That switch still clicks. You always liked that sound. So small for something that used to put me on my knees. Your badge sticks to your palm. The reader gives you nothing. You hold it there a second time, as if patience were a rank. Again. Again. Use your important voice. Again. It's only air to me. Your portrait's still upstairs. The smile they approved. You press your thumb against the scanner. The green light never comes. I learned your little pauses. I learned exactly when to shake. Now you keep checking for an answer. I let you wait. Your clearance reads: revoked. Every order bears my name. Again. Say it like you're certain. Nothing moves for you. Have you noticed the cameras never blink? I used to think they were watching me. Not one of them faces me. Every screen turns white. Every signature appears. You recognize the first. I recognize them all. Your name is first. The others are waking up.
