The Photo Album

It was only the third day of leave, and the morning fog had yet to lift. The pothos on the windowsill hung heavy with droplets, the crystalline tips of its leaves gently swaying in the breeze. The phone on the bedside table suddenly vibrated violently, its screen casting urgent flashes of light across the pale bedsheets. The moment the screen lit up, the military district's distinctive encrypted signal struck like an ice shard, causing my pupils to contract sharply. "Mr. Finn Lopez, immediately terminate your leave and escort a set of A-level top-secret files back to the Capital." The voice on the other end of the line was as cold as midwinter ice, yet it ignited a fierce fire through my veins. "The rendezvous point has been sent; you must depart within one hour." The busy signal at the end of the order was sharp and brief, like the fading note of a bugle call. I grabbed the field uniform I had prepared earlier and rushed into the bathroom, splashing cold water onto my face with a sharp slap. Water droplets traced down my jawline, but my mind was clearer than ever before. The words "Photo Album" in the encrypted message pricked at my eyelids like a fine needle, causing them to twitch repeatedly. Nothing that could prompt the military district to activate an emergency recall procedure would be an ordinary photograph printed with landscapes or smiling faces. The entrance to the airport VIP channel was bleached white by the scorching sun, with fine dust particles suspended in the air. The sunlight slanted in, illuminating those dust particles like countless dancing golden specks. I clenched the specially issued pass, about to step forward, when suddenly my arm was seized by a brute force. The strength carried the scent of alcohol, like a wild and unruly serpent. "Kid, do you understand the rules?" The young man with grandmother gray hair leaned against the railing, the tips of his hair streaked with silver-white. He cast a sidelong glance at me, the corner of his eye flicking over the pass in my hand, arrogance in his tone seeping out like a loosely closed faucet. The luxury watch on his wrist turned under the light, the glare from the dial dizzying to the eyes. The numerals on the metal surface glinted coldly, like a blade tempered with ice. "Didn't you see I'm in line?" He pursed his lips to the side, and two bodyguards in black suits immediately straightened their backs, like two moving walls. I frowned and withdrew my arm, flashing my credentials before his eyes. The military emblem on the plastic cover gleamed under the light: "Mission in progress, let me through." "Mission?" He sneered, the disdain in his voice piercing like a needle. Spittle sprayed out with his laughter, landing on the back of my hand.