THE SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT PRESS IN FROM ALL SIDES, smothering any hope of rest. In three different corners of the dome, three are haunted by the tangled web of decisions, regrets, and uncertainties clawing at the edges of their thoughts.

Rune sits hunched over his setup, the blue light from the projection casting an eerie glow on his face. He's in deep—already past the back door he embedded in Lieutenant Rue's access point. Danielle thrashes in her bed, sheets tangled around her legs, heart pounding as memories of that night in Mongolia surface. Rafael jerks awake, sweat clinging to his skin as he gasps for breath. It's the same dream—his sister's car flipping, the screech of metal against concrete, the sound of her scream cut short.

Even Lowe, checking his gear for the third time, is still trying to wrap his head around the news from that morning. His mind spins with thoughts of fatherhood and everything that could go wrong—both on the mission and back home. The guilt gnaws at him. How do you pack up and leave after finding out you're going to be a dad?

None of them can sleep. Not tonight. Across their lives, the same restlessness stirs—memories, fears, and plans keeping sleep at bay.

RUNE RUBS HIS EYES, EXHAUSTION SETTING IN, but his mind won't let go of the questions.

Why was he assigned a nonexistent pay grade before he even started training?

E0

He received it the day he swore in, before basic training even began. Everyone starts at E1 when training begins, not the day they swear in. He tries to rationalize it, telling himself maybe it's just an administrative error. A glitch in the system.

Except it never got fixed.

Why has my security clearance never been verified?

Three times he's packed his gear, mentally prepped himself for the field, only to get yanked back at the last minute. The excuse is always the same: "Clearance verification issue." But every time he asks for specifics, it's the same runaround—no one knows what's wrong, and no one seems to care enough to dig deeper.

But Lieutenant Rue did. And that alone made her different. Maybe even dangerous.

He thinks about the way she carries herself with that effortless mix of authority and edge. Not everyone could balance confidence and mystery like that—sharp, no-nonsense, but also leaving just enough beneath the surface that you couldn't help but want to dig deeper.

Most would've fed him the same canned line and walked away.

Not her.

She looked deeper, and in a system that treats soldiers like cogs, that kind of attention meant something.
It wasn't charm that caught her eye. It was substance.

And now, with the backdoor access, Rune can finally dig deeper himself.

In the background, old news clips from the government hack three years ago flicker—a breach plastered across every network.

Back then, everyone worried about what might have been compromised. But reports all confirmed that it was an "isolated breach", "contained", "no data stolen".

The breach occurred at 10:13 AM on July 10, 51 GE, and the main suspect was arrested at 10:55.

The waitress at the restaurant mentioned that it was the same year Rune enlisted, but now he knows it was the exact same day and time he was at the Entry Processing Center.

Is my enlistment connected to something bigger?

His mind churns with memories of that day—how eager he was, how he believed signing up would mean a fresh start, a chance to prove something.

Then, his eyes lock onto the hologram, where the "E0" pay grade sits, staring back at him like a ghost from the past. The more he stares, the more it feels like a key—something hidden in plain sight.

It's something he never knew before—a small but significant detail hidden, until now.

Lieutenant Rue's clearance unlocked it.

Patterns, connections—he's always seen them. But this time, the thread leads back to him. He's not just trying to crack some random mystery; he's trying to understand why his profile is different from everyone else's.

The holographic interface casts its gentle blue glow, waiting patiently for his next move.

log.query- user= 76SDGGCS01- filter=E0

The display pulses briefly, reluctant at first, then accepting Lieutenant Rue's cached credentials. He isn't breaking the system—he's borrowing trust. Rue's clearance had already been authenticated; the echo of that trust remains long enough for Rune's purpose.

The result cascades down the projection—the timestamp, digital authorization signature, and procedural note, looking exactly as expected. The way he was taught.

LOG QUERY RESULT:
TIMESTAMP: 10.JUL.51GE 10:13:42.76
USER: 76SDGGCS01
EVENT: Pay Grade Start
STATUS: E0
AUTHORIZER: SYSTEM
NOTES: None

The screen flickers, the text sharp and unyielding against the soft blue glow. Rune's breath stills.

