeks earlier.
"He knows exactly how much the people hate him."
I watched my past self lean forward. Strange to see my own gestures from the outside—the way I tilted my head, the nervous habit of tapping my thumb against my forefinger when thinking.
"The ceremony's our only chance," past-Jack said. "And we've spent six months preparing for this moment."
Darius nodded, his violet eyes reflecting the blue glow of the map.
"Each of you knows your roles. Lars leads the east entrance team. Jin handles security disruption. Jack and I will take point on the main approach with our strike teams."
"And once we're in?" asked a commander I didn't immediately recognize—Sera, I remembered eventually. She'd been in charge of our medical teams.
"We're not there to kill him," Darius said, his voice steady. "We're there to remove him and take control. Meridian has been stockpiling medicine, food, tech—everything needed to rebuild Hope City properly. All locked away while people starve."
I moved closer, circling the table to stand where I could see Darius's face. The simulation was flawless, capturing every minute expression, every subtle mechanical adjustment in his stance. There was determination there—but something else.
Jin crossed her arms. "I still say we should put a bullet in his head and be done with it."
"That makes us no better than him," Lars countered.
"Better to be alive and judged than righteous and dead."
Darius held up a hand, silencing them both.
"We detain him. We expose what he's been doing. The people decide his fate—not us."
The meeting continued, diving into detailed plans—extraction routes, contingencies, communication protocols. I watched them—us—plan a revolution with the precision of a military operation. Guarding Tribe might have started as a ragtag group of survivors, but we'd evolved into something more.
The map zoomed out, and I noticed something I hadn't seen before—tiny purple dots scattered throughout the entire city, well beyond our official territory.
"What are those?" past-Jack asked, pointing to the dots.
Darius smiled slightly.
"Our people. Not fighters—just citizens who support what we're doing. Shop owners who hide our supplies. Families who shelter our wounded."
He gestured to the sprawling network."This is our real strength. Not our weapons or our hideouts. The people trust us because we've earned it."
"Trust doesn't stop bullets," Jin muttered.
"No," Darius agreed, "but it's why we're fighting in the first place."
The meeting began to wind down, assignments confirmed, final questions answered. As the commanders dispersed, Lars lingered, approaching past-Jack with concern evident in his scarred face.
"You're still going through with this plan to leave?" he asked quietly.
My past self nodded. "I've already arranged it. After this mission, I head to Fate City to join as an enforcer. Five years of working my way up—investigator, specialist, then finally Peace Walker. If we're going to rebuild Hope City properly, we need someone on the inside. Someone with access to resources, to influence."
"Five years is a long time," Lars said, shaking his head. "And you trust the same government that abandoned us after the industrial collapse? That left us to create our own laws, our own survival? You'll be starting at the bottom rung of a ladder that might not even lead anywhere."
"I trust that we need help beyond what we can scavenge," past-Jack replied. "Darius understands that."
Lars's eyes darkened.
"Darius would trust a cobra not to strike if it promised to help the Tribe."
From across the room, Darius looked up, as if he'd heard his name despite the distance. His gaze locked briefly with Lars before shifting to past-Jack. He tapped his ear—our signal to switch to private comms.
I followed Darius as he left the central chamber, moving through the network of tunnels with the easy confidence of someone who had built them. He stopped in a small hideaway, once a security office, now his private quarters.
Basic. Plain. A simple bed. A table filled with unfinished gadgets. Screens on the wall showing different parts of Hope City.
He tapped his communications implant.
"Jack, you there?"
Through one of the monitors, I could see my past self touch his own implant.
"Here. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you're still clear on tomorrow. Once we take the Hub, things will move fast."
"I'm ready," past-Jack replied.
Darius nodded, but something in his posture had changed—a subtle stiffness that I recognized now but hadn't then. The mechanical side of him processing variables, calculating outcomes.
"I've been having these... glitches," he said finally. "Blackouts. Moments where I can't account for my actions."
My heart skipped. This conversation—I didn't remember this conversation.
"Since when?" past-Jack asked.
"Three weeks. Started after that skirmish at the northern checkpoint."
Darius rubbed his neck where the neural implant connected to his spine.
"Probably just need a diagnostic. Jin's been meaning to run one."
"You should let her. Tonight."
"After tomorrow," Darius insisted. "Can't be down for maintenance before the biggest operation we've ever run."
He forced a smile.
"Probably just stress."
"Maybe."
Darius's eyes drifted to a small photograph pinned beside the bed—a group shot of the original Guarding Tribe members, back when they numbered only twelve. Before Hope City had come to depend on them.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," Darius said, "Guarding Tribe survives. The people need what we've built. Promise me you'll make sure of that, whether you're here or in Fate City."
"I promise," past-Jack said. "But nothing's going to happen. We've planned for every contingency."
Darius nodded, but his eyes had that distant look again—processing, calculating.
"Every visible one, at least."
The simulation flickered, the image distorting. A high-pitched whine filled my ears, and for a moment, I thought I was being pulled back to reality. But then the scene stabilized, resetting to the exact same moment.
Except something had changed.
A shadow moved in the corner of Darius's quarters—a glitch in the simulation, or something more?
I stepped closer, trying to focus on the anomaly, but it slipped away like smoke.
Darius straightened suddenly, his head turning toward the exact spot I was investigating.
For a terrible moment, I thought he could see me—impossible in a memory, but his eyes seemed to lock with mine.
Then the shadow moved again, and I realized—
He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at someone else.Someone who shouldn't have been there. Someone watching him, even then.