The heavy, metallic thud of the deadbolt sliding into place was the loudest sound in the world.
My thumb slipped off the lock twice before the tumbler finally rotated. I leaned my forehead against the cold, composite material of the door, letting my eyes slide shut. The hallway, the fluorescent purgatory, the 'Liquidated Gold' neighbor, the F-NET broadcast—they were all locked on the other side.
Sanctuary. Or at least, the simulation of one.
The room was pitch black save for the ambient, low-frequency blue glow of the monitors idling on the desk. The air in here was different. It was cold. A stark, aggressive thermal drop from the ionizing heat of the corridor. The cooling fans of the server racks hummed in the background, a steady, white-noise rhythm that usually centered my pulse.
Right now, it just sounded like a countdown.
I opened my eyes and pushed off the door. My legs immediately threatened to buckle.
The Lead Shroud.
