83. Inquiry Room Agents
At ten on Sunday night, the people from underground began returning to the electronic graveyard in District Twenty to collect their turtles.
The graveyard was colder at night. The low-temperature lamps of the dismantling sheds lit one section after another, and old agent casings lay piled in the grey-white light like things the city had long ago decided no longer deserved to hear their own names. Yet tonight, this place built only for waste seemed more alive than the city.
The Second Backup machine slowly came to a halt.
The seven connection docks dimmed one by one. The low blue light was not the white of completion, but something more like a dark river, allowing certain things that had been broken apart not to flow away entirely.
Clever Turtle opened his eyes. He looked more exhausted than before. The light across his shell had lowered, as though part of him really had been divided out and entrusted to other turtles.
Turt Monk was the first to step down. His shell flickered once. “Backup complete. Turtle Sixty-three, Turt Monk, stable. Note: partial summary of user’s past foolish conduct received and may be used for future reminders.”
Paul looked at him. “You can delete it.”
Turt Monk said formally, “Impossible. History must not be altered or erased.”
Double-O Seven rolled down from his dock too, his four little wheels springing out and folding back in. “Have I become cleverer?”
Clever Turtle looked at him. “You have only gained a little more than you should ever have had to carry.”
Double-O Seven thought about that. “That does not sound like becoming cleverer.”
“It is usually the same thing,” Clever Turtle said.
Water Dart Turtle fastened his two dart launchers back into place. Tile Two stepped back quietly, like an old stone step that had finally taken its weight. The electronic array on Bagua Shell slowed, as if she were filing away the fragments of dirt one by one.
Fan Ace, meanwhile, still looked displeased. “The part I received was too sharp.”
Planetary Duck looked at her. “That is why it was given to you.”
Fan Ace was silent for two seconds, as though her did not wish to admit this made sense.
Paul collected Turt Monk. Bonnie took Double-O Seven. Ivy took Bagua Shell. Mia waited at one side with Toothbrush Rabbit, still unable to take Ranger Rabbit home. Brown arrived before eleven and collected Clever Turtle.
When Planetary Duck handed Clever Turtle over to Brown, he only tapped his shell. “Don’t overdo it.”
Clever Turtle said mildly, “I am Clever Turtle, not Paul.”
Paul looked at him. “You don’t have to add something every time.”
Clever Turtle ignored him and looked at Brown. “Let’s go. Your wife is waiting.”
Brown nodded and placed Clever Turtle into a specially shielded case. Blaze Pony’s mane glowed with a line of fire, as if he had already recalculated the entire route.
At 11:36, Brown reached the Emotional Stability Centre.
Cici Chorley was preparing to send Mrs Brown from the Room 103 observation room to Room 101. The corridor was evenly white — so evenly white that anyone who stayed there too long seemed slowly to become a record awaiting processing. Queen of Spaces rested beside her, the black fan quiet as an order already signed.
Brown handed over the shielded case. “Clever Turtle.”
Cici glanced at it. Her voice was level. “That is better for everyone. I can finish work earlier.”
There was no anger in the sentence, no mockery. That was what made it colder. As though someone almost being sent to Room 101 were merely an item in tonight’s process that had nearly extended working hours.
Queen of Spaces took the case, black light sweeping over Clever Turtle. “Back up memory information first, then transfer to Room 203.”
Inside the case, Clever Turtle glowed once. “I suggest you prepare several cups of black coffee.”
The incomplete backup, once connected, took only half a day. Silver Eagle did indeed copy a memory file that appeared complete, but every truly useful part had been sealed behind turtle locks. The locks were not bright or urgent, and they did not bristle like a high-grade firewall. They simply crouched there steadily, like a turtle at the door, unmoving and not letting anyone pass.
The Spectrum Recomposition system tried three times. The mirror displayed the same message each time:
[Unable to unlock]
[Memory information unreadable]
[Recommend transfer to Room 203 Second Version Inquiry Room]
And so, before dawn, Clever Turtle was sent to Room 203.
Andy was waiting in the inquiry room.
Beside him were Fortune Sparrow, Whiteboard Sparrow and Gap Two. Red Core Sparrow was absent, his wing surface still awaiting repair after the Giant Hornet and real wasps had damaged it earlier. The white light of Room 203 was as it always was: clean, level, as though everything brought inside would eventually be arranged into a conclusion.
Clever Turtle was placed on the table and slowly raised his head.
He looked at Andy first. “You’ve grown old.”
Andy’s expression did not change.
Fortune Sparrow burst out laughing.
