Chapter Text
“—NO—!”
Rader’s hands flew to his head, horror dawning on his face as not just one, but two people tumbled into the simulation bubble already containing a participant.
The room stood silent for a moment. They all stepped back in disbelief, surveying the three figures suspended in the tinted blue field. All wrapping their heads around just how catastrophic this could be.
Two contributors and a technician now inhabited that bubble.
Two too many.
Then—
Chaos.
Sprinting footsteps scrambling for documentation, keyboard clatter checking vitals and system strain, Rader’s fingers digging into his hair; nobody had prepared for this.
Rader rounded on his remaining employees the moment he regained his senses, rage and terror contorting his expression. “Data! Get me data—! Who’s in there!?”
Henry and Julia, equally frantic and desperate and clad in now equally ruffled lab coats, practically tripped over each other to grab the tablets containing the contributor’s personal information they’d submitted.
“Mio Hudson and Zoe Foster, sir!” Henry panted out as they tilted the screens towards him, earning a livid look flashing behind Rader’s glasses.
“I can see that! I meant Charlotte! What does the machine have on her?”
Julia stammered. “I don’t— it shouldn’t have anything on her, sir, she’s just an employee; she was never registered to it—“
Rader gave out a frustrated shout, snatching the devices from the two and storming towards the terminal where she was meant to be stationed. His index finger tapped angrily at the screen, searching for data on Charlotte that wouldn’t be there.
Having two people fall into one simulation was bad enough; the Machine wasn’t built for multiple instances in one simulation, but people were never meant to enter a simulation without being registered.
Ever.
God knows what the Machine would do with that.
Upon locating only her employee database information, despite not having logically expected to find anything otherwise, Rader snapped. The tablets in his right hand slammed onto the desk with enough force to feasibly damage them, his anger having peaked in the face of how much of a massive fucking problem this was.
The sticker-covered crutch that had been resting against the terminal, carefully placed, dislodged at the shock’s vibration. Torn video game logos and faded EDM artists blurred as the metal aid was pulled to the floor. The plastic arm brace tilted downwards.
Nobody cared to catch it.
Why would they?
Its owner might not make it out.
Thunk.