Iyisha stepped into the screening zone fully geared, the weight of the vest familiar on her shoulders, Malcolm close behind her, positioned the way guards were expected to stand, alert without hovering, present without drawing focus.
The place immediately felt different from the route gate they entered. This was not a simple checkpoint. This was a system.
The zone unfolded like a maze built out of wired fences and reinforced panels, narrow corridors forcing people forward in controlled turns, every path designed to slow movement and limit sightlines.
Overhead lights burned white and constant, washing color out of skin and making everyone look tired before they even reached the front. Armed guards stood at fixed intervals, rifles held low but ready, boots planted wide, eyes tracking every motion.
Cameras blinked red from metal poles. Tablets chimed softly. Orders were murmured and repeated, clipped and procedural.
