The next day, the air inside Vought Headquarters was noticeably tighter than usual.
It wasn’t a visible sort of chaos.
Quite the opposite.
The main lobby remained bright and welcoming, the receptionists maintained their standardized smiles, the souvenir shop in the tourist zone operated as normal, and advertisements featuring Homelander and Starlight continued to loop on the giant electronic screens.
But as soon as Lynn stepped into the employee corridor, he felt the subtle shift.
Security officers took an extra second to inspect badges.
Two men in black suits were stationed by the elevator bank.
Elevator access permissions for the Public Relations floor had been temporarily adjusted.
In the Records Department’s internal network, every search term related to “A-Train,” “high-speed movement,” or “public casualties” had been automatically flagged in red.
Vought, the massive machine, hadn’t ground to a halt.
It had simply shifted into crisis mode.
When Lynn walked into the Records Department, Kevin was staring at his computer screen with a pale face.
Amy sat at her desk, an untouched cup of coffee resting beside her hand.
Martha’s office door stood open as she argued in a low voice with someone on the line.
“We already adjusted the phrasing according to PR’s request…
Yes, the internal initial draft retains the revision history…
I know…
No, the Records Department is not responsible for external statements…” Lynn sat down.
The computer booted up.
He logged into the system.
His inbox was already overflowing with related emails.
[Updated External Response Version for A-Train Incident] [Contact Protocol for Victim’s Family] [Suggestions for Witness Emotion Management] [Unified Script for Media Inquiries] [URGENT: Unauthorized Discussion of Yesterday’s Incident Strictly Prohibited] The final email came from the PR Department.
Sender: Ashley Barrett.
CC: Ivan Lambert, Legal Department, Hero Management, Risk Records Supervisory Group.
Subject: [Mandatory Disciplinary Code Regarding Yesterday’s High-Speed Incident Involving Public Casualties] Lynn clicked it open.
It wasn’t long.
The tone was stern.
*All employees are strictly prohibited from disclosing operational details regarding the involved hero to external parties.* *All materials are strictly prohibited from being downloaded, forwarded, or screenshotted for personal use.* *All internal discussions are strictly prohibited from using unconfirmed words such as “impact,” “fatal,” or “liability.”* *All victim-related information will be handled exclusively by the Legal Department.* *All media responses will be handled exclusively by the Public Relations Department.* The email concluded with: *”Please remember that before the facts are fully confirmed, improper language causes secondary trauma.”* Lynn stared at that final sentence.
*Improper language causes secondary trauma.* He couldn’t tell if it was absurd irony or sheer corporate professionalism.
Vought always had a talent for framing cover-ups as victim protection.
Beside him, Kevin whispered, “Yesterday’s incident…
was real, wasn’t it?” Amy glanced at him.
“What do you think?” Kevin lowered his voice further.
“I saw a video online.
It got taken down fast, but people said the scene was…
terrible.” Amy’s complexion turned even worse.
“Stop talking about it.” Kevin shut his mouth.
Lynn didn’t join in.
He opened yesterday’s archived file.
The initial version had already been locked.
The external public version used the phrase: “An incident resulting in public casualties occurred at the scene.” However, in the system’s revision history, his original draft remained visible: [A-Train’s high-speed movement resulted in civilian death; subsequent liability pending official confirmation.] That line had only existed for three minutes.
But it had existed.
That was the meaning of records.
Lies could cover up the text, but they couldn’t easily erase the revision log.
Of course, Vought had the technical ability to forcibly wipe it.
But wiping it would leave behind its own set of traces—unless they were willing to rebuild the entire system workflow.
And for an ordinary victim, they likely wouldn’t bother going that far.
Not out of kindness, but out of sheer arrogance.
At 9:20 AM, Martha stepped out of her office.
Her expression was colder than usual.
“Lynn, Amy, continue processing the materials for the A-Train incident.
Separate all documents by version—do not mix the internal drafts with external releases.