USER: 76SDGGCS01

His own ID.

He reads it again, eyes narrowing, heartbeat pressing against his ribs. The cold finality of the log entry stares back at him, indifferent to his confusion.

The system thinks he assigned himself E0.

His fingers twitch, his instinct screaming this isn't possible. The military doesn't let recruits modify their own records. No soldier—no human—should have the ability to self-assign their pay grade.

But there it is. Logged. Recorded. Absolute.

His stomach tightens. The timestamp is burned into the record—10:13 AM on the day he swore in.

And apparently, the same day as the breach.

His eyes flick to the news on the holographic display still playing.

"... despite the success of the infiltration, no classified files were accessed, altered, or removed. However, a suspect was detained within the hour—a waiter from Miller's Restaurant and Sports Pub, Joel Guerra, who was online at home at the time of his arrest."

He was just a kid, standing in that stark induction room, applying his biometrics, swearing the oath, thinking it meant something. Meanwhile, in the system, his name was being assigned to something bigger than him.

The authorizer—

SYSTEM.

Not a signature. Not a person.

Just "SYSTEM."

A name without a face. A command without a conscience.

He leans back, exhaling through his nose, but it does nothing to ground him. No notes. No external signatures. Nothing to trace. Nothing to fight.

Nothing except the glaring fact that his identity was used to modify itself.

That shouldn't be possible.

And yet, it happened.

Someone made it happen.

Rune swallows, his throat dry. He doesn't feel like a soldier right now. He feels like a variable in an equation he never wrote.

His fingers hover over the hologram, mind racing.

Was this an accident? A cover-up? Connected to the breach? Because this? This feels like a program running on its own.

And if his enlistment was just an output... What the hell was the input?

He needs more.

More than just a timestamp. More than just the SYSTEM stamp that leaves no trail to follow.

The question isn't just why he was classified as E0. It's how.

The SYSTEM process. What else was happening when his record was created?

The breach.

His breath steadies. Then, just as he's about to start typing, his wrist device vibrates softly. It's from Poston.

PV3 Poston, Lacey: "Are you up?"

Rune's fingers hover above hologram. His gaze on the blinking message, jaw tightening, then taps the device.

"Yeah. Doing some research? What are you doing up?" Taps the device again. "Send message."

PV3 Poston, Lacey: "Nothing scandalous. Unless binge watching Hollow Run is a crime."

Ghostline waits in silence. But her presence hums beneath it—like static just under the skin.

PV3 Poston, Lacey: "So... research? Or code for insomnia and overthinking?

Rune hesitates. Unable to find his voice for a moment, then says, "Just me and my thoughts tonight."

He sends it. But the real message is what he doesn't say.

The room hums, low and mechanical, like a secret trying not to speak.

Rune's fingers rest lightly on the edge of the projection field, eyes still on the log's hollow finality. That SYSTEM signature—sterile, untouchable—lingers in his mind like a scar he's only now noticing. He doesn't move. Not yet. Not until the tremble behind his sternum quiets down.

Another soft vibration.

"You always get this intense when the world goes quiet?"

Rune exhales, lets his hand drop to his lap. He doesn't want to look at her yet. She's not even here—not fully. Just her voice, her presence behind the words. But it pulls at something.

He speaks, slow.

"Not always. Just when it feels like it's about to start talking."

He doesn't send it right away. His thumb hovers over the wrist device, heart caught in that strange rhythm—half in the shadows of what he's just found, half in the warmth of her sudden nearness. She's always had that timing—like a song he didn't realize he missed until it started playing again.

Another vibration comes before he hits send.

"I was gonna head to the rec wing. Could use a walk and a drink that doesn't come in powdered form. Wanna come?"

He stares at the offer longer than necessary.

His room smells like overused circuits and tired code. Her presence—real, tangible—would split his focus, pull him from the terminal, from the spiraling what ifs and how coulds... and yet, there's a softness in her message. Not pressure. Just space. Something that doesn't demand answers.

He could use that.

But he's also too close to something.

He leans forward, taps back.

