We split into two teams to cover more ground—Matt, Tanner, and Sam took the editing rooms and storage cabinets. Bailey and I took the server room, the break room, and the hallway closets.
"Any chance this key's for a safe?" Bailey asked as we opened the cabinet under the kitchenette sink. Dust and moldy coffee filters. Nope.
"I don't know. It looks more like it belongs to a lockbox—or an old door." I turned the key over in my hand. Even after an hour, it still felt wrong. Heavy. Like it didn't belong in our world.
We worked our way through the Red Base methodically. Every drawer, door, and lock was tested. Nothing clicked. Nothing turned. It was like we were chasing ghosts.
Then, in the hallway closet near the old server rack, something caught my eye. Wedged behind a cardboard box of expired camera batteries was a small metal plate in the wall. Barely visible—rusted over—but I could just make out the outline of a keyhole.
"Bailey."
She turned, saw me kneeling, and crouched beside me. "Wait, that's… I've never seen that before."
"No one has."
I gently inserted the key.
Click.
Bailey gasped.
A small door creaked open—just a few inches tall. Definitely not a normal storage panel.
Inside was a thick black envelope, sealed with wax. The same red '863' stamped on the front.
"Should we open it?" I asked.
Bailey hesitated. "We should call Matt."
I agreed. We brought the envelope back to the main room, where Matt and the others had already regrouped—frustrated they'd found nothing.
"Guys," I said, holding it up, "We found something."
Sam immediately moved closer, her arms folded tight, brows furrowed.
Matt grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced the wax seal open.
Inside were three things:
A faded photo—an overhead shot of Red Base—but taken decades ago. No labels. No date.
A red flash drive.
A typed note:
"Subject Five is active. Do not engage directly. Timeline divergence begins now."
The room went quiet.
Tanner was the first to speak. "Uh… what?"
I stared at the paper. Subject Five? That couldn't be me. Could it?
Matt looked at me. "You said your name was…?"
"Athan. Athan Allen Wood," I replied, my mouth suddenly dry.
Sam looked like she'd seen a ghost. Her eyes locked on mine. And for a moment—just one—her expression cracked.
She knew something.