Walten Files Mortality の小説・ストーリー

I even type in his own father’s birthday, but sickness hits me at the back of the throat when I type in my birthday…the lock singing out to grant me access. The sick fuck. Using my birthday as his code. My eyes widen with wonder as if I have found the depth’s of the earth…files upon files of secrets that could take down Calian and this pack. My mind is wonders at the endless possibilities. “No, I just need my father’s report for now.” I remind myself, flicking through files in a desperate hunt to find my father’s death report. It has to be here…even pack members at the time will have needed to give a full written statement of the incident, especially when it resulted in the death of the beta

Formal notification to all pack records systems within thirty days. Thomas Harper-Wren's record would be correct now. The correct cause of death. The correct classification. The correct history of a man who had been trying to build something and had been stopped, available in the permanent record for anyone who looked. Riley walked out ahead of me. I gave her the lead and followed into the corridor. She stopped at the window at the far end, looking at the January light. I waited. "The record is correct," she said finally. "Yes." "He has his name in the right places. The reclassification. The framework. The criminal referral that's going to follow." She paused. "The file that was supposed to

“She wiped it.” “But she couldn’t wipe everything,” I said. I went to the physical filing cabinets. Fourth floor. Section D. Year 2022. I opened the drawer. Empty. My heart sank. Then I noticed something. A folder misfiled in the wrong section. Not under R. Under M. “Morrison.” But the date matched. My hands trembled as I pulled it out. Inside were partial records. Vitals. Nurse notes. Medication logs. But no final cause of death.

The kind of tiredness that sleep wouldn’t fix. “Miss Chavez,” Celeste said carefully. “Whitney says you have answers.” “I have questions,” I corrected. “And documents that might explain why those questions matter.” I pulled out the casualty statistics from Eugene’s research. The numbers for the Wall. The monthly death rates that the Houses never published. Celeste read in silence. Her hands started shaking. “My sister died six months ago. On defense duty. They said it was honorable. That she died protecting Lenore.” Her voice cracked. “But this says they knew. That the death rate is planned. That they need bodies for the Wall and Stage Ones are easiest to replace.”