The Double Shift

Time: 1:34 PM

Jack followed Adam back through the central hallway, the atmosphere oddly steady—like a machine running on invisible gears. Every worker moved with practiced purpose, even the smallest desk activities carried an unusual rhythm. But Jack couldn't ignore the edges of it all. A little too quiet. A little too organized.

As if everyone here knew more than he did—and was just pretending not to.

They stopped at a side office tucked behind a tall frosted divider. A brass plaque near the door read:

Storage - S-Level Access Only

Adam tapped his badge again. The lock clicked open with a quiet beep.

Inside, it wasn't what Jack expected. There were no supplies, no file cabinets—just a single large box resting on a table. It was sealed with black tape and marked with a simple green sticker: a triangle overlapping a crescent moon.

"What's in it?" Jack asked.

Adam didn't answer right away. He walked over, picked up the box effortlessly, and handed it to Jack.

It was heavy. Not just in weight, but in feeling.

"Take it to the Sub-Delivery desk," Adam said. "Down the north stairwell. You'll see a sign."

Jack steadied the box in his arms. "Okay, but… what is it?"

Adam gave a half-shrug, half-smile.

"Just say it's off-site cleanup. Clearance job. Stuff that shouldn't be floating around normal hands."

Jack tilted his head. "So… sensitive?"

Adam's eyes narrowed slightly, but not in warning — more like testing.

"Let's just say… you don't want to shake it."

Time: 1:42 PM

Jack made his way down the narrow stairwell that curled beneath the main floor. The hallway he emerged into was cooler, quieter, almost too still. Fluorescent lights buzzed slightly overhead.

There was only one door at the end, labeled:

Sub-Delivery – CYCLE OPS

A small mail slot blinked with a red sensor.

Jack placed the box onto the receiving tray below the sensor.

The moment he let go, the red light turned green with a chirp, and a metal panel slid open, swallowing the box into a dark conveyor.

It was gone.

Jack blinked.

He turned to leave—then paused.

There was a clipboard left on a nearby desk, still warm as if someone had just used it. The top page was a half-filled form marked "Asset Disposal."

He glanced at the item line. One word.

Hybrid Tissue (Class I – Dormant)

Jack stared at it.

The rest of the form had been scribbled out.

He felt a slight chill in the air.

Something moved at the edge of his vision—just a flicker. A shadow behind one of the grated storage gates. He turned fast.

Nothing there.

Still silence.

He exhaled and backed out slowly, closing the door behind him.

Time: 1:51 PM

Back upstairs, the light felt brighter again. The buzz of the office snapped him out of the unease. He walked through rows of workers, none of them looking up, all of them glued to their screens.

When he reached his desk, a fresh message was blinking on the monitor.

Good work. You're adapting quickly. – A.M.

He smiled faintly, but his mind wasn't fully there anymore.

Hybrid Tissue.

Jack didn't even know what that meant.

But something about the way the word sat on that paper—plain as coffee orders, written like just another memo—told him one thing:

This place had layers.

And he'd only just opened the first.