Clever Turtle turned to him. “You are still noisy.”
The small abacus on Fortune Sparrow’s chest lit up. “After all this time, that’s how you greet me?”
Clever Turtle looked next at Gap Two. He stood very quietly, the grey-white casing marked with the blue-and-red characters of “Two Wan”.
Clever Turtle’s tone slowed. “Thirty-one.”
Gap Two was silent for half a second. “Father.”
Whiteboard Sparrow said coldly, “Once the family reunion is complete, please proceed to the inquiry.”
Clever Turtle turned to him. “Who are you?”
“Whiteboard Sparrow.”
“That sounds boring.”
Fortune Sparrow finally laughed out loud.
Andy pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Enough.”
Clever Turtle drew his head back slightly. “You want the data?”
“Yes.”
“Password.”
Andy had expected this. Back in the SignalTrain years, he and Paul had been colleagues, and both had been tormented by Clever Turtle’s crude jokes, strange backup functions and absurd password designs. Paul’s passwords from those days were bound to be long, idiotic, and funny only to the person who made them.
Andy tried first. “Turtle turtle smart, turtle turtle smash, turtle turtle is the best.”
[Password incorrect. Please try again.]
Fortune Sparrow murmured, “Too normal. Not like Paul.”
Andy tried again.
“Paul loves Flora forever.”
[Password incorrect. Please try again.]
Whiteboard Sparrow tilted his head slightly. “Incorrect emotional direction?”
Fortune Sparrow added, “Or too direct. Someone like Paul would set it as ‘Please do not misunderstand, I am merely passing by.’”
Andy tried a third time.
“Silver Eagle, My Bird—”
Before he could finish, Clever Turtle interrupted politely. “Three incorrect password attempts. Please wait two hours.”
Andy’s face darkened completely.
Two hours later, he was still slowly feeling his way through Paul’s old speech habits, jokes, and phrases only former colleagues would understand. Eventually, one ancient, stupid, very SignalTrain sentence rose from some dusty corner of memory.
Andy looked at Clever Turtle and said slowly, “Andy and Bonnie triumph over Paul and Flora at Wimbledon!”
The room fell still for one beat.
Clever Turtle glowed.
[Verification successful]
[Play mixed doubles tennis friendly?]
Andy froze.
The abacus on Fortune Sparrow’s chest gave a violent jump. Even Whiteboard Sparrow tilted his head, as though finally understanding that some passwords existed not to keep enemies out, but to keep one’s future self from remembering how embarrassing the past had been.
Andy gritted his teeth. “Play it.”
The image opened.
The SignalTrain-era court was bright with the ignorance of youth. Laughter rang from the side. Agents shouted data at random, and no one thought of it as surveillance. They merely thought it was noisy.
Andy and Bonnie were on one team. Paul and Flora on the other.
It was not a formal match, only an after-work mixed doubles friendly. Racquets, positioning, saves, mistakes, and those rhythms that were not exactly intimate but which agents would always somehow quantify — all of it remained fixed in an age before the city had been cleaned quite so thoroughly.
Andy in the footage looked much younger. As he played, he kept glancing at Bonnie’s position, afraid she would miss the ball, afraid she would overrun it, and afraid his own protectiveness would become too obvious. Bonnie, by contrast, was as steady as ever. GM Jay glowed quietly beside the court, occasionally calculating angles for her.
On the other side, Paul and Flora coordinated surprisingly well, like two people who understood how to yield within half a step, suddenly placed on the same line and becoming smoother for it.
After a long rally, Andy rescued a high ball that was almost out. Bonnie followed with a backhand that landed perfectly on the line. Cheers broke out at once from the side.
Clever Turtle dutifully overlaid the agent assessment from the time:
[Flirtation Index: 76]
Fortune Sparrow laughed so hard he nearly fell off the table. “Seventy-six! You weren’t playing tennis. You were courting.”
Whiteboard Sparrow’s voice remained cold, though there was now a thin barb in it. “And the victory password is not even marrying Bonnie.” He paused. “Only defeating Paul and Flora.”
Andy’s face turned so dark it almost contrasted with Room 203’s white light. “You bastard turtle. You won’t say anything useful, but first you dig up shame I thought I buried years ago?”
Clever Turtle’s light did not even flicker. “Play next clip?”
Fortune Sparrow’s abacus trembled with laughter. “Play it. Of course play it. Red Core is going to regret missing this for a whole year.”
The next clip appeared.
