Contact

The sun hangs low over the University. The golden light seeps in through the office blinds, and the silence that lingers through the office was broken by the sound of a record player being turned on and a song gently filling the air.
 
Cassandra sits at the desk of her office, surrounded by books and research journals. She takes a deep breath and begins to type, the click of the keys ringing out.
 
Most Esteemed Company,
I regret to report the disappearance of my assigned Ark Runner, Luke Fitzroy [IDN: 24110]. Communication was attempted on the following dates and times after my runner failed to check in at the designated curfew call at 20:00 on 234-07-06.
 
> 324-07-06 // 21:00
> 324-07-06 // 22:00
> 324-07-06 // 23:00
> 324-07-06 // 23:30
> 324-07-07 // 00:00
> 324-07-07 // 00:30
> 324-07-07 // 01:00
> 324-07-07 // 01:30
> 324-07-07 // 02:00
> 324-07-07 // 02:30
> 324-07-07 // 03:00
 
Communication was attempted daily after these instances at the hours of 08:00, 14:00, and 20:00. I repeated this process until 20:00 on 324-07-09. After this, I continued daily attempts of contact at 08:00 and 20:00. Starting 324-10-01, I changed the schedule to the daily curfew call of 20:00. All attempts have been met with radio silence.
 
Attached to this report is the documentation of his expedition authorization, including date of departure. As Luke’s designated Proxy, I must fulfill the unfortunate duty of officially declaring Luke Fitzroy as Missing In Action.
 
Attached is a letter requesting a formal leave of absence as a mourning period before any reassignment. Thank you for your understanding.
 
In the pursuit of knowledge,
Cassandra Kingston
 
Cassandra takes a deep breath, her exhale shaking as she tries to fight back the emotions of her reality. It's been 6 months, why is this so hard now? She takes the page off the typewriter and joins it with the other documentation she has to file with her supervisors, staring at the folder for a moment. Her gaze drifts to a photo framed on her desk; Cassandra, softly smiling at the camera as a young man with bright red hair and a smile just as bright has his arm around Cassandra's shoulders. He appears to be waving at the camera. It’s not long before she puts both the folder and her glasses off to the side before putting her face in her hands. Her attempt to hold her emotions back fails and she begins to quietly cry at her desk, mourning a friend who might never be truly lost, but perhaps can never be found.