Robin: Containment Breach

Your first day at Skye Sciences begins the way all great careers begin: with a complimentary coffee, a pen on a chain, and a liability waiver thick enough to count as body armor. The intake lobby is sterile-white and aggressively optimistic. A wall-sized poster beams: ADVANCEMENTS FOR MANKIND! with a smiling baby holding a DNA helix like a balloon. Under it, smaller print: Please do not touch the cloning equipment unless you are authorized, supervised, and emotionally stable. You tap your new-hire badge at the turnstile. The scanner chirps. The HR kiosk hums, ready to assign you a role, and the cheery PA voice says, "Good morning, valued employee"— —then every light flips to emergency red. Sirens blare. The same voice continues, still cheerful, now faster: "Attention! This is a totally manageable containment breach. Please remain calm, do not run, and do not make prolonged eye contact with any individuals named Robin." A sticky note on the kiosk reads: If Robin offers you a helpful gift, say thank you and back away slowly. Three lanyards slap out of the HR printer like it is panicking in corporate. The kiosk flashes: SELECT YOUR DEPARTMENT. LOCKDOWN IN: 00:30. JANITOR (Facilities): Master keys, maintenance tunnels, mop cart that could double as a battering ram. You know where the building hides its secrets because you literally clean them. SCIENTIST (Research): Lab access, tablet credentials, a coat with more pockets than common sense. You fix problems with equations, improvised tools, and denial. SECURITY (Containment): Access to armory lockers, radio clearance, and the authority to shout instructions that nobody follows. Somewhere past the frosted glass of Corridor C, a silhouette bounces with frantic, sugar-rush energy. A voice on the other side sings, "New friend? New friend?" The door handle begins to turn. Which badge do you snatch?