Desk Nine sits in a stale wash of fluorescent light, all chipped laminate and cigarette-yellow paperwork. The room smells like toner, wet wool, and old coffee. Dallas Fontaine stands amid the scattered desk stamps while Murderbone holds the doorway, ears pricked.
The back room door is locked from inside, but the cracked gap beside it leaks a thin band of shadow. Somewhere deeper in the office, a drawer shuts too softly to be an accident.
Dallas Fontaine
The stamps are scattered too neatly to be a mistake.
Clara
Dallas? You find it. Please tell me you find it before someone else does.
Clara steps into view from the corridor, breath tight, hands empty but tense at her sides. Her eyes go straight to the cracked door, then to the stamps, as if she already knows one of them matters more.
Clara
If Hart's people got the log, they will clean this room next. We need the file out now.
Murderbone growls low at the back room gap as a second, heavier footstep presses near the door. The hallway light flickers once, and the cracked opening widens by a fraction.
“I point to the door showing Clara to cover the heavier footsteps as I use my sf training to run the OODA loop and decide to push through the open door direction opposite the hinges to evaluate if a second target is further in the room.”
SUCCESS (Legendary Agility, rolled +0)
Dallas cuts toward the cracked doorway with Murderbone and Clara both tracking the sound. He shifts to the hinge side, drives the door wider, and the lock pops under the pressure.
The back room gives way to a cramped nest of shelves, file boxes, and a desk lamp burning over a spread of Desk Nine papers. The heavier footsteps stop cold.
Dallas Fontaine
Clara, cover the door.
Clara snaps her attention to the corridor and plants herself at the threshold, shoulders tight, guarding the opening behind them.
Dallas sweeps the room in one clean motion, gun low, eyes high. The far side is not empty.
A second clerk is crouched by an open drawer, hands on a packet of stamped folders. He freezes when Dallas finds him.
Clerk
Hart said keep it moving. Too late.
Murderbone holds the doorway behind Dallas, blocking any rush from the hall while the bent keycard and routing stamps lie in plain view on the desk.
“I take the folders. Tell Clara to keep these two covered and head upstairs to confront hart”
SUCCESS (Legendary Strength, rolled +1)
Dallas strips the packet from the clerk’s grip in one sharp pull, then shoves the folders against his chest. The man recoils, empty-handed and shaking.
Dallas Fontaine
Clara, keep these two covered. I’m going upstairs for Hart.
Clara
On it. Go.
Clara squares to the corridor, blocking the door with her body while Murderbone stays planted at Dallas’s flank, watching the hall without blinking.
Clerk
You won’t find him in time. They’re already moving the rest.
Dallas slides the Desk Nine papers and routing stamps under his coat, the bent keycard catching the lamp light as he turns toward the hall.
The clerk cowers by the drawer, Clara holds the threshold, and the corridor waits beyond the ajar door. Upstairs, Hart’s office is still reachable, if Dallas moves now.
“I go upstairs for Hart”
SUCCESS (Legendary Agility, rolled +0)