The digital clock on the sleek grey wall of the inventory office read just past five in the morning. The air inside the room remained crisp and synthetic, circulated by hidden vents that maintained the exact temperature required to protect the digital mainframes. Alistair Triste sat behind his wide glass-topped desk, his grey wool vest unbuttoned, and his shirt sleeves turned back to reveal his wrists.
The blue light from three curved monitors washed over his pale face, highlighting the dark circles beneath his eyes. He did not look up when the elevator down the corridor chimed, nor when the heavy frosted glass door slid open with a soft hiss. His fingers continued their rhythmic tapping on the keyboard, keeping time with the scrolling data.
