The Archive Remembers

Matherson Jayson was just twenty-one when the world ended.

He had it all-money, charm, and the kind of confidence that only came from never having to face consequences. His life was a whirlwind of fast cars, private parties, and the luxury that came with being the only son of a man who wielded truth like a weapon.

His father, Mr. Jayson, wasn't just some internet loudmouth. He was a legend-an investigative blogger with a fearsome reputation, a man who tore down corrupt empires with nothing but a camera, a blog, and a fearless heart. He exposed politicians, crime lords, corporate demons-and made enemies every time he hit "publish."

But to Matherson, he was just "Dad." Strict. Distant. Always working.

Still, the house was warm. The family was whole.

Until the night everything changed.

It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.

Matherson stood in the bathroom, scrolling through texts, smirking at memes, half-listening to the sounds of laughter from the living room. His mother's voice rang out, teasing. His sisters were giggling. His father was probably giving another one of his passionate speeches, the kind that always made his wife roll her eyes and smile.

Then-a knock.

Sharp. Heavy. Purposeful.

Matherson barely noticed it. He was busy replying to some influencer friend about an afterparty. He had no idea that knock would be the last sound of peace his life would ever know.

The front door creaked open.

Three seconds later, the screams began.

They came fast.

Unannounced.

Unforgiving.

Four masked men. Black suits. No hesitation. No mercy.

They weren't there to steal. They weren't after cash or jewelry.

They wanted one thing-a disc.

A video disc.

"Where is it?" one of them growled, gun raised.

Mr. Jayson stood his ground. His voice didn't tremble. "I can't give it to you."

Again, they demanded.

Again, he refused.

He knew what was on that disc. It was dangerous-something that could shake cities, shatter governments, burn a powerful empire to the ground. Giving it up would be surrendering the truth he had spent a lifetime fighting for.

But they didn't care about truth.

They cared about silence.

When words failed, they used bullets.

First, they shot his wife-point-blank. No warning.

Matherson jerked in the bathroom, phone slipping from his hand as her scream sliced through the air like a knife.

Then came his sisters. Little girls. Too young to die. Too sweet for such a cruel world.

Their screams were shorter.

Then... silence.

One more shot.

His father.

The man who never backed down finally fell.

Matherson stood frozen, his body pressed against the bathroom door, breath caught in his throat, fists clenched so tight his knuckles bled.

He didn't move. Not even when the assassins poured gasoline through the house and lit the flames. Not even when the fire roared to life, devouring the curtains, the furniture, the family photos.

Only when the smoke choked him, when heat licked at his skin and flames cracked through the floorboards-only then did he move.

Crawling through the narrow window, barefoot, broken, heart racing-he ran.

Into the night.

Into the unknown.

He didn't cry. There was no time for tears.

There was only survival.

When the fire finally died, and the house was nothing but ashes and charred bones, the boy returned.

He didn't know why.

Something pulled him back. A whisper. A memory. A promise not yet fulfilled.

He stood in the ruins barefoot, covered in soot, looking at what was once a mansion. The place he called home was now a graveyard.

And then-a sound.

A faint vibration.

He looked down and saw it.

His father's phone.

Melted at the edges, half-buried in ash, somehow still ringing.

Hands trembling, Matherson picked it up and answered.

There was no greeting. No introduction.

Just a voice.

Low. Cold. Familiar.

"I know you're alive, Matherson. I'm coming for you."

Click.

No name. No location. Just a declaration.

They hadn't finished the job.

They would come back for him.

And this time... he wouldn't be lucky.

He ran.

No suitcase. No goodbyes. Just fear.

He disappeared into the underbelly of downtown-where names didn't matter, and the past could be buried in the noise of the forgotten.

He became a ghost.

A shadow.

A whisper in a city that had long since stopped listening.

Five years passed.

The name "Matherson Jayson" was gone from every record. Declared dead. Another tragic casualty in a "freak electrical fire," according to the official reports. No arrests. No investigations.

The world moved on.

But Matherson didn't.

He wasn't that boy anymore.

The spoiled rich kid with soft hands and softer emotions had burned in that fire.

The man who emerged was something else entirely.

He trained-day and night. In the back alleys of the city, with ex-soldiers, mercenaries, street fighters. He learned how to shoot, how to fight, how to survive in a world that didn't care if you lived or died.

He studied his father's enemies.

Read every old blog post. Every encrypted file. Every hidden piece of data his father had ever stored.

He followed the whispers-the names buried in code, the deals hidden behind corporations, the powerful people who had everything to lose if the disc ever saw the light of day.

He built a new identity.

A new body.

A new mind.

The pain never left him.

The screams of his sisters. The blood on the carpet. The smoke in his lungs.

But he turned that pain into purpose.

Revenge wasn't just a goal.

It was survival.

And now... the time had come.

He stood in the rain on the rooftop of a crumbling building, staring out over the city that had once been his playground.

He wasn't running anymore.

He wasn't hiding.

He wasn't afraid.

"You killed my family. You tried to kill me. You erased our name. But you forgot one thing..."

"I'm still alive."

And this time?

He's coming for them.

To Be Continued...

Optional Teaser for Chapter 2:

A masked figure watches him from the shadows. A whisper in the earpiece crackles to life.

"Target is active. Phase Two begins now."

A gun is cocked.

The hunt has begun... again.