Page 28 of When You're Gone

He remembered the pride in hismother's eyes when he landed his first job at a prominent tech firm in London,her voice over the phone brimming with excitement. "You're going to changethe world, beta," she had said. And perhaps she was right. Rajiv'salgorithm had the potential to alter the digital landscape, to shrink thevastness of cyberspace into something more manageable, more efficient.

His rapid ascent in the industryhad not gone unnoticed. Colleagues and competitors alike marveled at hisingenuity, his uncanny ability to foresee the curve of progress and stay aheadof it. Rajiv wasn't just making a name for himself; he was etching his legacyinto the foundation of the tech world.

Yet, as the hours wore on and theoffice grew colder, a sense of unease crept into Rajiv's consciousness. Perhapsit was the weight of expectation pressing down on him, or maybe the eerie quietthat enveloped the building after hours. He shrugged off the discomfort,attributing it to the looming deadline and his own overworked imagination.

"Almost there," hemuttered to himself, fingers flying across the keys. "Just a bit longer,and the world will never be the same."

Unbeknownst to Rajiv, as he satimmersed in his work, history's shadow loomed ominously overhead. The past,with its dark obsessions and twisted ideals, was reaching into the present,poised to claim Rajiv as part of a grand and terrible design.

The soft hum of Rajiv's computerwas a lullaby to his concentration, the rhythmic clatter of keystrokes atestament to his dedication. The glow from multiple monitors cast a spectralambiance over the room, an electronic aurora borealis flickering across hisintent features. He leaned back for a moment, rubbing tired eyes that had seentoo many sunsets and rises from this very chair.

Then, it sliced through thesilence—a noise that didn't belong in the digital serenade of his late-nightlabor. A mechanical whirring, subtle but unmistakable, like the sound of gearsnot turned for centuries finding motion once again. Rajiv frowned, tilting hishead slightly. It was probably just the cleaning staff—their vacuum cleanershad made similar sounds before—but this was different. It resonated with an oddfamiliarity that beckoned him from thoughts of algorithms and data streams.

"Probably nothing," hemumbled, but his curiosity, a trait that had led him from a childhood in Indiato the precipice of tech revolution in the UK, wouldn't let him dismiss it soeasily.

He rose, joints protesting mildly,and stepped out into the hallway. The fluorescents flickered overhead, castinglong shadows against the sterile walls. As his gaze traveled down the corridor,his breath hitched.

There, at the far end, stood afigure—an anachronism that seemed ripped from the pages of a Dickens novel. Thefigure was clad in Victorian attire, complete with a frock coat and a top hatshadowing its face, which was obscured by a gas mask. Its presence was asincongruous as a steam engine in a silicon chip factory.

Rajiv's heart thudded painfullyagainst his ribs. The figure held something in one gloved hand—a brass device,its contours lost to the distance but its purpose unmistakably sinister by theeerie light it emitted, a ghostly glow that seemed alive with malevolentintention.

"Who are you?" Rajivcalled out, his voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking through his veins.No answer came, only the continued whirring from the device, growing loudernow, more insistent.

This was no ordinary intruder; thiswas the specter of an era long gone, wielding technology that seemed as out ofplace as its attire. Rajiv's mind raced—was this a prank? An elaborate threat?But the cold dread gripping his stomach told him this was no joke. This figurewas danger incarnate, a harbinger of malice wrapped in antiquity.

As the figure began to move towardshim, slow and deliberate, Rajiv's instincts screamed for him to act. Thepromise of his future, the algorithm that would change the world—it all meantnothing against the primal urge to survive. He needed to escape, to warnsomeone, but his legs felt rooted to the spot, transfixed by the surrealnightmare unfolding before him.

"Stay back!" he warned,his voice betraying a hint of fear now. The figure paused, its head tiltingever so slightly, as if considering him.

"Rajiv Choudhary," itsaid, its voice a distorted echo from behind the mask, "do you believe indestiny?"

"Destiny?" Rajivrepeated, confusion momentarily overriding his terror. "What do youwant?"

"Progress requiressacrifice," the figure replied, its tone clinical, as if reciting auniversal truth.

"Please, I don'tunderstand," Rajiv pleaded, taking an involuntary step back.

But the figure advanced,relentless, the device in its hand pulsing with a rhythm that matched thequickening beat of Rajiv's heart. And then, with the inexorability of timeitself, darkness descended upon him, an abyss from which there would be noreturn.

Rajiv threw a punch, but the killereasily batted it away. Then another, and another. Rajiv clawed and scratched,fighting with everything he had to get away from the man. But it was notenough.

The killer then struck.

He stood alone, the shadowsclinging to him like a second skin as he watched Rajiv Choudhary's life bleedout onto the cold floor. The dim light flickered over the brass deviceimplanted in Rajiv's chest, casting an otherworldly glow on the macabre scene.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Finn leaned back in his chair, thedim light from the desk lamp casting long shadows across his face. The roomfelt oppressively silent, save for the soft ticking of an old clock perched ona shelf—its rhythmic beat a mocking reminder of their race against time.

"Remind me again why we dothis?" Amelia asked, her voice a quiet undercurrent in the stillness ofthe office.

"Because you can’t bear to bewithout my sparkling wit," Finn replied, his gaze meeting hers."Because if not us, then who?"

"Sometimes it feels like we'regrinding ourselves down," she confessed, touching the plaster on her nose,her eyes reflecting a weariness that mirrored his own. "I dream aboutVictorian London now, Finn. Gas lamps and cobblestones. People in masks. Idon’t know if I see London the same way anymore."

"Haunting butmeaningful," he said softly. "You know, I've always wanted to make adifference, Amelia. To leave something behind that's bigger than myself."He paused, contemplating the confession. "But I do sometimes think, willthere be much left of me by the end?"

"Is that your fear then? Thatthe cost might be too high?" She leaned forward, her elbows resting on thedesk.

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