Lucidez Terminal Novels & Stories

It took seven seconds to ping back: Origin Device: Q-ARCHIVE/INTERNAL-P User Access ID: RL03 Retrieval Timestamp: 3 Days Ago – 21:44 PST Terminal Tag: Exec Float 006 RL03. Noah sat down slowly. That was Rae’s internal clearance. She had pulled the image. And from a floating terminal — a laptop not hardwired into a specific location, but one designed for mobile high-clearance use. Executive assistants used them. Special project managers too. Only six existed in the company. And Terminal 006 had been marked inactive for nearly a week — floating, no check-in, no location ping. That meant it was either: Stolen. Accessed through cloned credentials.

Lucian He gripped my hand tightly, his gaze locked on the sign, the gold lettering catching the sunlight. His silence was profound. Below the name, the logo was being finalized, which was a cute image of a wolf with striking red eyes. It was a rather chubby wolf, more like a cute, oversized panda with an intense gaze, yet despite the burning red eyes, the overall effect ignited a feeling of endearment, not fear. It was unique and charming. The purpose was to mix Lucian and me in this logo.

There were no jackets, no luggage, nothing. Except for the center console table in the middle of the cabin. Sitting right on top of the polished wood was a sleek, custom-built data terminal—the exact match to the hardware Tobey had described. A thick manual bypass cable hung from the side port, its brass tip glowing faintly with a green static light. The screen was alive, lines of white text scrolling down a black background at a frantic speed. "Tobey," I said, hitting the speakerphone on my mobile as I walked toward the table. "We are in the cabin. The terminal is here.

"Shut up, Lucien! Your cold, analytical detachment is exactly why we ended up here in the first place. Kael, answer me. Is there anything left in the terminal, any residual code from before they initiated the purge?" Kael exhaled, a ragged sound that echoed through the cramped space. "The code is corrupted, Arthur. It’s not just data anymore; it’s a living, breathing history of every soul they’ve funneled through this district. When I interface, I don't see numbers. I see memories. I see them losing their names. I see them becoming... metrics."

she managed. “I disliked its manner.” “It contained the antidote.” “I continue to dislike it.” He lowered her to the floor. Her breathing had become shallow. “Tell me what to do.” “The compound was identified as E-Seven inhibitor.” Lucian searched the damaged terminal. Most of the display had shattered, but internal storage cartridges remained intact. Each bore a number. E-1. E-2. E-3. Through E-28. He found E-7. Two vials rested inside.

Immediately, the florescent bulb illuminates the entire room and it didn't feel so scary to Louie anymore. Santiago inserts his hands into his back pockets and fishes out a laser pointer he had carried along with him for the mission of yesterday. At least it was harmless, the most it could do was to show a red light. So he handed it over to the girl, to serve as a little distraction and also keep her busy while he gets her breakfast. And it worked, as soon as she pressed the button and the red light came shining through, her fascination got the better over her fear and she slowly walked towards the directed chair.

Then, Theresa sighed and directly met the Captain’s gaze. “Captain, you can say that I am just imagining or hallucinating with what I will say but I promise you, what I hear and saw is really the truth,” Theresa said in a whispering tone. “What do you mean?” the Captain asked. “Last night, when I was about to empty the trash bin in our house, I heard a sudden scratch from the Zedler’s house and because of my curiousity, I was already outside the house that time and all I can see was silhouettes of different people. I directly recognized Satchel Zedler’s back because of the little light from the street lamps. A-and when he turned his head at my direction… H-he…” the shock was still visible in

Let's end this. ***

The private estate overlooking Lake Geneva was silent save for the soft tapping of rain against the floor-to-ceiling glass paneling. Inside the dimly lit study, Lucian Mercer stood by the fireplace, swirling two fingers of neat amber scotch in a crystal tumbler. On the marble desk behind him, an encrypted terminal chimed twice, its high-resolution display illuminating the dark room. Lucian didn't rush. He took a measured sip, set his glass down on the coaster, and turned toward the screen.

That version of Aria was dead. I stepped into the dim room, the scent of leather and high-end tech hanging thick in the air. Sitting on the center of the desk was his secondary terminal—a sleek, high-powered laptop connected to the penthouse's secure server. I lifted the lid, and the screen glowed to life, flashing a stark login prompt: Enter Biometric Passcode or Encryption Key.