Lifeline: The Terminal Protocol

The rhythmic pulse of the red LED in the corner of the monitor signaled that Amelia was now the solitary guardian of a city that never sleeps. At 2:00 AM, the metropolis sheds its mask, turning the Dispatch Center into a theater of raw, unfiltered voices. She pressed the 'Accept' button. No scream followed—only heavy, ragged breathing and the grating sound of metal against concrete. 'Capital Dispatch, I hear you,' she said, adjusting her headset while tracking the frequency needle as it spiked violently. 'I’m on the 40th floor... the construction site on Valley Street,' a man’s voice rasped, u...