ログインThe first sign wasn’t loud. No alarms. No flashing warnings. Just… silence. Elliot frowned at his screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The system response time had dipped—just slightly. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But not to him. Not anymore. “…That’s weird.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as lines of code flickered past. Data packets rerouting. Latency spikes. A pattern forming where there shouldn’t be one. Not random. Never random. A slow chill crept up his spine. Someone was inside. “Stop.” The voice came from behind him—calm, low, controlled. Elliot didn’t turn around. “I’m not done.” “You are.” That made him pause. Not because of the words. Because of the tone. Timothy didn’t repeat himself. Elliot exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair before finally glancing over his shoulder. Timothy stood a few steps away, suit immaculate as always, expression unreadable. Watching him. Always watching him. “Ther
Elliot (1st Person)By now, I should have settled into this place.The routine was predictable enough—screens, code, the low hum of machines running in the background. It all followed a pattern I understood, something I could work with.Usually, that was enough.Today, it wasn’t.I stared at the same section of code longer than I should have, reading through it once, then again, then a third time without actually taking anything in. It was clean. Solid. No errors. No gaps.Still, I couldn’t focus.My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I forced them to move, typing out a command just to prove to myself that I could.It executed perfectly.That wasn’t the problem.I leaned back slightly, rubbing the side of my head.“Get it together,” I muttered under my breath.This wasn’t complicated. I’d handled worse than this. Much worse.So why did it feel like something was off?I tried again, pulling up another section, diving deeper this time. If I stayed busy, it would pass. That’s how i
Elliot (1st Person)I told myself I’d focus.That once I sat back down, everything would settle.That whatever that was in the hallway—Would pass.It didn’t.The system glowed in front of me, lines of code scrolling steadily across the screen. Clean. Stable. Controlled.Exactly how I liked it.Exactly how it should be.And still—My mind wouldn’t stay on it.I leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, fingers pressed lightly against my lips.“Focus,” I muttered again.But it wasn’t the code that kept replaying in my head.It was him.“You’re reacting.”I frowned slightly.“No, I’m not.”“You are.”I exhaled sharply and dropped my hands, dragging them down my face.“This is ridiculous.”I forced myself back into the system, diving deeper into the security layers. If I stayed busy enough, maybe it would fade.Minutes passed.Then an hour.Then—I blinked.Hard.The screen blurred for a second before clearing again.“…Okay.”I hadn’t slept much.That wasn’t new.But this—This felt di
Elliot (1st Person)I didn’t like this.Not the system.Not the building.Not the fact that I couldn’t leave.None of that was new.What I didn’t like—Was how none of it felt like the problem anymore.I stared at the screen, code running clean under my eyes. Everything was stable. Every layer secure. Every response exactly how it should be.Perfect.And I still couldn’t focus.I typed a command.Deleted it.Typed it again.“…Focus,” I muttered.“Trying to.”Lena’s voice came from my left.I didn’t look at her. “Go away.”She didn’t move. “You’ve been rechecking the same file for fifteen minutes.”“I’m being thorough.”“You’re spiraling.”I stopped typing.Slowly turned my head.“…I don’t spiral.”“You do now.”I held her gaze for a second.Then looked away first.“Drop it.”She watched me a moment longer, then sighed. “Fine. But whatever’s in your head right now? Fix it before it messes with your work.”“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I know.”She left.And just like that—It got worse.Sil
Elliot (1st Person) I knew something was wrong before I could explain it. The system looked perfect. That was the problem. Blackwood’s network didn’t sit still like this. It breathed. Shifted. Adjusted in small, constant ways. Even at its quietest, there was always movement. Right now— Nothing. I stared at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. A line of code flickered. Corrected itself. Then flickered again. “…No.” I leaned in, eyes narrowing as I pulled up the backend logs. Everything checked out at first glance—traffic normal, security intact, no alerts. Too clean. Like someone had wiped fingerprints off glass. “Elliot?” Lena’s voice came from behind me, but I didn’t turn. “Hold on.” I ran a deeper scan, bypassing the surface-level diagnostics. My fingers started moving faster, pulling data from places most people didn’t even know existed in the system. For a few seconds— Nothing. Then I saw it. A fragment of code buried inside a
Elliot (1st Person) Daniel’s desk was empty the next morning. Not “he stepped out for coffee” empty. Not “running late” empty. Completely cleared. No laptop. No files. No trace that anyone had been sitting there just yesterday, leaning too casually against my desk and smiling like this place didn’t run on silent fear. I slowed as I walked past, my eyes lingering. “…Okay.” That was weird. I dropped my bag on my chair and powered up my system, but my attention kept drifting back. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Still nothing. No sign of him. No explanation. I leaned back, glancing toward Lena. She noticed immediately. “What?” she asked. “Where’s Daniel?” The reaction was subtle. But I saw it. That pause. That hesitation. “…He’s been reassigned,” she said finally. “That fast?” “Yes.” I frowned. “Reassigned where?” She picked up her coffee, avoiding my gaze. “Another branch.” “That’s vague.” “That’s intentional.” I stared at her. “You’re not even going t