The corridors of the Bureau stretched endlessly, twisting in ways that defied logic. The air felt heavier here, thick with a hum that seemed to echo from deep within the walls. Trevor moved ahead of me with unnerving certainty, his steps quick and purposeful.
“This is it,” Trevor said as we rounded another corner. He gestured toward a massive set of doors that loomed at the end of the hallway. They seemed to shimmer faintly, though the effect felt less like light and more like a trick of the mind. The words Soul Storage – Restricted Access were etched across their surface in a language I couldn’t understand, yet somehow I knew exactly what they meant.
“Restricted access,” I murmured, stopping a few feet short of the doors. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”
Trevor turned back to me, his expression unreadable. “It’s the only idea if you want to get home. This is where they keep the things they don’t want anyone else to have. Including your memories.”
The words hit me like a shock. My memories. I’d been trying not to dwell on what that meant, but the idea of pieces of my life—of myself—just sitting on a shelf somewhere made my stomach twist. For Eden, I reminded myself. I had to do this for her.
“How do we get in?” I asked, stepping closer to the doors.
Trevor pulled out the strange rod-like device he seemed to always have on hand. “The doors recognize soul signatures. Normally, that means you’d need authorization, but in this case…” He waved the device over the doors, and a series of clicks echoed from within. “We make our own authorization. You’ll need to touch the doors, though. Two signatures required.”
“Of course,” I said, exhaling slowly. The faint hum in the air grew louder as I reached out, pressing my hands against the cold surface of the doors. A strange sensation rippled through me, like the doors were pulling something from my essence. For a moment, I thought I heard whispers—soft and distant, speaking words I couldn’t quite catch.
“Almost there,” Trevor said, his voice calm but firm. “Keep steady.”
The doors shuddered, then began to slide open with a deep, resonant groan. Beyond them lay a cavernous space that stretched farther than I could see. Shelves towered into the darkness, each packed with objects that glowed faintly or pulsed with quiet energy. The air inside was heavier still, thick with the weight of something unseen.
“This,” Trevor said, stepping through the threshold, “is Soul Storage.”
I followed him in, the sound of my footsteps swallowed by the strange hum that filled the space. The shelves were packed with items I couldn’t begin to describe—glowing orbs, mechanical contraptions, containers that seemed to shift and change as I looked at them. It wasn’t just a storage room. It was a vault for the extraordinary, the dangerous, and the forgotten.
“Where do we start?” I asked, my voice low, almost reverent.
Trevor didn’t answer immediately. He scanned the shelves, his eyes sharp and searching. “We’ll need to move fast. First, we find what you need to get home. Then we’ll look for your memories.”
The urgency in his tone set me on edge. “And you’re sure this is safe?”
“Safe?” He chuckled softly, his focus still on the shelves. “Not remotely. But it’s necessary.”
That wasn’t exactly reassuring, but I didn’t have time to argue. Trevor was already moving deeper into the maze of shelves, and I had no choice but to follow.
---
The deeper we moved into Soul Storage, the more oppressive the space became. The air was dense, humming with an energy I couldn’t quite define, and the towering shelves seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. Trevor moved quickly, weaving between rows with an ease that suggested he’d been here before.
“This place is enormous,” I said, glancing at the shelves as we passed. “How are we supposed to find anything?”
Trevor didn’t slow down. “Focus on what resonates. The items in here aren’t just stored—they’re tethered to the souls they’re tied to. If something is meant for you, you’ll feel it.”
That sounded both helpful and terrifying. I tried to concentrate, reaching out with a sense I wasn’t sure I had. The shelves held objects so strange and varied it was hard to focus on any one thing. Some glowed faintly, others pulsed in time with the hum in the air, and a few seemed to shift or shimmer when I looked at them.
“What about you?” I asked, falling into step beside him. “What are you looking for?”
Trevor’s eyes flicked toward me, his expression guarded. “Let’s just say I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up.”
That wasn’t exactly comforting, but I didn’t press. We rounded a corner, and the layout of the shelves shifted subtly. The rows became narrower, the shelves more densely packed. The objects here felt heavier, somehow, their presence pressing against my senses.
Trevor stopped abruptly in front of a glowing plaque embedded in the floor. It read: Blacklisted Memories. Authorized Access Only. He studied it for a moment, then shook his head and turned away.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” he said quickly. “We’re not here for the blacklisted stuff.”
Something in his tone made me uneasy, but before I could say anything, he was moving again, his pace quickening. I followed, trying to push down the growing sense of unease that was starting to coil in my chest.
