He reached across the desk and tapped one of the monitors. The glass shimmered to life, projecting a floating interface above the desk. Lines of data scrolled vertically, glowing in blue. Holographic screens expanded with information at every angle.

  Ridley went into the database and retrieved Roger’s file.

  Name: Roger Hale

  Age: 24

  Division: Gamma

  Status: Awaiting Evaluation

  Charges: Public Intoxication, Vandalism, Evading arrest

  Sentence: Pending

  A faint holographic image of Roger rotated above the desk.

  Ertz tilted his head. “Gamma? For something that petty?”

  Ridley shrugged. “I don’t make the rules. SCAR’s system flags anything involving public disruption as moderate risk. The algorithm doesn’t care if it’s graffiti or treason.”

  Ertz hummed. “Ah, yes. The great equalizer… our lovely predictive justice model.”

  “Exactly.” Ridley zoomed into a graph beside Roger’s profile. “Behavioral scan puts him at a 34% likelihood of non-compliance. That’s high enough to push him into holding until manual review.”

  Ertz squinted. “Non-compliance based on what? Facial stress markers? Micro-expressions?”

  “Mostly,” Ridley said. “That, and the system matched his gait patterns to a few older protest incidents. Probably a coincidence, but…” He shrugged. “The system never admits when it’s wrong.”

  “So you’re telling me this kid might be sitting in Gamma for being anxious?”

  “Welcome to Ionia.”

  The two sat in silence for a moment, watching the rotating hologram. Roger’s recorded intake blinked on. It was a muted clip of him glancing around the holding cell, visibly worried. The system overlaid biometric data: Heart Rate 112 bpm, cortisol spikes, shallow breathing.

  Ertz tapped the projection with his pen. “Poor bastard looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.”

  “He probably hasn’t. Gamma light cycles run on 24-hour rotations. Keeps the body off balance. Easier to manage that way.”

  “Like managing cattle..”

  “Cattle don’t spray paint state property.”

  Ertz exhaled. “Still. He’s harmless, isn’t he?”

  “Most likely,” Ridley said. “But harmless doesn’t mean safe. Fear breeds chaos. We keep fear contained.”

  Ertz leaned back, arms crossed. “You sound like Archon.”

  Ridley’s eyes flicked up to him, his grin disappearing. He looked away and brought up another window, an overhead map of the arrest zone, lines connecting data points: drone locations, arrest timestamps, environmental readings.

  “Archon taught me well,” Ridley said finally. “You control chaos, you control the city.”

  “And where does that leave this guy?”

  Ridley paused. He stared at the hologram. “That depends. If he breaks under questioning, he’ll confess to something, even if it’s not true. Then the system justifies itself. If he doesn’t… then we’ll go from there?”

  “And you’re fine with that?”

  Ridley didn’t answer right away. He picked up the bag of cookies again, shaking a few into his hand. “I don’t get paid to be fine with things,” he said, crunching down. “I get paid to make sure the system keeps breathing.”

  “You ever wonder if the system’s choking on its own breath?”

  Ridley’s chewing slowed. “Every day,” he said quietly. “But if I stop feeding it, it dies. And if it dies, we all go with it.” Ridley leaned forward. “So here’s the odd thing,” he began, tapping the table. The virtual case file for Roger’s information expanded.

  Ertz squinted. “Looks standard enough.”

  “Yeah,” Ridley replied. “At first glance, sure. But when I pressed him about his background… something didn’t add up. He said he went to Ionian Private Academy, but there’s no such school in the central database. Not past or present.”

  “Maybe he misspoke?”

  “That’s what I thought.” Ridley swiped his hand, enlarging the education record. “On here, it says Ionian ViewPoint High School. Then, when I asked about his parents, he hesitated for a good ten seconds before answering.”

  Ertz whistled. “Ten seconds is an eternity in interrogation.”

  “Exactly. He finally said his parents were Jene and Hank Hale… something like that. He answered the question correctly, but it took him time.”

  Ertz let out a skeptical hum. “Your parents’ names should be at the tip of your tongue.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Ridley leaned back in his chair. “That’s what’s bothering me. The kid doesn’t fit the usual pattern. Scared, sure. Nervous, yes. But there’s something else. Like he’s trying to be someone else, and not doing a great job at it.”

  “You think he’s using a false ID?”

  “Maybe. But SCAR’s verification systems are airtight. If he was using a fake, it should’ve flagged the moment he was processed. It didn’t.”

  Ertz’s eyes narrowed at the projection. “Could be a system error.”

  “Could be,” Ridley said, his tone unconvincing. “Or… someone’s covering for him.”

  “You think he’s connected?”

  Ridley didn’t answer right away. He stood, pacing around the desk as the data streams hovered midair. “Directly, probably not. But someone made sure that his file looked normal enough to pass a glance, but not enough to hold up under observation. It’s like… a shadow ID. Just enough to exist, but nothing deep to anchor it.”

  “That’s high-level work. Not something a drunk kid with a spray can pull off.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Ridley turned back to the projection, folding his hands behind his back. “The vandalism, the running… it’s all surface noise. The real question is who he really is… and what he’s doing in Ionia with a fake past.”

