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In the dimly lit surveillance room, monitors displayed a live feed from various cameras across the building. One screen, in particular, caught the attention of the security team. The camera angles shifted continuously, zeroing in on a specific room.
The door, slightly ajar, came into view, followed by the silhouette of a courier who approached the frame and knocked the door, his movements meticulously captured by the lens.
At that moment, the courier nodded as if in acknowledgment, speaking with someone inside the room, and then the person inside gestured for him to come in.
Just as the camera was about to capture the silhouette of the person inside, the courier stepped inside with a click as the room's door closed firmly. The entire scene fell into a tense silence, illuminated only by dim lighting reflecting off the tightly closed door.
Even though the scene looked ordinary to many, the assistant manager of the security company felt uneasy. He looked closely at the screen, squinting as he examined the video.
The delivery person's actions seemed strange, too exact, too planned. He had seen many deliveries, but this one stood out. He grabbed the phone, his worry lines getting deeper.
His hand trembled slightly as he grabbed the phone, each ring echoing his growing apprehension.
"Did a courier deliver documents here about ten minutes ago?" His voice was taut with suspicion.
"Yes, sir," the guard replied with a casual chuckle, unaware of the gravity.
"Were his credentials verified?" The question came out sharper than intended.
"No issues, sir," came the prompt response, but it did little to ease the manager's unease. He lit a cigarette, silently puffing away.
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Mo Wen held his breath at the desk, his fingertips trembling slightly. For the first time, he finds himself acting with the cunning of a spy and the stealth of a thief, caught in a whirlwind of mixed emotions. His eyes darted across the clutter of books and documents, each item scrutinized with the intensity of a predator.
The musty scent of old papers mingled with his anxiety, amplifying his tension as he meticulously flipped through academic journals and weathered newspapers, desperate to find what he sought without leaving a trace.
Each book, each sheet of paper had been meticulously inspected by him, maintaining a delicate order, carefully placing each back in its original position, afraid of revealing even the slightest flaw.
Reaching out, he opened the first drawer on his right. In an instant, the sight before him made him pause slightly. It was an old diary wrapped in weathered leather, its edges worn as if time had left its mark on it. Mo Wen felt a surge of joy, never expecting the mission item to appear so easily before him.
Slightly raising his eyebrows in surprise, he realized that perhaps the scientist had casually left the diary in an easily accessible place for recording important discoveries at any time, which made sense.
Mo Wen took a deep breath, his heartbeat slightly quickened, his gaze sharp and focused. He leaned over to carefully examine the diary, running his fingers over the cover, feeling the weight of its history.
After confirming there were no anomalies around, he picked up a paper knife from the desk and gently turned his wrist, cautiously prying open the cover along its edge.
As the cover slowly opened, his eyes gradually filled with densely packed words, each character neat and graceful, as if carrying a unique rhythm. Interspersed within the diary were several exquisite illustrations, delicately depicting strange creatures and scenes vividly. Mo Wen nodded slightly, increasingly convinced of the diary's unquestionable value.
At the top of the first page, a line of text caught his attention, its ink slightly yellowed:
He who fights too long against dragons becomes a dragon himself; and if you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.
---by Friedrich Nietzsche"
Mo Wen murmured softly, his mind inevitably lost in contemplation.
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Hoxton's eyes narrowed as he watched the courier on screen, the figure standing unnervingly close to the door, his body language tense. Unlike the other couriers who kept their distance, this one seemed almost to press against the wood, murmuring too softly.
A chill ran down Hoxton's spine. His intuition screamed that something wasn't right.
"Verify Mr. James's entry and exit records," he ordered, standing abruptly, his gaze never leaving the screen.
"Alright," a nearby security guard swiftly began retrieving records, fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard.
Seconds ticked by, the air in the surveillance room almost solidifying, illuminated only by the nervous expressions reflected on the screen. Approximately ten minutes later, the security guard's slightly tense voice broke the silence,"Sir, Dr. James left the company at 10 a.m. this morning."
Hoxton's heart skipped a beat, his gaze immediately sharpened. He quickly pulled out his walkie-talkie from his waist.
"Not good, someone has infiltrated the building!" His words were urgent and anxious, his hand swiftly reaching for the alarm bell, but hesitated just an inch away. He realized that triggering the alarm might alert the intruders, giving them a chance to escape.
Hoxton's voice was a sharp whip through the tense silence.'Bring your guns, and don't let the rats escape!'
The guards sprang into action, their faces set in grim determination. The room buzzed with a sudden flurry of movement, the metallic clink of weapons and the creak of holsters adding to the palpable sense of impending confrontation.
Hoxton watched them go, a mix of anxiety and resolve tightening in his chest. If they succeeded, this would be his moment. If they failed, the consequences could be dire.
Hoxton felt a sense of satisfaction inwardly; if this operation succeeded, the word"assistant" in his managerial title might soon be removed. The thought brought a faint smile to his lips involuntarily, but he quickly composed himself, focusing intently on the next steps.