Oaths Are for the Obedient

[Fab]

Security Officer:
"Inspector Thorne, huh? Well, welcome to Red Hills. You can call me Jacob."

He turned with a nod toward the yawning, rust-choked facility, motioning for Dagger-2 to follow. A hiss of recycled air slipped from a cracked vent overhead as they stepped inside. The lighting was dim and jaundiced, fixtures wearing more dust than glass, every footstep kicking up a thin veil from the grated flooring.

Security Officer Jacob:
"She’s in a sorry state, ain’t she? Ever since the tax cuts ended, it’s been one thing after another. Worked here five years… most of ‘em watching her fall apart."

The two navigated narrow passages, sidestepping fallen ductwork and the occasional loose panel leaning against a wall. Occasionally, a muffled clang or hiss came from deeper inside, where a skeleton crew kept the refinery breathing. Through open doors, Dagger-2 caught glimpses of maintenance techs hunched over obsolete equipment, their uniforms mismatched, their tools worn smooth by overuse. They barely looked up.

Security Officer Jacob:
"Used to be dozens more here. Then the layoffs hit. No notice -- just a message on the console. By shift change, half the lockers were empty."

A faded directional sign hung askew ahead: "← LOADING BAYS". Only Bay 3 glowed with a steady red indicator. The others were dark, their locks tagged with warning tape.

Security Officer Jacob:
"Last real business we’ve had was Riegel’s freighter. We’re not picky -- bay rentals keep the lights on. Clients bring their own cargo, sometimes use our cranes, forklifts, whatever’s left that works."

They turned down the final corridor toward Bay 3. The change was immediate -- brighter lighting, cleaner walls, no rust flakes underfoot. The smell shifted from metallic decay to the sharper tang of fresh lubricant and sterilized air. Fire extinguishers and safety panels were mounted at regular intervals.

Security Officer Jacob:
"There…"

The officer’s finger drifted toward a scuffed console beside the bay entrance, its surface oddly free of dust compared to everything else in the corridor.

Security Officer Jacob:
"…Press the green button there, and the door’ll cycle open."

He stepped in close, his hand briefly clasping Dagger-2’s -- the same papery, weak grip as before, but lingering a second too long, as if memorizing the feel of his palm.

Security Officer Jacob:
"Got to get back to my post. Have a good inspection, Mr. Thorne."

Without waiting for a reply, Jacob pivoted and walked away at an unhurried pace, boots echoing hollowly against the clean metal floor -- a sound that seemed to fade too quickly for the distance.

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