Chapter 2 - Echoes in the Stone
Miller scrambled backward across the polished marble, his boots slipping on the slick surface as he clawed at his chest. His uniform felt suffocating, the heavy badge pinning him down like an anchor. He looked up at Arthur, who stood untouched, his hands resting easily in the pockets of his tan shirt. The lobby around them was dead silent, the ambient hum of the transit hub completely muffled as if a dome of absolute quiet had descended over the two men.
“What... what did you do to me?” Miller managed to rasp, his throat burning as though he had swallowed glass.
Arthur took a slow step forward, his worn leather boots clicking softly against the floor. “I didn’t do anything, officer. Your own conscience is simply catching up with the cargo you’ve been carrying. You’ve spent five years looking the other way for the transit syndicate, taking payoffs to ignore the missing shipments in Sector Four. Did you really think there would be no receipt?”
Miller swallowed hard, panic making his heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird. “How do you know about that? Who are you?”
“Names don't matter, Miller. What matters is that the system you serve is breaking down, and you are standing at the very epicenter of the fracture,” Arthur said, his tone flat and unyielding.
Miller forced himself up, leaning heavily against a nearby concrete pillar for support. His hand instinctively drifted toward his utility belt, hovering over his service weapon, but his fingers trembled so violently he could barely curl them around the grip. The green glowing pin on Arthur’s lapel cast a long, swaying shadow that seemed to stretch unnaturally across the floor, twisting into shapes that made Miller’s stomach churn.
“I can call for backup,” Miller threatened, though his voice lacked any real conviction. “I can have a dozen squad cars swarming this lobby in sixty seconds.”
“Go ahead,” Arthur replied, gesturing toward the silent emergency intercom on the wall. “Press the button. Call your friends. Tell them you’re being held up by an old man with a metal badge on his chest. Let’s see who answers your call when the dispatch lines start bleeding static.”
Miller hesitated. He glanced toward the intercom, then back at Arthur’s calm, weathered face. A deep, agonizing dread settled into his bones. He reached out a trembling hand toward the call box, pressing his thumb against the stainless steel plate.
May you like
Instead of a dial tone, a loud, distorted screech echoed from the speaker, followed by a voice that sounded unmistakably like Miller’s own, whispering words he had never spoken aloud.
---
