Mortality Walten Files Novels & Stories

He just mouthed two words: Help me. I backed away, my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. I stumbled into a small, side room to find it was an office filled with the hum of a computer and stacks of paper. I moved to the desk, my hands shaking as I flipped through a folder. Sales records. Quantities of wolfsbane that could kill an entire pack. Names were crossed out in red ink—people who hadn't made it. Beside one name, a note was scribbled in the margin: Possible viability for the Alpha Prime experiment.

I chuckled when he started nibbling and biting in the same area. "Don't, I'm still sore from last night," I mumbled softly and he shrugged and said bullshit. I turned and started to tickle his sides and he busted into hearty laughter. A knocking sounded at the door and we both sat up and yelled enter. Fernando rushed in and lowered his eyes as he spoke. "Miguel has killed Destiny because Mira was barren regnigging on their deal and is being hunted down by the Hybrid Corpse Seekers. Mira has already been caught and destroyed, I'm sorry Rai," he stated solemnly. Rai frowned and sighed.

X-ray machine. The screen beeped. Paper only. No metal. No powder. Willa cut the tape. Inside: one envelope. Cream. His handwriting. She didn’t open it. Elma did. `Willa, He died at 47. You’re 23. He got 24 years you won’t. Use them to watch your back. Patient men don’t forget. -J` The room went quiet. Elma read it twice. “Math.” Willa: “He’s counting down from 47.”

She looks back at the file. “W-17 walked out.” Marcus’s expression changes then. A small tightening around the mouth. The first real crack. “We left.” “Through a door?” “A service gate. Backup power failure. Ninety minutes.” “Convenient.” “Planned.” “By you?” “Yes.” Maya holds his gaze. “How many walked?” “Thirty.” “How many made it past the second week?” His answer comes flat. “Twenty-nine.” She does not say she is sorry. The apology rises automatically, soft and useless. She stops it at her teeth.

Buried shallow. She pulled it out, her hands trembling. Anaïs opened it. Inside were files. Paper. Photos. A USB drive. She flipped through the first page. Her own name. Cassian’s photo. Julien’s military ID. Maris’s hospital birth records. The words stamped across each page: “DECEASED”. Anaïs felt the chill spread through her chest. “They made us ghosts,” she said. “No,” Cassian said. “They made us targets.”

I even type in his own father’s birthday, but sickness hits me at the back of the throat when I type in my birthday…the lock singing out to grant me access. The sick fuck. Using my birthday as his code. My eyes widen with wonder as if I have found the depth’s of the earth…files upon files of secrets that could take down Calian and this pack. My mind is wonders at the endless possibilities. “No, I just need my father’s report for now.” I remind myself, flicking through files in a desperate hunt to find my father’s death report. It has to be here…even pack members at the time will have needed to give a full written statement of the incident, especially when it resulted in the death of the beta

Sarah exhaled. “Potentially very.” Lena moved toward the screen quickly. “Who had access?” “That’s the problem,” Sarah said. “The login credentials belonged to someone dead.” Silence. Sebastian frowned. “What?” Sarah pulled up another file. “The access code belonged to Walter Greene.” Recognition flashed across Lena’s face instantly. “My father’s former legal archivist.” Sarah nodded grimly. “He died eleven years ago.” A heavy silence followed. Because dead people did not log into corporate archives.

I had my own things to worry about anyway. Damien POV The door opened again almost immediately after Rachel left. Vance stepped inside, and I noticed the file in his hand before he'd even closed the door. "That was quick," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Public records," Vance replied, moving toward my desk. "Death certificates are easy enough to access." He set the file down in front of me, his expression carefully neutral. I opened it, scanning the first page. Sarah Owens. Cause of Death: Acute Asthma Attack.

Regina asked, her eyebrows furrowed. Janus shook his head. "It seems there was trouble with the Walden family after Irish was given to Ramona. It only says here that Ramona's husband, Ian Franklin, died two weeks after Irish was given to Ramona." "Are the two related?" Trevor murmured. "We won't know until we ask the person themselves," Trevor said. "But is this the only photo you found of them?" "Yes, this is the only one," Janus said. "It seems to be documented as a requirement for their relocation and name change application. This file is stored at the end of the civil registration file, which is destroyed and updated every 30 years by the system."

It displayed a system-generated alert, triggered by the complete liquidation of my family's remaining estate assets earlier that evening. DORMANT PROTOCOL ACTIVATED: SYSTEM OVERRIDE BY KEYSET 01. Below the alert, a private, unlisted text file opened. The metadata at the top of the file was dated exactly twenty years ago. Author: Elena Volkov.