Zero Code: Decrypting The Shadows

A MASTERFUL ILLUSION OF DEPTH AND DISTANCE stretches endlessly beyond the deployment lot. The air holds a bite—not quite cold, but sharp enough to wake the senses, to remind every soldier stepping onto the pavement that this is not an ordinary morning.

They have been up for hours. Long before the dome projects the sun's rise. The barracks stirred—boots hitting the floor, lockers swinging open, voices kept low out of habit, out of focus. Gear is nervously checked and rechecked. Some gather in tight circles, finalizing details that have already been finalized a hundred times over. Others stand apart, staring off into the far-off digital horizon, as if searching for something real beyond the illusion.

Rune arrives at the admin office.

Late.

Not by much. Not enough to be a problem. But enough for her to notice.

When he steps inside, the air shifts.

Lieutenant Rue doesn't acknowledge it outright, doesn't glance at the clock, doesn't exhale sharply like she's irritated—but it's there. A barely-there stiffness in her posture, the slightest pause before she motions to the chair across from her desk. A subtle, unspoken expectation that he should have been here already.

Rune doesn't apologize. Doesn't explain. Just steps forward, steady, and takes the seat.

Lieutenant Rue leans back, crossing one leg over the other, hands folded in her lap. She studies him for a beat, as if deciding how much effort he's worth this morning. Then she exhales, sharp and measured, and pulls up his file on the holographic display between them.

"I found your answer," she says, skipping the pleasantries. Her voice is clipped, efficient—this isn't a conversation. It's a transaction. "You have a secret clearance. But every time the system tries to verify it, the request fails."

Rune leans forward slightly, processing, cautious.

"Your clearance exists. It's there. But the system doesn't recognize the E0 pay grade, so it can't complete verification."

That... actually makes sense.

"It's an error," she continues, flicking through the projection with sharp, practiced movements. "Every time someone looks at your clearance, they see it. It just won't authenticate. So as far as Novos Security is concerned, you don't have the proper clearance for deployment."

Rune absorbs this. It makes too much sense.

Three years. Three denied deployments. The same excuse—"clearance verification issue." He thought it was incompetence, a paperwork black hole—but no, it was something worse.

The system sees him. It just doesn't know what to do with him.

Lieutenant Rue keeps talking, barely pausing for breath. "As to how your pay grade was recorded as E0 in the first place? I still don't have an answer. I reported my findings up to higher command, recommending some kind of waiver for your situation. It's not your fault, and frankly, it's an administrative nightmare."

Rune watches her carefully. She didn't connect it to the breach. But, she did what she said she would. She dug deep. She put in the work.

"And?" he prompts.

"And," Rue says, snapping the projection closed, "the rest is out of my hands."

There it is. The wall.

She's done her part. Whatever happens next—if anything—isn't her problem anymore.

She stands. Rune recognizes the shift immediately. The meeting is over.

But he's not done. Not yet.

Rune hesitates, glancing at her desk, at the holographic interface now dark and dormant. He knows he can't push her outright. He can't say, Hey, by the way, I hacked your system last night and found some really disturbing shit. Thoughts?

So instead, he adjusts. Shifts his approach.

"That's all good to know," he says, voice even, measured. "But I still don't understand the delay when I first enlisted. I had a waiver for my Haze Syndrome. That should've been enough to clear me."

Lieutenant Rue freezes for half a second. Barely noticeable. Then she turns back toward him, irritation flickering across her features.

"Are you serious?" she asks, her patience wearing thin. "I just told you what's wrong with your file. I gave you answers. Now you want to hold me up with even more questions?"

Rune doesn't flinch. "I just want to understand the whole picture."

"Yeah?" She scoffs. "Well, here's the reality, Private—I'm not the mission coordinator. I filled in when he couldn't, and now I'm done doing his job for him. I don't have time for this. I'm deploying."

Rune blinks. He didn't see that coming.

She grabs her belongings off the desk, moving with sharp efficiency, already transitioning to the next priority. Rune, on the other hand, sits frozen, processing.

She's leaving.

Another deployment. Another person heading out. And once again—he's staying behind.

The weight of it presses in, heavier than before. The realization that he's alone in this now, truly alone.

"Come on," she says, already heading for the door. "If you still burning questions, you're walking with me."

Rune hesitates for only a second before pushing himself up and following her out.

OUTSIDE, THE SOLDIERS HAVE THEIR GEAR IN ORGANIZED ROWS, prepping for transport. The energy is sharp, kinetic. People with purpose, with direction.

Rune feels like a ghost among them.

Lieutenant Rue keeps her stride brisk. She doesn't slow down for him—he has to keep up.