Kevin, you’re responsible for organizing last night’s media screenshots chronologically.” Kevin blinked, stunned.
“Me?” Martha looked at him.
“Don’t you love reading the news?
Now you get to do it legally.” Kevin opened his mouth, then nodded resignedly.
“Understood.” Amy whispered, “Congratulations, your hobby just became your job.” Kevin pulled a long face.
“This is the most sinister magic of capitalism.” Lynn began processing incoming documents.
One of them came from the Legal Department.
Title: [Initial Contact Arrangement for Hughie Campbell] It listed Hughie’s basic information.
Name: Hughie Campbell.
Age.
Occupation: Electronics store employee.
Emergency Contact.
Relationship to victim: Partner.
Current Status: Severely emotionally traumatized.
Recommended Contact Approach: Low-pressure communication; avoid discussions of liability; guide toward accepting the Family Support Plan.
Family Support Plan.
Lynn scrolled down.
Initial compensation amount: $45,000.
Payment condition: Execution of Non-Disclosure and Liability Waiver Agreement.
Note: May be increased based on negotiations, but not recommended to exceed six figures.
Lynn’s finger paused over the mouse.
Forty-five thousand dollars.
He had seen this number yesterday, but seeing it integrated into the official corporate procedure today still felt utterly grotesque.
Not because the amount was low, but because Vought documented it with such casual indifference.
As if they were procuring a batch of office chairs.
As if they were processing an optimizable expense item.
Lynn memorized the document number.
He didn’t copy it.
He didn’t take a screenshot.
He simply memorized it.
A system prompt suddenly sounded in his mind.
[Key Evidence Node: Initial Compensation Offer.] [Recommendation: Retain memory index.] Lynn replied internally, *I don’t need you telling me.* The system went quiet.
Sometimes this thing felt like a cheat system; other times it felt like an overly detached intern.
At 10:00 AM, someone from Public Relations came down.
It wasn’t Ashley Barrett, nor was it Ivan Lambert.
It was a young specialist in a deep blue suit, wearing a professional, sleep-deprived smile.
He walked into the Records Department and went straight to Martha.
A few minutes later, Martha called Lynn into a small meeting room.
“PR needs to verify yesterday’s initial archived draft,” Martha said.
“You handled the first version, so you explain it.” Inside the small meeting room, the PR specialist sat across from them, holding a tablet.
He glanced at Lynn.
“Lynn Chow?” “Yes.” “In yesterday’s first draft, you used the phrase ‘resulted in civilian death.'” “It was an internal preliminary draft, which was subsequently revised in accordance with PR guidelines.” “Why didn’t you use the standard template?” “When the entry was generated, the template fields hadn’t fully synced yet.
Preliminary internal drafts prioritize factual description, while external statements are determined by PR.” The PR specialist stared at him.
“And you considered that a fact?” Lynn looked back at him, his tone calm and steady.
“According to the scene summary synced at the time, the involved hero was A-Train, the victim died, and the incident type was high-speed contact.
I made no final determination of liability, which is why I appended ‘subsequent liability pending official confirmation.'” The defense was flawless.
And impossible to fault.
He hadn’t expressed sympathy for the victim.
He hadn’t accused A-Train of being responsible.
He hadn’t questioned Vought.
He was simply speaking in terms of fields, workflows, and the distinction between internal and external versions.
The PR specialist remained silent for two seconds.
Martha chimed in from the side, “The revision history is intact, and there are no procedural issues.
Lynn’s work has always been very compliant.” Her comment caught Lynn off guard.
Martha wasn’t protecting him.
She was protecting the procedural integrity of the Records Department.
Either way, the result was the same.
The PR specialist nodded.
“In the future, prioritize the template for similar phrasing.” Lynn replied, “Understood.” After the meeting ended, Martha didn’t leave immediately.
She looked at him.
“Did you write that line on purpose yesterday?” Lynn looked back at her.
This question was far more dangerous than the PR specialist’s.
PR had asked about procedure.
Martha was asking about motive.