As we moved deeper into the maze, I began to feel it—a faint tug, like a string pulling at the edges of my awareness. It wasn’t strong, but it was unmistakable.
“Wait,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “I think… there’s something.”
Trevor turned, his eyes narrowing. “You feel it?”
I nodded, focusing on the sensation. It was coming from one of the shelves to my left. I stepped closer, scanning the objects until my gaze landed on a small, glowing orb nestled between two larger artifacts. As I reached for it, the hum in the air grew louder, almost vibrating through my bones.
“That’s not it,” Trevor said sharply, stepping forward to block me. “Not yet.”
“What do you mean, not yet?” I asked, my hand hovering inches from the orb.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Trust me,” he said, his voice firm. “The first thing you touch in here matters. If you take the wrong thing, it’ll throw the whole place into chaos.”
That gave me pause. I lowered my hand, glancing back at him. “You could’ve mentioned that earlier.”
Trevor didn’t respond, his attention already back on the shelves ahead. “We’re close,” he muttered. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, I followed him, though my mind lingered on the orb. The tug was still there, faint but insistent, and it took everything I had not to turn back.
We continued deeper into the maze, the shelves growing taller and more densely packed. The objects here were stranger, more complex—some looked mechanical, others organic, and a few defied any description at all. Trevor’s pace quickened, his movements more focused now, and the hum in the air grew louder with every step.
“This way,” he said, leading me down a narrow path between two massive shelves. The glow ahead of us grew brighter, and the air seemed to crackle with energy.
“What’s up ahead?” I asked, my voice low.
“You’ll see,” Trevor said, his tone almost excited. “We’re here.”
---
The glow at the end of the path sharpened as we approached, revealing a door that looked utterly out of place in this cavernous labyrinth. It was bold red with black-and-yellow hazard stripes and adorned with a stylized emblem of a truck mid-collision. Above it, blocky letters read: Truck-kun Depot.
“Truck-kun?” I muttered, eyeing Trevor skeptically. “This can’t be real.”
“Oh, it’s real,” Trevor replied, already reaching for the handle. “And if you want to make it out of here in one piece, you’ll need what’s inside.”
With a hiss and a low rumble, the door slid open, and we stepped into what could only be described as a truck enthusiast’s fever dream. The room was enormous, lined with industrial shelves crammed with floating tools and glowing gadgets. Miniature trucks hovered above us, their headlights flickering faintly. A low, persistent vibration hummed through the air, resonating deep in my chest.
Trevor moved immediately to a nearby workbench, rifling through a pile of equipment. “We’ll need to move fast. Alarms are likely already ticking up a notch. Start with these.”
He held up a pair of boots, heavy-looking with intricate tire-like treads on the soles. They weren’t sleek or futuristic; they looked like something pulled straight out of a high-performance auto shop.
“Torque Boots,” Trevor explained, tossing them my way. “They’ll let you accelerate like a truck in full gear. Once you’re moving, nothing short of a wall’s gonna stop you. And even then, it might not.”
I strapped the boots on, and the moment my feet touched the ground, a surge of power shot through my legs. A tentative step forward sent me rocketing halfway across the room, only narrowly avoiding slamming into a shelf. My heart raced as I steadied myself.
“Careful!” Trevor called, suppressing a grin. “Takes a bit to get used to.”
He rummaged further, pulling out a device that looked like a cross between a dashboard tachometer and an industrial gauge. Its face was covered with dials and needle indicators, glowing faintly as it pulsed in my hand.
“This is the Chrono-Rev Dial,” he said, handing it over. “It lets you play with time, kind of like shifting gears. You can slow things down, speed them up, or even backtrack a little. But don’t overdo it—these things aren’t exactly user-friendly.”
I clipped the device to my belt, and the air around me seemed to shimmer faintly. A quick twist of one of the dials slowed the movement of the floating trucks above us, their lights dimming as though caught in a slow-motion haze. Another twist returned them to their normal speed. It was disorienting but exhilarating.
“And last,” Trevor said, reaching into a reinforced case, “you’ll need this.”
He held up a heavy medallion shaped like a truck’s front grille, complete with miniature headlights that glowed faintly. It vibrated softly, a low, steady thrum that I could feel even from a few feet away.
“The Impact Engine Core,” he said, handing it to me. “This’ll give you mass and momentum like nothing else. Think of it like a freight truck slamming into a brick wall. You’ll gain force as you move, and nothing short of a reinforced barrier will stop you.”
