Adventure of Imlielt 1

The records room door opens before the workstation finishes copying its files. Dana follows you inside as a composed middle-aged woman, medium-built with warm brown skin and a small gold lapel pin enters, carrying a phone and a sealed document pouch; her dark bob, charcoal suit, and silver-framed glasses are sharply orderly.

She raises the pouch just enough for its tamper seal to catch the fluorescent light, then stops beside the workstation without reaching toward the keyboard.

Dana plants herself between Mara and the monitor, one gloved hand hovering near the controls without touching them. The copy indicator continues its slow progress.

The sealed pouch remains in Mara's hand, while Dana holds the workstation access and waits. The room settles into a tense procedural pause, leaving the next move to you.

You waddle to the workstation, careful around the approaching officer's position, and take the keyboard. The copy interface accepts your credentials without interrupting its logged process.

You filter the personnel directory by department, retention status, and employee access, keeping privileged investigative notes outside the search. Relevant records populate the screen.

Your mechanics knowledge makes the system's categories legible at a glance. You select the personnel records, preserve their original metadata, and start a logged working copy.

The workstation confirms the selection and displays the destination, record count, and timestamp. The approaching officer watches the audit pane while Mara checks the seal on her pouch.

You step back from the workstation, one paw braced against your bubbling gut. The question lands softly, but the officer reads it as a request about the records process rather than permission to leave.

The workstation seals the copied file set and displays its timestamp. Mara watches the audit pane, then shifts the document pouch beneath her arm without breaking its tamper seal.

The fluorescent lights blink twice, then switch to emergency red. A harsh building announcement interrupts the alarms: “Security incident confirmed. Shelter in place.” The workstation continues its sealed copy.

The approaching officer moves to the records-room door and listens. Somewhere beyond it, multiple locks cycle in rapid succession, followed by a heavy impact from the lobby side.

The workstation display freezes on its timestamp, then adds a warning: network connection lost. Red emergency light glints across Mara’s sealed pouch and the approaching officer’s badge.

The approaching officer raises her radio, but only static answers. Behind the sealed door, footsteps stop. For one breath, the records room holds perfectly still.

You rub your belly with both paws, whimpering softly as the emergency lights pulse. The bubbling does not settle; fear tightens your gut instead, and pressure builds beneath your scales.

Your rubbing turns an uneven churn into a loud, rolling gurgle. Then your abdomen jolts, and an involuntary burst of gas escapes in the sealed records room.

The pressure eases only briefly. Your stomach remains visibly tense beneath your clothing, and the sudden noise draws Mara’s attention from the sealed pouch to you.

Mara understands the request at once. She keeps the sealed pouch tucked beneath her arm and turns toward Dana, while the workstation remains untouched under its frozen warning.

Mara explains it clinically, without turning the admission into a spectacle. Dana’s attention shifts from the radio to Imlielt’s tense abdomen, her posture easing by a fraction.

The room’s pressure settles into something more manageable. Mara remains beside Imlielt without touching them, and Dana raises the radio again, keeping the sealed pouch and workstation in view.