Story code: ST-001413
Part 2: Proprietary Assets
The tap on the glass echoed in Maya’s mind, though it made no sound over the sudden, eerie quiet of her halted conveyor line. The surrounding belts still roared in the distance, and reversing forklifts still beeped down the main arteries of the fulfillment center, but Zone 44-G was dead.
“What did you do to my scanner?” Maya asked, her voice cracking as it fought past the tight, metallic dryness in her throat. “I had five seconds. I wasn’t off task.” She kept her left elbow rigidly glued to her ribs. The thick pad of paper towels felt heavier now, saturated and sickeningly warm, pressing heavily against her raw skin.
The man in the crisp white visitor vest didn’t blink. He simply swiped a manicured finger across the silver screen of his tablet.
Instantly, the heavy metal security grilles at both ends of Aisle 44 slammed down from the ceiling. The resounding crash vibrated through the soles of Maya’s steel-toed boots, violently cutting her station off from the main warehouse floor. Maya flinched, the sudden jerking movement sending a fresh, blinding wave of twisting agony through her left side. She bit down on her inner lip hard enough to taste copper, desperately suppressing a scream.
“Your time-off-task metric is no longer relevant,” the man said. His voice was unnervingly calm, utterly lacking the frantic, exhausted edge of everyone else who worked in the facility. “I am Auditor Vance. You triggered a Code 88 at precisely 14:02 hours when you utilized the employee washroom.”
Maya’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, dangerously close to the deep ache of the wound. “I had a stomach cramp,” she lied, the words tumbling out in a desperate, breathy rush. “I ate something bad at the cafeteria. I’m fine now. Just let me pack these totes. Please. I can’t afford a penalty on my check.”
“The plumbing in this facility is equipped with standard chemical and bio-hazard filtration sensors,” Vance continued, stepping smoothly around a towering stack of flattened cardboard boxes. He didn’t look at her face. He kept his unnerving gaze locked directly on her waist. “At 14:02, the sensors in Stall Three registered a massive influx of Proprietary Lubricant Grade 7. A substance that is highly restricted, incredibly expensive, and legally belongs solely to Apex Logistics.”
Maya’s mind raced, struggling to process the corporate jargon through the thick, blinding haze of her pain. Proprietary Lubricant? She had never worked in the maintenance division. She was just a Tier 1 packer. She had no idea what Grade 7 even was. She only knew that an hour ago, a sharp, terrifying cramp had doubled her over, and when she rushed to the bathroom, her skin had split open to release that horrifying, viscous black fluid.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maya said, taking another unsteady step backward until her spine hit the unyielding steel frame of her packing desk. “I’m sick. I need you to call the company nurse.”
“You do not need a nurse, Employee 4092,” Vance said, his tablet chiming a soft, melodic note of confirmation. “You need a reclamation technician. And you are currently attempting to conceal company property.”
“Conceal?” The accusation was so absurd she almost let out a hysterical laugh, but her chest was too tight to draw the breath. She pressed her forearm harder against her side, but her strength was failing. She could feel the sickening warmth of the black fluid breaching the edges of her makeshift paper towel bandage. It was creeping down the fabric of her undershirt, growing cold and tacky as it hit the conditioned warehouse air.
“Remove your arm from your side,” Vance ordered. It wasn’t a request; it was a verbal command delivered with absolute, chilling authority.
“No! I’m bleeding!” Maya shouted, panic finally breaking through her shock. “I need an ambulance!”
“Apex Logistics does not call ambulances for hardware malfunctions,” Vance replied. He tapped another command on his screen.
The standard fluorescent overhead lights in their isolated section snapped off, instantly replaced by a harsh, glaring ultraviolet security grid. Maya gasped as the world turned a sickly, glowing purple. Under the intense UV light, the dark, damp patch spreading across the lower left quadrant of her navy uniform shirt didn’t look like blood at all. It glowed with a brilliant, undeniable neon-green luminescence.
The glowing fluid wasn’t just soaking her shirt. Fluorescent green streaks coated her fingers where she was clutching her side, highlighting the desperate grip of her own hand. As she stared in horror, a single, glowing drop formed at the hem of her shirt, hung in the air for an agonizing second, and then splattered onto the polished concrete floor. It hit the ground with a faint, acidic hiss.
Maya stared at the glowing splatter, a wave of profound, mind-altering terror washing over her. Blood didn’t glow under security lights. Blood didn’t hiss when it hit concrete. What was happening to her body?
“As I suspected,” Vance said, finally raising his eyes from her waist to meet her terrified gaze. There was absolutely no pity in his face, only the cold, detached calculation of an inventory audit. “A ruptured primary coolant seal. Unauthorized modifications to warehouse assets carry severe legal penalties.”
“I’m human,” Maya whispered, the words trembling uselessly on her lips. She thought of her cramped apartment, her mounting utility bills, the aching muscles in her legs at the end of a long shift. “I’m a person.”
“You are an independent contractor,” Vance corrected, stepping smoothly into her personal space. The scent of his expensive, sterile cologne clashed violently with the sharp, metallic ozone odor now radiating freely from her wound. “And your employment contract explicitly states that any proprietary upgrades installed to meet quota become the permanent, non-transferable property of the corporation.”
He reached out, his hand hovering just inches from her soaked, glowing shirt. “We are going to open that casing right now and retrieve our fluid, Maya. Whether your biological systems survive the extraction is entirely dependent on your own internal reserves.”
He used his free hand to pull a small, silver instrument from his tailored suit pocket. It wasn’t a medical scalpel or a first aid tool. It was a high-powered, industrial rotary cutter. Vance pressed his thumb to the base, and the circular titanium blade hummed to life with a terrifying, high-pitched whine.
Maya looked frantically at the locked security grilles trapping her in the aisle. There was no way out, and the spinning blade in his hand was moving steadily toward her ribs.