C-CUTC-018
Barista: Julius Mendoza
Date: Dec-13-2019
Receipt: C-CUTC-018
Subject: Division Zulu
The Zulu facility beneath the Hollywood Sign isn’t just a base—it’s a fortress. A labyrinth.
The walls are humming with unseen currents of power. Cold metal panels ███ ██████ ████ ██████████ ███████ ███ ██████. █ ███’█ █████████ ████, ███ █ ████ ███ ████ ████ ████ ██ ██. ███ ██████. The corridors are long, narrow, twisting in ways that don’t make sense. I fear we’ve walked into a trap. A Zulu trick of some sort.
We mapped our route carefully, but each turn feels █████████, ██████—██ ██ █████ ██████ █████ ██ ████████ ██, ███████ ██ ████ ███ ██████████ ███████████. █ ██████ ████’█ ████ ███ ██████ ███ █████ ██ ██.
Security drones have also been drifting through the halls. No whirring gears. No blinking lights. They move aimlessly. As if they don’t even know we’re here. As if they can’t see us as clearly as we see them. Why haven’t they acknowledged us? Again, it feels like a trap.
And every door we’ve found has been locked. Biometric. Jean-Marc had the foresight to bring a signal scrambler, but it’s slow. Painfully slow. Feeding false credentials through the system took thirty minutes just to open a storage closet. Any significant doors will take much, much longer.
The deeper we go, the worse it gets. This place wants to keep its secrets. But we didn’t come all this way to be turned back by locked doors and twisting halls.
We press on.
That’s all.
Julius.
Decaffeinate Receipt
“Donnelly, Marx, Kelley, Autry, Warner, Williams.”
Research | 1 Word