Veil of Corruption

The staging bay opened its mechanical jaws to receive the incoming vehicle—its wheels screeching slightly as they came to a halt against the alignment strip. The air was heavy with coolant, old oil, and sterilizer—a sharp scent that clung to every surface in Greywell.

Lucas stepped out first, tapping his clipboard against his palm, already barking quiet orders. His team followed with practiced rhythm, lifting crates from the vehicle bed and guiding them into the scan zone.

Carter watched from a side panel, his posture still formal, though his expression had softened slightly now that the outer gate was behind him.

The scan arches blinked green one by one. Everything went smoothly. No errors. No chatter. No eye contact with stationed personnel unless required. Routine, the way Greywell liked it.

Then, halfway through the unloading, a shadow slipped in from the far corridor.

Briggs.

He emerged with his usual awkward gait, hugging his clipboard to his chest like a child clutching a book he hadn't read. His face was slightly red, like he'd jogged part of the way back, though not enough to break a sweat.

No one on the team reacted. Briggs arriving late was normal. Too normal to be questioned.

He slid past the scan zone without a word, giving a vague gesture to Lucas—who didn't bother looking up—and mumbled something about "backtrack logging" under his breath as he drifted toward the administrative hall.

Carter's gaze tracked him from a distance.

He didn't remember seeing Briggs step through the outer gate.

Didn't remember logging him.

The thought barely formed before something in his mind gently pushed it away—like a hand closing over a candle.

Carter blinked. Looked away.

The final crate passed through inspection with a chime of approval.

Everything went smoothly.

As usual.

Just as Briggs turned the corner into the eastern conduit, something in his coat pocket flickered—a brief, unnatural blue glow, sharp like cold flame through fabric.

It pulsed once.

Then vanished.

He didn't look down. Didn't slow. He kept walking, head tilted slightly forward like someone late.

By the time he reached the Administrative Hall, his gait had shifted—smoother, more purposeful. He passed the wall-mounted terminal, placed his palm flat against the scanner, and waited.

The system chirped.

"LOG ENTRY ACCEPTED – CLERK: BRIGGS – DELAY: 43 MINUTES"

He exhaled through his nose. Briefly scanned the hallway behind him.

Empty.

Briggs smiled to himself—small, crooked.

..............

Jaden frowned behind his camera, sensing something was off. Yet, he kept forgetting it, as if he saw one thing but remembered another. 

He was prepared to rewind the camera feed of Departure Bay, but then he stopped.

.............

The supply corps member, having finished their offloading, was informed that the departure bay was under maintenance and directed to wait at the staging area for a while.

Briggs, now with Lucas, remarked, "Sir, you know there were some beauties in the departure bay. They were working on the door of that ominous steam room."

Lucas narrowed his eyes slightly and said, "Why would they be working on a room heater door? Don't tell me we broke some protocol the last time we went in there."

Briggs replied, "No, I don't think so. They would have punished us if we had. Forget that sir. Why don't we go say hi to them?"

Lucas, ignoring his last comment, muttered, "Yeah, that's probably right."

Briggs added, "Sir, what about the beauties? They'll be lonely there. The only company they have is an old grandpa and his lackey."

Lucas then walked toward the other member, leaving Briggs alone.

Lucas was a brave man—not reckless, but brave in the way that kept him standing when others hesitated. He was the one who dared to step into the ominous Buffer Zone, chasing whispers of anomalies his comrade swore weren't shadows. But he was no fool, and certainly not the kind to let his discipline falter. He didn't chase women, didn't fumble orders, and never let charm interfere with duty. That kind of behavior belonged to boys. Lucas was a soldier.

Briggs misunderstood the situation and was now left alone by Lucas. He should have admired his leader for being disciplined, but he didn't. Feeling ignored and unable to abandon his desires, he approached other men from the supply corps and joined them as they headed toward Departure Bay.

Blue lights flickered—brief and pulsing—in the coat pockets of the men as they moved silently down the corridor toward the Departure Bay. The glow was cold, sterile, like the heartbeat of some forgotten machine. But none of them looked. None flinched. They walked as if pulled on invisible strings, their boots clicking in perfect rhythm over steel.

The hall stretched on, humming faintly with buried power. Fluorescent panels buzzed above, flickering in uneven pulses. One by one, the members of the Supply Corps passed beneath the archway... and vanished.

No sound.

No struggle. 

But still, none of them turned around. None seemed to notice that their comrades were gone. It was as if they had no memory of each other at all—like they were names without faces, shadows pretending to be men.

Then only Briggs remained.

He halted in the middle of the corridor. The floor beneath him vibrated ever so slightly—as though something was breathing deep below.

From behind, darkness crept in, slow and oozing, curling in from both ends of the hall like oil in water. His shoulders twitched.

Then, he laughed.

A low, garbled chuckle—choked like it came from somewhere deeper than lungs. Muffled by the fabric of the world folding in around him.

And then that sound, too, was gone.

The corridor fell silent once more.

And empty.

There was warning place on walls.

"ZONE ZERO: ENERGY-DEPREVIATION IN EFFECT. DO NOT CARRY ELECTRONIC DEVICE THIS POINT"

......

Lucas glanced around and noticed the supply corps was smaller than usual. His eyes moved to the guards, and he frowned—they were zoning out. Then he turned to Carter, who seemed to be struggling as well. Carter reached for his communication device but hesitated, pulling his hand back at the last second. Something about all this felt off.