  Silence fell for a moment, filled only by the hum of the holograms.

  Ertz finally spoke. “You gonna dig deeper? I mean, this fake past still is speculation.”

  “I have to,” Ridley said. “Speculation or not, it’s better to make sure than to roll over.”

  He dismissed the projection with a flick of his wrist. The lights dimmed slightly as the case file folded into digital dust.

  Ertz’s office lights dimmed as the holograms folded away.

  Ridley lingered a moment before snapping his fingers. "Contact Ionian ViewPoint Academy. If I’m not mistaken, that school has a secret physical copy of records.”

  Ertz nodded. “Computer, connect me to Ionian ViewPoint Academy… records division.”

  The air shimmered as the holographic window reappeared. A woman in her late forties materialized on-screen, wearing the stiff, professional smile that came with government-funded institutions.”

  “ViewPoint Academy, Records Department,” she said. “This is Lira speaking.”

  “Ridley… from SCAR,” he introduced smoothly, flashing his SCAR identification across the screen. “I’m running a background check on a student… Roger Hale. Age 24. Supposedly graduated from your institution 5 or 6 years ago.”

  Lira’s smile remained as she had her eyes down, reading something off-screen. “One moment, sir. I’ll pull that up.”

  The silence lingered as she typed. Behind Ridley, Ertz spun slightly in his chair, watching.

  “Ah,” Lira said finally. “Yes, we do have a Roger Hale listed in our digital archives. Graduated six years ago. Honors in civic studies.”

  “Digital,” Ridley repeated. “Do you keep physical backups of your graduate records?”

  “We do, yes.”

  “I’d like you to check those as well.”

  Her polite smile faltered slightly. “That may take a moment. Those aren’t easily accessible.”

  “I’ll wait,” Ridley said.

  Another pause. The hologram flickered as the sound of drawers and paper echoed faintly through the connection. Ridley exchanged a glance with Ertz, who mouthed, You think she’ll find him?

  Ridley gave no reply. Not even a body movement.

  After a full minute, Lira reappeared, a nervous look on her face. “Sir… I checked the hard records. There’s no Roger Hale listed anywhere in the physical ledgers for that year.”

  Ridley’s expression didn’t change. “You’re certain?” Ridley asked quietly.

  “Completely. His name exists only in our digital database. Which is… unusual, considering we don’t digitize records without verifying the physical copy first. It’s supposed to be impossible.”

  “Ok…” Ridley said.

  Lira hesitated. “Should I report this to the Board?”

  “No,” Ridley said quickly. “Don’t file anything. Don’t mention this conversation to anyone. Understood?”

  The woman looked uneasy. “Understood.”

  The call ended.

  Ertz sat back, rubbing his chin. “So the kid’s digital footprint is real, but his physical record doesn’t exist.”

  Ridley turned, pacing again. “Which means someone with clearance slipped him into the system. You can’t fake an educational record without authorization codes from within the Ionian Registry. Someone wanted Roger Hale to exist.”

  Ertz frowned. “You think SCAR’s database is compromised?”

  Ridley’s voice was low. “I… hope not.” Ridley’s gaze stayed on the dark screen. “No one’s supposed to exist without a paper trail in Ionia.”

  Ertz leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “Hold up,” he muttered. “Pull the visitor log record up. I swear I saw something before.”

  Ridley turned. “Which one?”

  “The visitor log.” Ertz’s fingers typed across the console, expanding a column of data. “Every inmate's visitation in the last 7 days.”

  Rows of names flickered by, mostly clerks, security officers, a few interrogators, but one line glowed faintly at the top:

  Visitor: Avery XXXXX

  Inmate: Roger Hale

  Duration: 00:08:43

  Authorization: Manual override (SCAR clearance)

  Ertz’s eyes flicked across the log again, then froze. “Huh. That’s… interesting.”

  Ridley glanced over. “What?”

  Ertz expanded the entry. “Avery. He checked in to see Roger Hale a few days ago.”

  Ridley’s brow furrowed. “Alone?”

  “Yeah. No escorts, no secondary officers.” Ertz leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “You knew about this?”

  Ridley shook his head slowly. “No. He never mentioned it. This was before we interrogated him together.”

  “That’s odd,” Ertz said.

  Ridley rubbed his temple, silent for a long moment. “Very. Avery has his own clearance. The Chancellor’s son. He doesn’t need my permission or anyone's. But still…”

  “Still, it’s not like him to use it on a low-level detainee. We’re talking about a vandalism case, not terrorism.”

  Ridley’s eyes stayed fixed on the floating display. “Exactly.” Ridley tapped his fingers against his leg. “He must’ve known Roger before the arrest.”

  “Or,” Ertz said carefully, “he’s trying to make sure Roger keeps quiet about something.”

  Ridley looked up at him. “Avery wouldn’t—” He stopped, catching his own hesitation. “No… he wouldn’t be stupid enough to get personally involved.”

  Ertz shrugged. “You know him better than I do. But that visit, whatever it was, doesn’t seem to follow protocol. You might want to ask your protégé what he’s doing getting cozy with an inmate before the ink’s dry on the report.”

  Ridley's eyes narrowed on the holographic timestamp of Avery’s visit. “Yeah. I think I will."