The service door hangs half open, just like the earlier chamber below the annex. Inside, the cramped room breathes damp earth and ozone, and the rhythmic thumping is no mystery now. A pulse-generator churns beside stacked tape reels and a nest of wires tied into Harbor Unit equipment.
Dallas Fontaine steps in with the badge man’s key in hand. Murderbone plants himself at the threshold, ears forward, as a man at the recording rig turns slowly in his chair.
Harbor Unit Technician
You were always going to find me here. That badge was the whole trick.
The former Harbor Unit technician is gaunt and bitter, his uniform long gone, but the fake badge clipped to his coat still gleams in the lamp light. On the console, a Harbor Unit access log feeds the rig, matching callsigns to cleanup crews and patrol routes.
Harbor Unit Technician
The coven doesn't need ghosts. It needs uniforms, keys, and men who look away when the wrong cargo moves.
Dallas Fontaine
The badge on the tracker was cover, not identity. He is using law enforcement access to hide the broadcasts.
A second thump kicks through the floorboards, not from a creature, but from a mechanical ram inside the generator housing. The whole setup is a relay, feeding occult code through ordinary city lines while Harbor Unit paperwork keeps it invisible.
Harbor Unit Technician
Ask yourself why the badge was on him, Detective. Then ask who put it there.
“I confront the technician about the badge”
SUCCESS (Legendary Interrogation, rolled -1)
Dallas Fontaine
Who gave you the badge.
Harbor Unit Technician
Not gave, planted. In my locker, with a route card and instructions to wear it when the broadcast started.
He jerks a thumb at the access log, where a cleanup signature repeats beside three patrol codes. The pulse-generator hammers once, and the tape reels shiver in their brackets.
Harbor Unit Technician
That badge moved cargo, Detective. It got me through doors, past checks, into places no one asked about until the lights began to flicker.
Dallas Fontaine
The badge is logistics, not rank. Someone inside the system is feeding it names and routes.
Harbor Unit Technician
You want the face behind it, follow the stamps. Same hand on the forms, same hand on the keys. Pier Nine was the switchboard, not the crime scene.
Murderbone gives a low growl at the doorway. The technician swallows, then slides a folded page across the console, fingers trembling over a maintenance sketch marked with cleanup initials.
Harbor Unit Technician
I am not the one you are really after. I just kept the line open long enough for them to listen.
✓ Quest Accepted
Find who planted the Harbor Unit badge
“Has the technician seen the person who left the instructions?”
NO (Unlikely, rolled 60)
Dallas Fontaine
You never saw the face behind the orders.
Harbor Unit Technician
Never. Just the drop box, the typed notes, and the cold feeling that someone was watching from the shadows of the pier.
The technician shakes his head, his eyes darting toward the dark corridor as if expecting the unseen architect to emerge from the gloom.
“I ask about the drop box”
FAILURE (Legendary Interrogation, rolled -4)
Dallas Fontaine
The drop box. Where is it?
Harbor Unit Technician
Not in the open. Never in the open. It was a dead letter slot under the Pier Nine loading stairs, behind a painted maintenance plate.
Harbor Unit Technician
He swallows hard, then glances at the folded page in his own hand like it might bite him.
He turns the page toward Dallas. Cleanup initials, Pier Nine routing, and a chain of dates line the crease, all tied to the same box.
Harbor Unit Technician
I never met the sender. Just the box, the note, and the proof that somebody with access kept feeding it.
The tape reels keep trembling beside the pulse-generator, and the technician goes quiet after that, waiting to see if Dallas believes him.
“I ask about the drop box”
SUCCESS (Legendary Interrogation, rolled +1)
Dallas Fontaine
The drop box. Where is it?
Harbor Unit Technician
Under the Pier Nine loading stairs, behind a painted maintenance plate. A dead letter slot.
The technician points with two shaking fingers, then flips the page over in his lap. Cleanup initials, routing marks, and dates stack along the fold like a confession he hates having to make.
Harbor Unit Technician
I never saw who left it. Just the slot, and the note, and proof somebody with access kept feeding it.
Dallas Fontaine
Pier Nine. A concealed handoff, not a broadcast ghost.
Harbor Unit Technician
They used my badge to make the route look clean. That is all I know.
Murderbone stays rigid by the door, ears forward. The pulse-generator coughs a thin flicker across the page, and the technician waits, face tight with fear and relief mixed together.
✓ Quest Accepted
Identify who fed the drop box notes
− Scene Quest Removed
Find who planted the Harbor Unit badge
“I Grab the maintenance page, then shoot the pulse generator and head for Pier Nine.”
SUCCESS (Legendary Agility, rolled +2)