The override message glowed red on the dock supervisor's screen, a digital death sentence for their investigation.
[Thrum…]
Warning: Bonded Auto-Release Override (05:00)
Penalty on Failure: Survival −8%
[Ding!]
Event: Sub-Objective F Activated — Counter-sign & seal impound before auto-release
Status:
- Survival Probability: 64%
- Attention: 30/100
- Inspection Timer: 00:24:00
Sub-Objectives:
F) Counter-sign & seal impound before auto-release (+5%)
"The system requires two live authorizations to counter a board-level override," Rowan stated, his voice clipped as he typed furiously on his secured tablet. "Compliance and the Warehouse Duty Officer. The storm is jamming the network. Power's fluctuating."
Elara's mind raced, scanning procedural loopholes. "We need a wedge. A verbal declaration. Read a Temporary Impound Notice aloud on the official radio channel, body-cams active. It creates a legal freeze on movement pending digital synchronization."
"Do it," Rowan ordered, switching his body-cam on with a sharp click. He tossed her a printed template.
[Ding!]
Event: Procedural Freeze Declared (On Record)
Status:
- Survival Probability: 64% → 66% (Δ +2%)
They moved in a synchronized burst of action. Rowan initiated the Compliance e-signature queue. Elara, pulling on fresh nitrile gloves, drafted a one-page addendum summarizing the evidence—logger splice, weight variance, Yard C hop, stencil kerning. She slammed the print command and snatched the sheet, then grabbed a pre-numbered Tamper-Evident Notice from a wall dispenser.
The lights flickered violently, plunging the office into near-darkness for a heart-stopping second before stuttering back on.
"The primary WDO is unreachable," the dock supervisor reported, voice strained. "Sweeping the outer yards."
Elara's eyes caught a figure in a maintenance uniform slipping away from a breaker panel. "Sabotage," she hissed to Rowan.
He locked the office door with a decisive turn of the deadbolt. "Calling the secondary WDO. Now." He punched an extension into the comms unit. Elara leaned into the mic. "Cite Bonded SOP §4-Alpha. A Compliance officer and an Acting WDO can co-sign during active storm protocol."
While they waited, Elara turned her tablet's camera on the crates outside, the lens fighting the sheeting rain. She zoomed in on the RFID tag bracket on 7-B′, capturing the faint stress-whitening of the plastic from torsion. She then documented the pristine paint halo around the bolt seal on 7-B, establishing a baseline of an un-tampered seal.
[Ding!]
Event: Evidence Capture — Bracket Stress & Seal Baseline
Status:
- Survival Probability: 66% → 68% (Δ +2%)
The clock was a predator. 02:10… 01:45… 01:00.
The secondary WDO, a young woman named Jax, arrived breathless, her safety vest askew. The network queue on Rowan's screen still read: Awaiting Co-signature.
"Reading the notice for the record," Rowan announced, his voice flat and clear over the radio, dictating the time, crate IDs, serial numbers, and legal basis for the impound.
Outside, a security team, seeing the system screen still flashing "Release in 01:00," began inching crate 7-B toward the bonded gate.
"Stop them," Elara said, already moving.
She burst out into the lashing rain, Jax on her heels. Elara slapped the printed Tamper-Evident Notice across the latch of 7-B, its adhesive strong against the wet metal. "Serial number T-E-8814, affixed and recorded!" she shouted into her own body-cam, the wind trying to snatch her words. She kicked heavy rubber wheel chocks firmly in front of the container's tires.
Inside the office, Rowan's tablet chimed. The co-signature cleared.
The system status flipped from red to green. "Release" became "Impound — Compliance Hold."
[Ding!]
Event: Counter-Sign Completed — Impound Sealed
Status:
- Survival Probability: 68% → 69% (Δ +1%)
Sub-Objective F — COMPLETE
Rowan emerged into the rain, a new, official cross-strap seal in his hand. He fastened it to the latch of 7-B′, the plastic click audible even over the storm. He handed Elara the digital stylus. "Witness sign-off."
Her hand trembled slightly from the adrenaline and cold. Rowan's own hand came up, steadying the stylus in her grip. Their knuckles brushed—a brief, cool contact. "Process over pride," he murmured, almost too low to hear.
She signed.
A new, different chime came from the dock monitor inside. A text, from a blocked number, flashed on the screen: Escalation accepted. Customs detention review initiated for alleged obstruction of lawful release. T−00:45:00.
They weren't just fighting a smuggler. They were being counter-attacked.
[Thrum…]
Warning: Customs Detention Review T−00:45:00
Penalty on Failure: Survival −6%
As a peal of thunder rolled across the port, a small, electric maintenance cart slid past the office window. On its tray, amidst tools, were two spare bolt seals and a handheld, portable RFID writer. A phone was clipped to the cart's dashboard. As it passed, the screen lit up with an incoming call from a contact saved as a single, damning letter: S.
Rowan's jaw tightened into a hard line. Elara didn't hesitate. She grabbed the completed impound memo from the printer and turned for the door. The hunt was no longer about crates. It was about the handler.