Echo Protocol

against the cold. Somewhere above, a drone buzzed past with that high-pitched, insectile whine that always meant surveillance. He didn't move. Couldn't. His body was an aching roadmap of bruis

umped. Flew. Cracked the landing, shoulder screaming. Rolled. Kept moving. This wasn't survival. This was muscle memory. Whoever he was, he'd done this before. He ducked into an abandoned warehouse. Rust creaked with every step. Light flickered from a broken panel above. He found a corner, collapsed, breathing like he'd outrun a demon. The pain was catching up to him now. His hand was worse than he'd thought-deep laceration, bone just visible. The blood had started drying in a thick crust across his knuckles. He didn't panic. That was the strange part. Even with no name, no history, and killers chasing him, he didn't panic. He assessed. Checked for resources. Watched exits. Calculated odds. Who the hell was he? The panel in his neck pulsed again. A digital flicker across his vision-augmented HUD interface, barely functional. Lines of code scrolled past. A name appeared for a split second: Kieran Voss. He whispered it. It didn't feel like his. Not yet. "Voss?" a voice echoed from the dark. He stood too fast. Blood roared in his ears. From the shadows stepped a woman. Compact, fierce, a cybernetic arm glowing faintly at the joints. Short-cropped auburn hair framed a face that had seen hell and didn't flinch from it. "Don't move," she said. "Or I drop you." He froze. "I don't know you," he said. She cocked her head. "That's funny. You should." Her eyes narrowed as she circled. He tensed. "You don't remember anything, do you?" she asked. He didn't answer. "That's a problem," she muttered. "Because a whole lot of people just died thanks to what's in your head." His mouth went dry. "What?" She walked up to him, stopped inches away. Her hand touched the side of his neck. Her fingers grazed the device under his skin. Her face changed. "They really did it," she whispered. "Echo Protocol... they activ