What would you actually do if it were you? If there was a microphone just sitting on the table in that empty room, no one watching, would you just walk away? Or would you start talking? People think they're so private, but they're just waiting for an opening to say something they think no one sees them. I'm thinking of doing something. It's not as dangerous as the papers make it sound. You should come in.
You're talking like it's a movie. If I walk into that room, I lose my clearance at the firm, and Miller isn't going to pay for my drive home. What happens if the microphone isn't even live? You think it's not dangerous, but have you considered who actually has the keys to the building? I'm not some martyr for your "opening." If I start talking, what actually changes? Or are we just shouting into a void?
Miller is a cheapskate and you're letting him get to you. As for the keys, I've already figured that out. You think this is being a martyr? It's not about shouting into a void; it's about who hears the echo first. If the mic isn't live, we try again. What's the worst? You're so worried about a clearance that's probably rotting you anyway. I'm going in. Are you or not?
The worst is always the same: getting caught doing something stupid. You talk about keys like they're the prize, but what about the security logs? If I go in with you and this goes sideways, I'm the one with the name on the list. It's not about Miller, it's about the fallout-out. Do you even have a place to go if the exits lock down? Or are you just planning to stand there until the echo fades?
The logs are just data, and data can be scrubbed if you know where to look. I have a place. It's small, but it doesn't have a security badge. You're overthinking the fallout before the event has even happened. If the exits lock, we go through the service tunnels. It's not like we're waiting for a lightning bolt. I'm not standing there doing anything. If you're too scared of a log entry, stay here. I'm moving.
Service tunnels? Those things are dead ends with motion sensors. You think you've seen the blueprint, but you've seen a map that wasn't updated. If I follow you, I'm not doing it for the cause, I'm doing it because I don't want you getting crushed in a basement. But what if the "scrubbing" triggers a alarm? You're so reckless. Just— wait a second. Show me the mic actually works before I risk my life on this.
I'm not reckless, I'm prepared. The sensors in those tunnels are old infrared; they don't pick up a ghost. You want a demo? Fine. I already have the feed on my phone. Listen. That's the security guard in the lobby complaining about his pension. It's clear as day. I don't have time to wait for you to find your nerves. If you're coming, move or don't. I'm already at the hallway.
Infrared doesn't care about ghosts, it cares about body heat. If you're already in the hallway, you're already on camera somewhere. Put the phone away—if the signal pings the Wi-Fi for an unauthorized device in that zone, we're done before we even reach the door. I'm coming, but if I see a single patrol light, I'm turning back. Is there even a door there, or are you just going to kick down a wall?
There is a door, and it's heavy oak. Stop freaking out about the Wi-Fi; I'm using a localized bridge that won't ping a thing. You're always so quick to find an exit strategy. If you see a light, turn back for all I know, but I'm not waiting in the hallway. The door is right here. Just keep your head down and your mouth shut. We're inside in ten seconds.
Heavy oak? That's not a door, that's a barrier. If it's locked from the inside, your localized bridge isn't going to get us through wood. You talk about this like we're already inside, but we're still in the hallway. What if the handle doesn't turn? I'm not standing here in the dark while you fumble with a lock that might be electronic. Just tell me—is there a keypad on this side, or are you just hallucinating the plan?
There's no keypad. It's a mechanical tumbler, old school, just like I told you. You're obsessed with digital traps that don't even exist. I'm not hallucinating; I can see the tension marks I bought from that guy in the city. If it doesn't turn, I'll pop it, but it will turn. Stop hovering over my shoulder. You're making me jump. I'm putting the key in now. Stand back a step.
Tension marks from some guy in the city? You're trusting strangers with hardware now? If that tumbler snaps inside the lock, the sound will echo through the whole floor. I'm not standing back; I'm staying close so I can grab you if the alarm triggers. If it pops, we're stuck in the hallway. Do you even have a plan for if the mechanism jams, or is that where we "hope for the best"? Turn the key. But be quiet.
It won't snap. It's a solid lock, not some cheap toy. You're looking for a disaster in every shadow. If it jams, I have a shim, but we won't need to go that far. See that? The click? The bolt is moving. Stop breathing so loudly, you're more distracting than the paranoia. We're in. Now get the light off and move to the desk before the guard finishes his round.
The click was too loud. If that guard is as bored as you say, he's already heard it. I'm not moving to the desk yet—it's right in the line of sight from the door. What's actually on the desk anyway? If it's just a microphone and some scrap of papers, we've risked everything for a gimmick. Check the corners first. Is there a safe, or are we literally just here to sit in the dark?
It's not a gimmick. The desk has the ledger, the one Miller's been hiding for months. If you want to find a safe, you're in the wrong building. I'm checking the corners—nothing but dust and shadows. Stop spinning in circles. There's a recorder under the blot. Wait, you see that? The red light flashing? It's recording right now. We take the files and we leave. Move, before the guard comes back for his cigarette.
A red light? If it's recording, we aren't just stealing, we're being archived. Miller probably set that up specifically to catch someone exactly like you. If we take those files, we're leaving a signature on the crime scene and a target on my head. Is the ledger even physical, or is it on a drive? If I grab the recorder, does it leave a digital trail back to my apartment? Wait. Don't touch the blot yet.
It's physical. Paper and ink. No digital trail back to your apartment, so get off. You're so paranoid about ghosts. I'm not touching the blot, I'm taking the ledger. If the recorder is live, let it record an empty room while we're gone. I'm grabbing the book now. It's heavy, so be careful. Did you hear that? The hallway? Someone's moving. Move.
That wasn't the guard. That was heavy boots. If someone's in the hallway, we can't go back out the door. Put the ledger down—if we're caught with it, it's over. Is there a window in here? Tell me there's a way out that isn't the door we just unlocked. Move, now. I see the light coming under the door frame.
Don't put it down. We came too far. There's no window, it's just a brick wall on this side. If they're at the door, we go through the vents. It's tight, but we'll fit. Stop staring at the light and move. The ledger is under my arm. If the handle turns, we're dead. Get the vent cover now, Edie!
The vents are for air, not for people carrying heavy ledgers. If I get stuck in that duct, you're leaving me there. Do you even have a screwdriver, or are you going to rip the grate off with your fingernails? The handle is turning. I can see the metal shifting. If that door opens and we're halfway in a ceiling, we're going to look like idiots. Get the cover off! Move!
I have the tool, shut up. I'm prying it now. If you get stuck, I'll pull you through, but don't be so dramatic. The door is opening—I see the gap. Get in the duct now! It's narrow, I know, but it's better than facing the guards. Move, Edie! The light is getting brighter!
I'm in, but it's filthy and I can't see my hands. If this duct ledges on a bolt, we're trapped. You're pushing the ledger too hard—watch the corners or it will catch on the metal. I hear them footsteps on the floor now. If they see the vent grate, we're done. Where does this even lead? Tell me this leads to the roof. Just keep moving!
It's not the roof, it leads to the maintenance closet on the third floor. Stop thrashing, you're scraping the metal. I've got the ledger tucked under my jacket, it's fine. I can smell the grease from here. If we hit a junction, we turn left. The footsteps are slowing down, they're in the room. Just keep crawling. Don't look back. We're almost to the turn.
The third floor? That's further from the exit. If we hit a junction and it's locked, we're boxed in. I can hear them moving the furniture now—they're looking for the ledger. If they find the grate empty, they'll know exactly where we are in the walls. Is the junction yet? My shoulder is caught on a seam. If I have to squeeze through, I'm losing the jacket. Turn left, now!