The medallion was heavier than it looked, and the moment I clipped it to my chest, a deep rumble echoed through my body. I felt… grounded, like I could plow through anything in my way. Testing it would have to wait, though, because the room suddenly began to shift.
The floating trucks above us flashed their headlights in unison, and the tools hanging midair spun faster. The low hum in the air turned into a sharp, mechanical whine.
“Uh, Trevor?” I started, glancing around.
“Yeah, the Depot doesn’t like us messing with its inventory,” he said, grabbing my arm. “Time to go.”
The floor beneath us trembled as we bolted toward the exit. The Torque Boots propelled me forward, the Chrono-Rev Dial pulsed at my side, and the Impact Engine Core thrummed against my chest, each piece of gear coming alive as the Depot’s automated defenses whirred into overdrive.
We burst out of the Depot, the door slamming shut behind us with a metallic clang. Trevor didn’t stop running, his form still frustratingly blurred, his pace relentless.
“Trevor!” I called, struggling to keep up. “Why do you still look like… that?”
“Later!” he shouted, not even glancing back. “Keep moving!”
I gritted my teeth and pushed forward, the newfound power of the gear coursing through me. Questions about Trevor’s motives would have to wait—right now, survival came first.
---
The hum of the Depot still lingered in my ears as we plunged deeper into Soul Storage. The Torque Boots sent me gliding effortlessly across the cold floor, but every step felt heavier—not from the Impact Engine Core, but from the nagging questions spinning in my head.
Trevor was several steps ahead, his blurred form darting between towering shelves like a shadow. Despite the newfound power humming through me, I couldn’t shake the growing tension between us. His urgency felt sharper now, almost frantic, and the way he kept glancing at signs and labels made it clear he wasn’t just guiding me.
“You going to tell me what’s really going on?” I called out, pushing to catch up.
Trevor didn’t slow down. “What’s going on is we’re running out of time.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said, sidestepping a low-hanging shelf that jutted into the pathway. “Why do you still look like a blur? And why are we sprinting past sections like they’re on fire? You’re searching for something—something you haven’t told me about.”
He finally stopped, turning to face me, his form shimmering faintly. “Look, Simon, I’ll explain everything when we’re out of here. Right now, the Bureau’s probably noticed the Depot’s been breached. That gives us minutes—maybe less—before things start locking down. We need to get to the Memories Room.”
“And you expect me to just trust you?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
Trevor sighed, rubbing his temples. “I know this looks bad, but you’ve got to believe me. I want to help you, Simon. But this place? It’s dangerous. And the deeper we go, the more rules we break, the worse it’s going to get.”
I folded my arms, planting myself in the middle of the pathway. “Then stop dodging and start talking.”
For a moment, it looked like he might. His blurred form shifted, the edges of his figure flickering faintly. Then his shoulders sagged, and he shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet. Not here.”
Before I could press further, a low rumble rippled through the shelves, followed by a sharp crack. The air grew heavier, tinged with static, and the faint glow of the orbs around us dimmed slightly.
“That’s new,” I muttered, glancing at the shifting shelves. “What was that?”
Trevor’s head snapped up, his blurred form tensing. “We need to move. Now.”
He turned and sprinted down the aisle, leaving me no choice but to follow. My frustration simmered, but the sudden urgency in his voice drove me forward. The Torque Boots responded instantly, propelling me forward with ease, and the Impact Engine Core pulsed with a steady rhythm, grounding me as we moved.
The signs along the shelves became harder to read, their glowing letters flickering faintly. Trevor’s path became more erratic, veering sharply between aisles as though he was following a map only he could see.
“Trevor!” I shouted, struggling to keep up. “Where are we going?”
“The Memories Room,” he called back, not breaking stride. “It’s close. Just hold on.”
We rounded another corner, and for a brief moment, I caught sight of his face—or what should have been his face. Instead, it was a shifting blur, almost like static, obscuring his features entirely. The sight sent a chill down my spine.
“Why do you look like that?” I demanded, skidding to a stop. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Trevor hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. For the first time, there was something like regret in his voice. “It’s not what you think, Simon. Just trust me. Please.”
Before I could respond, another crack echoed through the space, louder this time, followed by a deep, resonant hum. The shelves around us trembled, their contents rattling faintly.
“Move!” Trevor shouted, and this time, I didn’t argue. I pushed forward, the Torque Boots launching me ahead as the rumble grew louder. Whatever was coming, it was closing in fast—and I wasn’t sure if it was targeting me, Trevor, or both.