"If I do, I'll just be thinking about this the whole time. Doesn't seem fair to the walk. Or the company."

A pause. He deletes the last line. Says something else.

"Might take a raincheck. It's past curfew anyway."

He sends it.

And almost immediately, the reply pings back.

"You always do this."

His jaw flexes. He stares at those words, reading them again. Not angry. Not bitter. But there's a quiet ache buried in the white space after the sentence. The kind you don't address directly unless you want to lose the thread completely.

He taps.

"Do what?"

Her reply is slower this time.

"Split your heart between staying behind and the people trying to reach you."

A flicker crosses Rune's expression. Barely visible, but it's there—the crack in the mask. He runs a hand through his hair, dragging it back, then sits back and just breathes. The room feels smaller now. Or maybe it's just the weight of what she said.

The projection screen flickers again, soft-blue light painting his cheekbones like guilt in motion.

He doesn't answer her right away.

Instead, he turns toward the terminal, then slowly—almost reluctantly—he lifts his wrist again.

"I'm not trying to shut you guys out..."

Then, after a beat.

"But this... feels like it's about me in a way I don't understand. And if I don't figure it out now, I don't know who else will."

Another moment. No message.

So he sets the device down.

And finally looks toward the projection again. The room quiet, but not empty. Her words sit with him now, like the echo of a footstep just outside the door.

She hasn't left.

Not really.

But the Ghostline is here, now, in his face.

He opens a new query.

log.query - user= 76SDGGCS01 - event= personnel_modification - timeframe= 10.JUL.51GE 10:13:42.76 -1hr to +1hr

Pull everything. Every log entry, every system action, every modification related to his profile within the hour before and after he swore in. If someone altered his enlistment record, it should show up here. With this query.

Behind him, the faint vibration of a message again. But he doesn't look.

Not yet.

Truth is calling louder this time.

And Rune? He's the kind of man who answers.

Even if it costs him the things that whisper softer.

The screen pulses, data spilling across the display. Rune's eyes flick over the entries, scanning for anomalies, inconsistencies—something that doesn't fit.

Most of it looks standard. Biometric authentication. Enlistment confirmation. Background check request.

Then, his pulse quickens.

A file.

FILE ACCESSED: Delayed Entry Program
REQUEST SOURCE: SYSTEM
ACTION: PROFILE MODIFICATION - ENTRY DATE
STATUS: ARCHIVED - HIGHER ACCESS REQUIRED

Rune leans in, eyes narrowing.

Delayed Entry Program.

HIGHER ACCESS REQUIRED.

Lieutenant Rue should be able to access archived documents as an admin soldier.

access.file - name= Delayed Entry Program - user= 76SDGGAD05

The system hesitates, the flickering blue glow reflecting in his eyes. For a moment, Rune wonders if this is the limit of what he can pull.

Then—

The file unlocks.

A subfolder labeled: "DELAYED ENTRY PROGRAM - 51 GE."

His breath hitches. A chill creeps up his spine as he opens the file, its contents spilling into the holographic display.

FILE: DELAYED ENTRY PROGRAM - 51 GE
    •    DATE CREATED: 10 JULY 51 GE
    •    SUBJECT ID: 76SDGGCS01
    •    OPERATIONAL STATUS: Active
    •    NOTES:
    1.    Recruitment Pathway Anomaly: Standard enlistment procedures temporarily postponed due to administrative system review.
    2.    Designation assigned for pre-training retention. Purpose: Data Integrity Assessment.
    3.    Candidate's clearance accepted as "PROVISIONAL" pending further review.
    4.    Integration into active forces delayed. Subsequent reassignment adjusted based on operational needs.

Rune stares at the words, absorbing each one with rising unease.

They never explained why. Just told him there was a delay and that they'd contact him when he was scheduled for basic training.

He had always assumed the delay was just bureaucratic nonsense—shuffling papers, slow processing, nothing worth questioning.

But this—this says otherwise.

His jaw tightens.

It wasn't slow processing. The delay had nothing to do with scheduling at all? What if it had everything to do with the cyber attack?

