Chapter 2 - Shadows in the ArchiveThe subterranean sub-level of the installation's communications hub smelled of ozone, dust, and cooling fans. Riley slipped through the maintenance hatch, her boots silent against the grated steel flooring.
The installation archive was a relic of the Cold War, featuring pneumatic tube systems alongside modern fiber-optic server racks. According to Emma’s final digital fragment, the master logs detailing the 317 logistics manifests were stored in an offline air-gapped terminal designated Archive-4.
As Riley approached the blinking amber light of Archive-4, a low hum echoed from the intersecting hallway. Footsteps. Heavy, measured, and deliberate.
Riley ducked behind an industrial-scale dehumidifier just as a pair of polished combat boots stepped into the aisle.
It wasn't Aaron Pike. It wasn't Cole Mercer.
It was Major Lawson himself.
The senior officer stood directly beneath the flickering overhead light, reviewing a physical manifest clamped to a aluminum clipboard. His expression was a mask of granite, carved from years of operational command. But what caught Riley's breath in her throat was what Lawson pulled from his tactical pocket: a third metal tag, identical to the ones resting in her boot.
Lawson slid the tag into the maintenance slot of the Archive-4 terminal. A soft chime sounded, and a glowing green diode confirmed authorization.
He isn't trying to stop the leak, Riley realized, her mind racing. He's managing it.
Lawson muttered into a secure comm-link clipped to his collar. "The transfer from logistics is digging deeper than anticipated. Captain Hale thinks he's running a quiet internal probe, but Quinn is moving too fast. We need to accelerate the rotation schedule."
A sharp voice crackled through the encrypted earpiece, audible only as a harsh metallic hiss in the quiet room. “Can it be contained without drawing CID attention?”
"It has to be," Lawson replied, his voice dropping an octave. "If tag 317 links back to the supply depot discrepancy from three months ago, the entire battalion command structure faces court-martial. Handle it tonight."
The line clicked dead. Lawson withdrew his tag, pocketed it, and strode away toward the elevator bank, leaving Archive-4 unguarded.
Riley waited thirty agonizing seconds after the elevator doors chimed shut before stepping out from the shadows. She rushed to the terminal. The authorization session was still active for another forty-five seconds.
Without hesitation, Riley plugged her encrypted tactical drive into the local port and initiated a full data-dump of the 317 manifest files.
The progress bar crawled across the monochrome screen: 12%... 34%... 67%...
Suddenly, a harsh klaxon blared overhead. Red emergency strobes began to pulse rhythmically against the concrete walls.
Warning: Unauthorized local extraction detected. System lockdown initiated in 60 seconds.
Riley stared at the screen as the progress bar stalled at 89%. The physical network cable had been severed remotely from the master control room upstairs.
"Damn it," she whispered.
May you like
With seconds to spare, Riley yanked the drive from the port. The screen flickered black, displaying a single stark message: Data transferred to local staging buffer. It wasn't the complete master archive, but it contained the shipping manifests, personnel rosters, and—most importantly—the destination coordinates for cargo shipment 317.
As the heavy steel security shutters began to descend over the archive exit, Riley sprinted beneath the closing gap, sliding across the concrete just as the massive plates slammed together with a deafening crash.
Related Stories
