👉 Previous Choice: You chose Option A – Attempt to sneak the paper past the biometric scanner tucked inside your shoe.
I felt the folded slip of paper, small and rigid, pressed against the sole of my foot inside my worn shoe. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm against the quiet hum of Sub-Floor 8. I moved towards the elevator bank, each step measured, trying to appear nonchalant.
The biometric scanner at the elevator entrance pulsed with a soft, inviting blue. I placed my palm against it.
A jarring, blood-red light erupted from the sensor. It shrieked, a high-pitched, metallic keening that echoed through the otherwise silent hallway.
The doors to the executive elevator, usually reserved for senior staff, slid open with a soft sigh. Marcus stood there, perfectly composed in a charcoal suit, his gaze fixed on my face. He stepped out, his expression carefully neutral.
“Julian,” he said, his voice calm, “what do you think you’re doing?”
A bead of sweat trickled down my temple. I swallowed hard. “Just… leaving for the day, Marcus.”
He tilted his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Security pinged a… bio-anomaly near your person. A minor glitch, perhaps.”
His eyes dropped to my feet, lingering for a fraction of a second too long. I felt the paper dig into my arch.
“Come with me for a moment,” Marcus said, gesturing back into the elevator. “A brief chat about your… adjustment period.”
Inside the luxurious elevator, the red light of the scanner still seemed to stain the air. We ascended in silence, the numbers ticking past a blur of polished chrome.
We reached his private office on Floor 12, a spacious corner room overlooking the city skyline. Marcus leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers.
“Julian,” he began, his voice softening, “I’ve been reviewing your performance. Excellent technical aptitude. But your sleep patterns are… concerning.”
I shifted my weight. “I’m fine, Marcus.”
“Are you?” he asked, his eyes suddenly piercing. “Because a security sweep found this.”
He slid a small, folded slip of paper across his desk. It was my note, perfectly intact. “An ancient entity… soul-devouring… memory-wipe.”
My breath hitched. He had retrieved it.
“Julian,” Marcus continued, his voice laced with concern, “this is deeply troubling. Our family, you know, has a history. Mother’s episodes. Grandfather’s delusions.”
He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Sleep deprivation can trigger dormant predispositions. You wrote this during an… episode, didn’t you? A stress-induced psychotic break.”
My jaw tightened. “No. I didn’t.”
“Of course you did,” he said, pushing the note back towards me. “It’s all nonsense. Paranoid fantasies. You’re exhausted.”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m putting you on administrative leave. Paid, of course. For your own good. To recover.”
He picked up a sleek, metallic card. “You’ll be in an executive suite on Floor 12. Full access to amenities. No Sub-Floor 8 for a while. Just rest.”
I stared at the note, then at his placid face. My own mind felt like a tangled mess, the edges of my conviction fraying. Was he right? Was I breaking?
“We just want you well, Julian,” Marcus said. “I want my brother well.”
➡️ Read CHAPTER 3 to continue the story
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