As the progress bar crawled—12%, 45%, 88%—the air in the room seemed to vibrate. The city’s Peacekeepers were already outside; he could hear the rhythmic thrum of their hover-drones. They couldn't let the Legacy out. To remember the past was to realize the present was a cage.

Elias, a data-scavenger with nerves of wire and eyes that flickered like dying screens, sat in the corner of a dimly lit synth-bar. His contact, a woman known only as The Archivist, slid a cracked obsidian drive across the table.

Elias didn't hesitate. He didn't run. He simply pressed play.