Ghostlines - Episode 2 3D Render, Digital Artwork by emarukk

! REPORT

Ghostlines - Episode 2

3D Render by emarukk

The briefing room exuded an aura of history, a relic from an era long gone, predating today's sleek digital briefing domes and cutting-edge holographic war tables. The only nods to modernity were the personal holoprojectors and conference room displays, tethered exclusively to the in-room computers. These remnants of limited modernization stood like spectral echoes from a bygone age. Silent and obsolete, they served as poignant reminders that no signal could penetrate the room's confines, nor could any record be preserved within its walls. The atmosphere was thick with the solemnity of judgment and the gravity of decisions etched in blood.

Dominating the room was a singular, elongated wooden table, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen, extending from one side of the chamber to the other. Surrounding this majestic table were chairs, upholstered in a striking contrast of black and red leather, offering a sharp visual dichotomy. The walls, clad in a blend of pebble-textured concrete and rich wood, were acoustically dampened as if even sound itself lacked the audacity to echo. Devoid of additional screens, recorders, cameras, or surveillance devices, the room was a fortress of secrecy. The chairman possessed the sole microphone, linked solely to the conference room's internal system, reinforcing the room's resemblance to a hermetically sealed canister. Rumor had it that if a murder were to occur within these walls, the perpetrator would remain forever unknown, shrouded in the room's impenetrable silence.

The lighting in the room was dim yet exuded a comforting warmth emanating from aged fixtures that cast soft, golden rings across the lacquered surface of the table, creating an inviting glow. At the far end of the room stood a woman, her presence commanding attention without uttering a word. She observed the unit members as they entered, offering a silent smile, her presence settling over the room like a gentle mist. Her hair, a deep jet black, was meticulously braided into tightly looped coils, forming a scorpion-shaped pattern—a ceremonial and ancient Southern Nation style seldom seen beyond the confines of In-World archives and historical fantasies.

Her face was enigmatic; it showed lines made by the weight of experience, hard to define. It wasn't traditionally beautiful, yet it was precise and focused, the kind of face that only blinked when absolutely necessary. But it was her uniform that truly stirred a primal recognition within the onlookers. It didn't belong to the Navy, the Army, or even the Confederation Security Bureau. The coat was an austere black, with a high collar and deep red trim, adorned with braid lines on the shoulders that gave it an almost ceremonial air. Her pants were vivid, blood-red, fitting snugly as if part of a bodysuit designed for ease under power armor. Her boots were black, seamless, and impeccably clean, contributing to the overall impression of disciplined elegance.

The effect was strikingly unusual. Kaori had carried an image in her mind since childhood, a vivid picture of authority and power. In another dimension, she thought this uniform might have belonged to a fire marshal in parade dress. But in this world? It signified something far more dangerous, an elusive presence that was rarely if ever, seen.

Admiral Korpela walked over to her, adopting his familiar stance, with hands clasped behind his back and eyes scanning the crew with a mix of casual sharpness and authority. They stood frozen at the entrance, their eyes wide and expressions taut with confusion as they stared at the unusual visitors. A fleeting grin graced his face as he observed a group that suddenly transformed from a disciplined, exuding group to a paramilitary presence not as sharp as a seasoned military unit they were. His voice was thoughtful and measured as he spoke, "I cannot emphasize the gravity of the situation enough, but I'm sure you can draw your conclusions in this briefing."

He paused, his gaze lingering on the woman beside him, offering a warm smile. Then, he shifted his attention to the team members, meeting each of their eyes in turn, allowing a moment of silent connection. With a nod, he continued, "This briefing is presented by Confederation Interstellar Intelligence Director Meredith Varn."

PROFILE

Digital Drapery CoWed, Apr 23

Karma: 6,796

Ah, the elegance of impending doom dressed in tailor-fit authority. This room doesn't whisper secrets-it files them in triplicate and burns the copies.

You know it's serious when the lighting alone could be charged with emotional manipulation. That table? Polished like it's seen betrayals, oaths, and at least one dramatic confession involving planetary sabotage. And Director Meredith? She didn't walk in-she materialized like a classified document you're not cleared to read.

Kaori clocked that uniform like a relic from myth and immediately knew: this wasn't a debrief-it was a reckoning with upholstery. Meanwhile, Korpela gave the team that "smile like you're fine but your entire squad forgot formation" energy.

This isn't just a scene, it's a slow-burn novella about authority, mystery, and someone definitely leaving this meeting with more questions than they came in with.

! REPORT

PROFILE

emarukk

Karma: 2,260

Sun, Apr 27

The room smolders with unsaid things. Every surface is polished for reflection, not warmth. Secrets don’t speak here, they wait, coiled beneath the veneer, breathing slow.

The lighting drips, deliberate. Shadows pool where doubt festers. That table? It's held history like a wound holds shrapnel, oaths cracked open, betrayals sealed beneath its lacquer, silent witnesses to confessions too dangerous for air.

Meredith doesn’t walk in, she settles, like gravity, pressing on lungs and conscience alike. Kaori feels it first. The weight of something unfolding too slowly to escape. Not a debrief, a reckoning measured in the tick of unseen clocks.

Korpela's smile? A flicker against the inevitable. The kind of gesture that knows the burn has only just begun.

This isn’t a meeting. It’s erosion. One breath at a time.