Planet Telex

You glance over at the desk terminal, logged in, and unattended. The Floor Manager liked to keep her office free of such ugly devices, using a cubicle in the main floor when she did need one. It was close to yours, so you noticed every time she entered and left. You had learned that she would go to lunch at midday, on the dot, and be gone for exactly forty five minutes.
You snap yourself back to reality, wondering if it was a good idea. You were forbidden from even touching a desk terminal, let alone using one. And one that was logged in as the Floor Manager…

It was five minutes past midday. Her office was locked, so the papers were inaccessible. But the terminal was there… You decide that if you ever wanted to find out what she knew, you had to do it now.
You slip into the cubicle as sneakily as you can, trying to ensure nobody saw you. After a minute of standing in there, just in case someone did see you, you pull back the office chair and sit down. The terminal was on, and logged in as the Floor Manager, the top right corner of the screen showing "WINGS OF BRONZE, AGENT FOURTH CLASS".
You hadn't used a desk terminal like this for a long time. For some reason, you remembered how, the years of being an Assistant not managing to wipe your muscle memory of operating the terminal's keyboard. You obviously used to work in the Ministry, you think, as you flip through the screens to find the Assistant lookup page.
Typing in your serial in the search box, you hit 'search', and wait. The terminal takes a while to return results, as even with the full serial, it takes a while to retrieve the digitised records. After what feels like forever watching your back to make sure nobody sees you, the search finishes, with a single result. You.

You open the record, information filling the terminal. You glance over it for a moment, the sharp, vectorised characters on the screen seeming so strange compared to the rough printed-out letters on the forms you usually used. You know you don't have much time, so you press forward.
Your name sat in the top left, but you don't bother trying to read it, knowing the chip won't let you. The memories, though… the chip doesn't censor those past the initial wipe, so you think you can read them.
You open the menu that allows memory access, the chip having dumped, categorised, and filed away every memory you had in your head when you were chipped. The memories of most Assistants are never retrieved again, due to their mundane and generally not useful nature, but they were kept anyway. For later blackmail purposes of free Avians, you thought, or for tormenting Assistants like you.
You sort them by last-printing date. There were hundreds of thousands of words worth of text here, your former memories able to fill up a several-book collection, not that much of it was that interesting. The interesting things that she read silently in front of you were printed, so if you looked for the ones that had been recently…

Only one was printed. You look at the screen confusedly, sorting it again to make sure. She had tens of pages in that folder, and this one was only a single page worth… did it not record when she printed them?
You look at the singular one that was printed previously. It was last printed about the same time she started to find you interesting… and it was about your discharge from free Avian society. That is, the reason why you were chipped.
You go to open it up, but your hand hovers above the enter key when you hear something behind you.
"Ahem. Zenaida, mind explaining what you're doing?"
You freeze, recognising the voice of the Floor Manager. "I… I…" You stutter out.
"Printing that one out, are you? Let me save you the trouble." She says, audibly pulling paper from a folder.
You slowly turn around on the chair to face her, and take the sheet of paper that she offers you.
'DISCHARGE REPORT OF 003H-9F6-3E3D1FC7 "ZENAIDA"', it reads. This was indeed what you were going to print -- your Ministry discharge report. 'Reason: Unauthorised access of classified Ministry data.'
You skim the rest, trying to make sense of it. It says at the bottom you were given a Class C designation as punishment, and assigned elsewhere in the Ministry.
"You did always seem the curious one." Bronze said, taking the paper back when you finished reading it. "You lasted a lot longer than I expected."
"B-but…" You whimper, realising that it was all a trap. "What… what did you find so interesting? Where did all the papers in my file come from?"
"I was lying, there was nothing interesting. They were all just sheets of paper with randomly generated words on them." She grinned down at you. "What, did you think you had a meaningful past? Of course not."

You look down at the floor, trying to make sense of it. "S-so… all of this was for nothing?"
Bronze chuckles at you. "Of course not. I have my blackmail, now."
You turn up to face her, the Floor Manager grinning wide. "What… what do you mean?"
"I don't find As or Bs entertaining to have in closer quarters, but the Class Cs complain when they're given… special duties. I'm sure that you won't complain, considering I have enough evidence to get you reassigned to Class A, if you're lucky…"
Your face flushes white as you realise what she means… having heard the rumours about her 'special duties'… "You mean that… I…"
"Yes, you'll do whatever I ask, now, I'm sure." She bows a leg to dust off one of her boots. "I haven't had these cleaned in a while, for instance, but I'm sure you'll be glad to help."