The Archive Door

The vault hums around you, cold and blue-lit, as your gloved fingers brush dust from a datacore wedged behind a corroded shelf. Its timestamp reads sixty-three years before your birth. A red sigil pulses on its casing — COUNCIL EYES ONLY — a directive you've never seen in three years of archive work.

Your breath fogs the air. Somewhere above, the colony sleeps under its painted sky. The datacore waits in your palm, heavier than it should be.