If the breach affected live data at the time, his file might've been... altered. Corrupted. Rewritten. That would explain everything—

The weird pay grade.

The unverifiable clearance.

The missed deployments.

His wrist device vibrates.

He doesn't answer right away. Doesn't even look at the message. But he feels it. Like the moment before a wave crashes—too late to brace for it, too early to breathe.

It's not the first time he's chosen the ghosts over the living.

PV3 Poston, Lacey: "Hey. Sorry if I bothered you. I'm leaving tomorrow and wasn't sure if I was going to see you before I do."

Rune stares at the message like it just said something more than words ever could.

Like it knew exactly where to punch.

She'd never guilt him into a moment—wasn't her style. But this wasn't about guilt. It was about presence. About the quiet courage of someone saying: I showed up. Even if you didn't.

He blinks, lets the message sink deeper. It's not a goodbye, not really—but it carries the ache of one waiting at a door that may never open.

And maybe that's what breaks something in him. Not the data spill. Not the SYSTEM stamp. But this—the realization that in chasing ghosts, he might've just turned his back on someone real.

He says something. Then deletes it.

Starts again. Slower this time.

"You didn't bother me. I just... get tunnel vision. Doesn't mean I don't see you."

Sends it.

And instantly regrets how weak it sounds. Like trying to patch a fracture with a whisper.

He says something else before she can answer.

"Where will you be in the morning?"

The reply comes faster than expected.

"Deployment lot. We're staging at 0700. Charlie Unit's first out."

"I'll be there."

No poetry. No coded language. Just that. A promise carved from all the apologies he doesn't know how to say out loud.

And maybe that's enough.

For now.

His gaze flicks to the news broadcast still looping in the background. The reel on different segment now—Guerra, being escorted from a courtroom. Reporters shouting over each other.

"I didn't do this."

Guerra's voice is clear. Steady. Too steady.

"I've said it from day one. I had nothing to do with it. But someone wants me to take the fall."

Rune watches, unsettled. Guerra isn't panicked. Isn't pleading. He's settled. Like a man who already knows what happens next.

A reporter presses. "Then who did?"

A pause.

Guerra barely moves. But there's something in the silence. Then, "That's the real question, isn't it?"

Rune's pulse quickens as he scans the query results again, each line of data feeding into a realization that tightens like a noose around his throat.

It's all him.

The timestamp. The access logs.

Everything points back to his ID.

Every clearance request, every manual override, every anomalous transaction in the system—it all traces back to 76SDGGCS01. His personal identifier. His digital fingerprint.

Not Guerra. Not some high-level hacker operating from the shadows. Not an external threat.

Rune Locke.

Because to the system, to anyone who doesn't know better—he's the breach.

His gut tightens. His fingers move faster, scanning for more. And then—

"ACCESS ATTEMPT LOGGED."

Rune curses, freezing. "Shit."

He scrambles to wipe any trace of him.

It won't be perfect.

Someone will notice.

The room is silent, except for the hum of his equipment. His pulse still hasn't settled when—

His wrist comm vibrates.

MESSAGE: LIEUTENANT RUE
"Private Locke. I have some updates on your file. Meet me in my office at 0700 tomorrow. No exceptions."

The words feel heavier than they should. She knows something, and whatever it is, it's important enough to demand his immediate attention. But how much does she know?

The quiet hum of the dome feels oppressive now, pressing against Rune's thoughts as he stares out the small window in his quarters. The artificial skyline glows faintly, simulating a tranquil night. But Rune feels anything but tranquil.

He clenches his fists, his jaw tight. This wasn't just about him and his security clearance. This was something bigger—something that happened three years ago.

He doesn't know who to trust anymore. Not even Rue, as much as he wants to believe in her sincerity. He looks at the holographic setup, the reflection of his tattooed arms ghosting over the screen. The patterns seem to shift and twist in the dim light—curved lines like brackets, a mirrored slash.

It looks almost... familiar. He blinks. The pattern's gone.

Just code. Just ink. Still, something coils in his gut, echoing the chaos of the network closing in around him.

It looks like I'm the hacker...