The wind whispered through the trees, brushing against the scaffolding like a warning. I waited until it passed, then crept forward inch by inch, my breath slow and measured. The facility gates stood cracked, not open, not closed, just enough to slip through sideways. Every movement I made was deliberate. The gravel beneath my boots, the brush of my coat against wire mesh, the breath I held just long enough to keep the mic clear of my tension.
No sudden sounds. No flashes of light. No errors.
Because they were watching.
They couldn't see the video feed, I was smarter than to show my face or give away location, but the government, the Ministry, literally any person with an internet connection and itchy fingers was undoubtedly listening to the audio feed. My voice was enough. My presence? A trigger. I just didn't know what kind of weapon it would set off.
The lens beneath my coat recorded everything. The audio, clearer than most security comms, broadcasted out like a heartbeat.
