A Message in the Terminal

Duty Office 12 smelled of stale coffee and warm exhaust. Kline shut the laminate door and locked the brass deadbolt. Sweat glinted along his jawline as he pulled a chair behind the desk console.

“Sit down, Donovan,” Kline said.

He clicked the mouse to open a secure log.

Claire sat on the edge of a metal chair. Her blonde hair remained rigid in its bun, but her acrylic fingernails tapped an erratic beat against her leather belt.

“I followed standard clearance protocols,” Claire said, her voice faint over the hum of the desk fan. “Code 404 override for unconfirmed vouchers.”

“You destroyed a paper coupon,” Daniel said. He rubbed the small scar above his right eyebrow. “That goes well beyond corporate metrics.”

A sharp chime echoed from Claire’s jacket pocket.

She reached inside and pulled out a cheap burner phone. The monochrome screen lit up with an unlisted message.

Daniel stepped forward and looked down at the display.

The text message read: Stop helping Cross. Ask him where Thomas has been since 2009.

Claire dropped the phone onto the laminate desk. Her face flushed gray.

“I don’t know who sent that,” she said. “I have never seen that number.”

“Thomas Cross was my father,” Daniel said. He checked the silver watch on his wrist. “He vanished sixteen years ago from this facility.”

Kline typed rapidly on his keyboard.

“Code 88 query active,” Kline said. “Pulling legacy records.”

The terminal flickered twice before rendering an old record. Blue lines scrolled down the glass.

Kline leaned closer to the screen. “His master clearance was locked at decommissioned Gate 41.”

“Read the status line, Robert,” Daniel said quietly.

Kline pointed a finger at the final entry on the screen. Two bold words stood stamped beside the timestamp: IDENTITY REVOKED.