"You said you had a waiver," she continues, not even looking at him as she walks. "That means your medical classification was reviewed and approved. But if your clearance was already compromised from the beginning, that waiver wouldn't have changed anything."

Rune processes that, frustration simmering.

"Then why the delay?" he presses. "Why did it take six months before I even started training?"

Lieutenant Rue keeps walking, barely acknowledging the question—until she does.

She stops mid-stride. Dead stop.

Rune nearly collides into her, but she doesn't move, doesn't breathe—just stands there, frozen in place.

Then, slowly, she turns to him.

Something changes in Rue's eyes before she even speaks. A flicker of recognition—too fast to catch, too sharp to mean nothing.

"What date?" she asks, her voice clipped, urgent.

Rune blinks at the sudden change in her demeanor. "What?"

"The exact date," Lieutenant Rue presses. "When you first signed your enlistment contract."

Rune hesitates. Realizing she might be connecting the dots. But there's no way around this question. Saying he forgot will only piss her off. Besides, the truth is the only way he can get information from her. "July 10, 51 GE."

The second he says it, something detonates behind her eyes. A realization—sharp, cold, immediate.

Then, just as fast, she buries it.

Her pupils contract, locking onto him with new precision. She exhales through her nose.

"Shit," she mutters.

Rune's stomach tightens. "What?"

She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes drift, staring through him now, thoughts racing somewhere he can't follow.

When she speaks, it's not for him—it's for herself.

"Of course that's what it was. That would make perfect sense."

Rune steps closer. "Lieutenant—"

"The government hack," she says suddenly, snapping back to the present. Her sharp eyes lock onto his. "That's why. That's your six-month delay."

Rune's pulse kicks up, not from the revelation—but from the way she looks at him. Like she's seeing something she hadn't before.

Maybe she thinks he's the hacker.

The shift is so quick, so subtle, he almost misses it. But it's there.

That flicker of realization, sharp and cold at first—then something else. Something fleeting. A hesitation in her breath. A fractional pause in her stance.

It's nothing.

It should be nothing.

Rune absentmindedly steps closer, drawn in without meaning to. Like the truth is about to show itself. His mind still turning over what she just said, trying to connect the pieces—but part of him registers the moment for what it is.

The nearness.

The sharp contrast of her composed exterior against the sudden unraveling in her eyes. The quiet tension between them.

He pushes it down. Hard. Buries it beneath everything else.

"Explain," he says, his voice steady, controlled.

Lieutenant Rue doesn't move at first. Doesn't break eye contact. But then, just as quickly as the shift happened, she shuts it down. The moment is gone—erased like a miscalculated variable.

"The breach happened that same day, July 10, 51 GE." she says, back to business. Her voice is flat, measured—but her expression? It's like she's looking at a puzzle piece she never expected to find.

Rune's blood runs cold. Now, he has to pretend he didn't connect these dots last night. Pretend he's surprised instead of disappointed.

"You're telling me..." he swallows hard, "that my enlistment date is the same day as the worst cyber breach in years?"

Rue nods. "That's exactly what I'm telling you. That's why you were delayed. The six-month gap? That was the time they spent conducting damage control."

The Data Integrity Assessment?

Rune frowns. "But I wasn't even in training yet. What could I have compromised?"

"That's just it," Rue says. "Nothing was found compromised. That's why they let you, and everyone who was delayed, move forward."

She exhales sharply, shaking her head like the whole situation is an old, useless headache. "Look—when something massive like that happens, every new recruit, every security clearance, every possible point of infiltration is put under review. Standard procedure. Your enlistment was delayed purely because of bad timing."

She doesn't say it, but Rune hears the implication loud and clear.

Bad timing.

Or something else.

His chest feels tight. "So you're saying I wasn't responsible. That they didn't find anything."

She nods. "Exactly. They wouldn't have let you continue if they had. You were just—" she waves a hand, searching for the right word.

"A statistical anomaly?," Rune finishes, voice flat.

Lieutenant Rue smirks slightly. "Yeah. That."

Rune exhales sharply. This explains the clearance issue, the delays—just bad timing.

And yet, it still doesn't explain why the E0 pay grade.

Rue shifts, adjusting her bag. "I need to move. You need to figure out what's next."

That should be the end of it. But as she turns, she hesitates—just for a second.

Her sharp gaze flickers, still seeing something about him she hadn't noticed before.

Rune doesn't move. But he feels it.

She doesn't say goodbye. Just turns, sharp—like she's cutting the moment off before it can become something else. Then she's gone.

He stands there for a beat, the weight of it pressing in.

This isn't over.

Rune exhales, shoving his hands into his pockets to seem casual as he steps away, returning to the setup in his barracks room.