Story code: ST-001313
Part 3: The Ninety-Second Mark
Arthur observed the sweat on Devin’s temples. The sun was hot, but not hot enough to cause that level of perspiration. Brenda stepped closer to the fence to look at the tablet screen.
“It says ‘Unregistered or Unclaimed Mode will initiate in two minutes,'” Brenda read aloud, her voice carrying a trace of rising curiosity. “And there’s a serial number… ends in four-nine-two.”
Clara held the tablet steady. “This model utilizes an encrypted flight controller. Once the storage is formatted, the proprietary software is wiped from the boot sector. The manufacturer charges a three-thousand-dollar service fee to re-flash the motherboard, and they require proof of purchase to do it.”
Devin’s eyes remained fixed on the screen. “You’re trying to destroy a piece of equipment that doesn’t belong to you. If someone lost this, you’re committing a crime by forcing a wipe.”
“I’m not forcing anything,” Clara replied. “The diagnostic tool is standard recovery protocol. If the owner is here, they can stop it with a tap. If they aren’t, the system assumes the unit is lost or stolen and protects the owner’s data by erasing it. If it’s a clone, as you said, then it doesn’t have this security protocol anyway. But the timer is at ninety seconds, and the status bar is moving.”
Arthur saw Devin’s right hand twitch toward his pocket again. His phone buzzed again, a longer, continuous vibration this time.
“Devin,” Marcus said, his voice flat. “Your phone is vibrating.”
“It’s a client call,” Devin said. His voice had lost its smooth, neighborly warmth. He did not pull the phone out.
“The tablet is displaying the name of the local controller it’s pinging,” Clara said, turning the screen slightly toward Arthur and Marcus.
Arthur looked at the blue text flashing beneath the countdown: Pinging target: DV_Flyer_Pro.
“DV,” Marcus muttered. “Devin, isn’t your home network named DV-Wireless?”
Devin’s face flushed red, the color spreading from his neck up to his cheeks. “That’s a coincidence. Anyone could name their device that. There are dozens of hobbyists in this subdivision.”
“There are exactly three houses within Bluetooth range of this yard,” Clara said. “And the signal strength is at ninety-eight percent. The device is within ten feet of this table.”
The timer hit one minute. The red progress bar on the tablet screen began to flash, accompanied by a soft, rhythmic pulsing sound from the drone’s internal buzzer.
Arthur watched Devin take a full step toward the fence. His fingers gripped the top of the cedar pickets, the wood grooving under the pressure of his knuckles.
“This is private property,” Devin said, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. “You have no right to hold that hardware.”
“I am not holding it,” Clara said. She placed the tablet flat on the picnic table, next to the scuffed drone. She took two steps back, folding her arms. “You can pick it up. But if you touch the screen without the authorization code, the wipe will execute immediately to prevent theft. You have forty-five seconds.”
Devin stared at the tablet. Arthur saw the antagonist’s chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. The public denial was crumbling, leaving only the immediate threat to his expensive equipment.