We require the Tirani correspondence from the archives. Do not open it. Do not read it. Bring it to us.”

The instruction came from the fax machine line by line, accompanied by toneless buzzing. M. watched the paper, searching for a way to escape this assignment, but there was none. The instruction was in writing, addressed to him, and signed with the luminescent sigil of management. He shivered. This was his station of duty; he had nowhere else to go. It had taken him two years to get this job, and he had debts. If he stopped paying, bad things would happen fast.

Published in: Speculative City, Issue 8, June  2020

Experimental Fiction, Short Fiction, Weird Fiction

Publication Date: 16. June 2020

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