This is Part 4 of the Serial called Disconnection.
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“Autorun’s your mother,” came the audio clip. The soundstream’s transmission was perfect, but there was still a tinny, crackling quality to the bit, one that he couldn’t analyze and it left him wondering just what sort of device had been used in the recording. The voice wasn’t one Runig recognized, which also set him on edge; it meant that somehow, the com had managed to slip a thread in with a triad’s report string. Whoever that was, in that particular group would have to be punished.
His blue gaze darted left and right as though he were in REM, augmented eyes sucking up a datastream, tearing it down to the pertinent lines while his own mental net fished through memory, trying to match ID tags from academy records to com logs. A positive came up on a young woman, part of a new triad. The best of her class.
Disappointment gave way to disgust as he realized that the particular triad was in a silent zone; there hadn’t been the need to discipline an operative for such a thing in so long that it felt like forever.
Usually, such discipline would be carried out in private. Usually. This time, however, since now and then, an example had to be set, he thought he’d make it public, from the lowest nets all the way through Nex and even til the main host. This wouldn’t be just a ‘talk’ — best in the academy had to stand for something, right?
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