Kael stood at the security desk in Building E's lobby while the guard checked his ID against a clipboard. The lobby was busy with people walking through, and the air conditioning kept the space cool with a slight coffee aroma lingering. Kael's badge hung from a lanyard with his name clearly printed: Kael Reyes, Archivist.

  "Sign here," the guard said in a monotone voice as he slid a logbook toward Kael. The guard's glasses were sliding down his nose. Kael signed his name, noticing the ink smudged a bit on the page. The guard returned his ID and pointed toward a glass door. "You'll need to go to the basement and swipe your card to enter. HR is waiting for you down there."

  Kael swiped his badge at the reader, heard the confirming beep, and the door unlocked with a click. He walked down the concrete stairwell where fluorescent lights hummed overhead and his footsteps echoed. Each step reminded him of rushed military boots and plans that had fallen apart. To regain focus, he gripped the cold metal railing and concentrated on the steady sounds coming from below.

  When he reached the basement's security checkpoint, a woman in a blazer stood by a desk reviewing some documents. Her badge identified her as Clara Moreau, Senior Archivist. She looked up as he approached and cleared her throat before speaking.

  "Kael? Perfect timing. I'm Clara, and I'll be your supervisor here," she said and extended her hand. Her handshake was firm, and Kael noticed her knuckles were dry and chapped. "Do you have your badge ready?"

  Kael lifted the lanyard. "Yes, I just used it to get in," he replied quietly, noticing how she cleared her throat again in a consistent pattern.

  "Excellent," Clara said while tucking her folder under her arm. She swiped her badge at a heavy steel door and waited for the beep, and held it open. "Make sure you swipe every single time, no exceptions. Security is a big deal here."

  Beyond the door, the archive extended into a large space with rows of shelves filled with crates and folders. Dust particles floated under the LED lights. From somewhere in the room came the sound of a computer humming and keyboard keys being pressed.

  Clara guided him to a desk cluttered with a computer, scanner, and forms. "HR needs you to fill these out," she explained while handing him a pen and a packet of papers. "It's the usual; emergency contact information, tax forms, and a confidentiality agreement. I know you already signed one upstairs, but this one is specifically for the archive." She coughed again, covering her mouth with her fist, then smiled. "Sorry about all the paperwork. It's the worst part of the job."

  Kael sat down in the creaky chair and began reviewing the forms. His pen hovered over the paper for a moment before he started filling in his personal information. As he wrote, the scratching sound of the pen momentarily transported him back to hearing shouted orders that were suddenly cut off. He pressed the pen harder to steady his hand and signed the confidentiality page, agreeing to keep all records confidential. "I'm finished," he said and passed the completed packet back to her.

  Clara quickly reviewed his forms and nodded with approval. "Everything looks in order. Now let's get you set up with your workstation." She swiped her badge again and led him to an area where a guy was typing at a computer. He wore a hoodie with stretched-out sleeves. "Omar, this is Kael," Clara said, stepping aside. "Could you show him how to use the scanner and set up his database access? I'll go grab the task list."

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Omar turned around in his chair. His badge read: Omar Khalid, Archivist. "Hey, Kael! Welcome to what we call 'the vault,'" he said with a friendly smile, clicking a pen in his hand. "This scanner might look outdated, but it gets the job done." He stood up and gestured toward a large scanning machine with faded buttons. When he turned it on, it started making a low humming noise.

  "Let's try a test scan," Omar suggested and retrieved a document from a folder labeled Batch 30, 2024. He adjusted a dial on the scanner and carefully fed the page through. "Always set the dial to three, not higher and not lower. If you try to rush it, the paper will jam for sure." The page came out cleanly on the other side, and Omar turned to the computer to pull up a database. "Now you need to tag it properly; batch number, year, and source location. Like this."

  He typed "Batch 30, 2024, Geneva" quickly, then saved the entry. "Some messed up a tag once and thought for sure they were going to get fired. they managed to fix it, but seriously, always double-check your entries." He clicked his pen a few times as he spoke.

  Kael leaned closer to see the screen better. "What exactly does the source part mean?" he asked while positioning his hands near the scanner.

  "That's where the document originated; Geneva, New York, or wherever," Omar explained then pointed to the label on the folder. "This particular one is from locally. Why don't you try scanning one yourself?"

  Kael adjusted the dial to the correct setting and carefully fed a document into the scanner. The page went through smoothly and came out on the other side. He sat at the computer and typed "Batch 30, 2024, Geneva," then watched as the screen confirmed the entry was saved. "Did I do that correctly?" he asked, looking at Omar.

  "That was perfect," Omar confirmed with a nod. "You're catching on quickly. If the scanner ever jams, just wiggle the paper gently or unplug it for about ten seconds before trying again. I'm working over there if you run into any problems or crash the system." He grinned, clicked his pen a few more times, and walked away, his hoodie briefly catching on the edge of a shelf.

  Clara returned carrying a box of gloves in one hand and a ledger in the other. "I see Omar didn't scare you away with all his scanner talk," she said. She set down the box and put on a pair of latex gloves. "You'll need gloves whenever you handle anything dated before 2010 as it helps preserve the paper." She handed Kael a pair of gloves and a stack of folders with typed labels, some of which were curling at the edges.

  "Your job is to sort these by year and log the batches in this ledger," she instructed, opening the book and writing "Batch 31, 2023, CM" inside. She twirled her pen between her fingers. "Always record the batch number, year, and your initials. During my first month here, I accidentally logged batch 22 instead of 23. The team started calling me 'Wrong Number' for weeks after that." She laughed, which turned into a soft cough, the skin around her eyes crinkling with amusement.

  Kael put on the latex gloves, which felt tight against his skin, and picked up the top folder labeled "Reports, 2006." He flipped through the pages, noting dates written in rows—2006, 2007, then suddenly 2009. The missing year struck him oddly. He pressed the folder flat on the desk to ground himself and focused on the steady hum of equipment around him. "I'll make sure to keep everything in order," he said quietly, picking up the pen for the ledger.

  "I know you will," Clara said with confidence as she sorted through her own stack with quick, gloved fingers. "Log each batch and then stack them over there when you're done." She pointed to an empty shelf nearby, then checked her watch. "I'll be in the back checking some new arrivals. Just call out if you get stuck with anything." She walked away with a slight limp, her badge was reflecting light as she disappeared between the shelves.

  Kael laid out all the folders methodically, his gloved hands moving carefully and deliberately. He checked each date thoroughly—2006, 2007, 2008—arranging them in chronological order as the stack grew taller. He wrote "Batch 32, 2006, KR" in the ledger, pressing firmly with the pen. Around him, the scanner hummed and the LED lights flickered occasionally, but the folders were now neatly arranged in sequence. His shoulder throbbed faintly, the memory of a convoy briefly surfacing when he noticed gaps in the dating sequence, but he continued his work, opening the next folder with steady hands. The archive was beginning to feel like a place where he belonged.