By the time Bulge returned to Carmichael's desk, the paper in his hand was a wreck wrinkled, soft at the edges, like it had aged a century in just twenty minutes.
Carmichael didn't ask what happened. He didn't need to. One look at Bulge's clenched jaw, tense shoulders, and tired eyes said it all.
"Told you," Carmichael muttered with a sigh. His voice wasn't exactly kind, but it wasn't cruel either. Just someone who'd been through the same thing.
Bulge didn't respond. He just stared at the fax like he could somehow change its like he could turn it into something important again. But it was just paper now. Useless. Forgotten.
Carmichael chewed on the corner of a caffeine patch and leaned back in his chair, which groaned under his weight. His uniform looked too tight, and the overhead lights made the silver in his hair shine like wires.
"They shut you down that fast?" he asked.
"Didn't even blink," Bulge said, voice flat and worn-out.
Carmichael let out a short grunt, half-laugh, half-cough. "Figures. Vaughn wouldn't believe in fire unless his own chair caught flame. And Chandra? She'd probably investigate her own reflection."
Bulge dropped into the cracked plastic chair beside the desk. The paper in his hand shook a little torn between holding on and giving up.
"They didn't even read the whole thing," he said quietly.
He ran a hand through his messy curls. "It's S-rank. They're not supposed to ignore that."
No one wants the case," Bulge said, his voice quiet but tight with frustration.
Carmichael nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the cup in his hands. He didn't drink it. Just held it there, as if it was the only warm thing in the room.
"It is," Carmichael finally said, his voice deep and gravelly like stone rolling across old wood. "This is just a formality."
Bulge looked up, confused. "But… it's about Earth."
Carmichael gave a small, sad smile. "Yes. Earth. Once the crown jewel of human history. Now just... dust and bones floating in space." He leaned back, his bones creaking. "They say it was a natural disaster. A planetary collapse. Solar core failure. Nothing left. Nothing to investigate."
"But people are scared," Bulge said, louder now. "They're asking questions. They're begging for answers."
"Yes," Carmichael nodded. "And that's why we have this case. Not to solve it. Just to make people feel like it's being solved. Give them a report. A speech. A nice file with official stamps."
He looked directly at Bulge then, his eyes sharp under his white eyebrows. "This case is not about truth. It's about peace. Keeping people quiet. Comfortable."
Bulge clenched his fists. "But what if it wasn't natural? What if someone..."
Carmichael raised a hand, cutting him off.
"That doesn't matter," he said firmly. "Even if someone caused it… we're not supposed to find them. The truth doesn't matter anymore. Only the appearance of truth does."
There was a long silence. The fan creaked slowly overhead.
Bulge looked down at the file.
He picked it up, slowly, as if it might burn.
The world thought Earth was dead.
But maybe… the truth was still alive somewhere.
Bulge didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't say a word.
That silence made Carmichael grunt. "You're not letting this go, are you?"
Bulge finally met his eyes. "Where's the next office?"
Carmichael let out a long breath, like air escaping a tire. He nodded toward the darker end of the hallway, where the lights buzzed weakly and shadows clung to the walls.
"Two doors down," he said. "But if you thought Vaughn and Chandra were heartless… wait till you meet him."
Bulge walked away without a word.
The farther he went, the quieter it got. The lights above him flickered like they were about to die. Pipes creaked behind the walls, like the building itself was groaning with age. The air turned colder. The floor dipped.
At the very end of the hallway was a steel door. Its edges were scorched and black. No name. No number. Just a strange symbol carved near the handle—a circle with a line through it. It looked official, but empty. Like power without a face.
When Bulge pushed the door, it didn't squeak.
It cracked. Like ice breaking under pressure.
He knocked..,three sharp hits.
They echoed too long. The air felt too still.
No answer.
So he pushed it open.
...