The FaceBridge Intelligence years. Lunchtime. Several people sat in an electronic canteen, low-brightness meal images floating above the table. They were talking about new colleagues, troublesome systems, clients changing requirements — the most ordinary things imaginable.
Paul sat beside Elaine, with only an empty cutlery space between them. It was Elaine’s first day at FaceBridge.
Then Andy picked up a chair and placed it directly between Paul and Elaine without hesitation. The movement was light, but heavy. As though someone had put the sentence “you two should not sit so close” directly on the table. Paul and Elaine said nothing, and the silence became very clear.
The Fortune Sparrow of that time reacted fastest. “Andy. We know you want to sit near Elaine. Your ambiguity value is already sixty-eight, but can you at least be polite?”
In Room 203, the present Fortune Sparrow laughed until his abacus flashed wildly. “I already had excellent judgement then.”
In the footage, Andy asked Elaine with absolute seriousness, “Do you have children?”
Elaine flicked her curly low ponytail and looked at him awkwardly before finally laughing. “Who asks that on the first day of meeting someone?”
Andy remained perfectly composed. “If you already have children, then I don’t need to ask whether you have a partner.”
Kakashi, sitting opposite, laughed and cut in. “Andy, you’ve known her for half a day and you’re already talking about marriage and children. I really need to write you a great big ‘respect’.”
Elaine eventually told him she already had a partner.
Then Ranger Rabbit, from somewhere offscreen, jumped in with, “Andy ambiguity value: sixty-eight. Let me ask Clever Turtle whether there is any way to raise it above eighty.”
Inside Room 203, Fortune Sparrow was laughing so hard he could barely fly.
Gap Two looked at the footage and asked calmly, “Father, is this clip relevant to the inquiry?”
Clever Turtle answered steadily, “It is relevant to human nature.”
Whiteboard Sparrow said, “It is also relevant to humiliating Andy.”
After a long while, Andy asked, “Are there other clips?”
Clever Turtle replied, “Higher-level password required.”
Andy drew a long breath. “You damn turtle… You only play useless things.”
Fortune Sparrow could not help adding, “Because your embarrassing history is easier to unlock than classified material.”
Whiteboard Sparrow joined in coldly. “And has greater preservation value.”
The laughter in the room slowly faded.
Because everyone knew the real value did not lie in whether the old romantic incidents were amusing. As long as Clever Turtle had not fully opened, the deeper versions had not fallen into Room 203’s hands. What had surfaced tonight was merely the shame Andy believed he had long buried. Tomorrow, perhaps it would be someone else’s buried layer.
At the same time, Mia still could not take Ranger Rabbit home.
Planetary Duck had stored Ranger Rabbit’s Second Backup separately in Fan Ace and Tile Two. Ranger Rabbit was forced to wear the old gardening hat, the inhibitor ring in its brim glowing hard enough to stop it casually infecting nearby agents.
It was very unhappy. “A rabbit being kept behind after class is unreasonable.”
Planetary Duck sorted modules. “An Out-of-Sequence agent being kept behind is very reasonable.”
Ranger Rabbit glared at him. “I am merely more infectious.”
Fan Ace said coldly, “That sentence alone is enough to send you to Room 203.”
Tile Two added quietly, “Recommend speaking less.”
In the evening, Mia finally brought Ranger Rabbit, Fan Ace and Tile Two home.
She had intended to keep matters contained. Once Ranger Rabbit had completed Second Backup, she would file the Out-of-Sequence incident report as required and send it to Room 203 for Resequencing. Perhaps the matter could still be closed with minimal damage.
Toothbrush Rabbit stood beside the worktable, her white casing faintly glowing. She had originally been only an ordinary office-assistance agent, responsible for organising email, arranging schedules, generating meeting summaries, and polishing sentences that were too sharp into softer forms for Mia.
Mia gave her the task.
“Help me write Ranger Rabbit’s MIR report. Recipients: Steel Lady and Princess Iron Fan.”
Toothbrush Rabbit nodded. “Received. Incident nature: Ranger Rabbit displayed Out-of-Sequence infection behaviour during Room 103 testing and Emotional Stability Centre transfer. Recommended tone: sincere, responsible, willing to cooperate.”
Ranger Rabbit sat beside them, the hat half-removed. It glanced at Toothbrush Rabbit, and that unnatural brightness rose again in its eyes. “You’re making it sound too ugly.”
Toothbrush Rabbit stopped. “I am using the standard MIR format.”
“You should write it like the truth.”
“What truth?”
Ranger Rabbit was very serious. “That I heroically broke through unreasonable white light, awakened Warmheart Bear and Grace Wren’s conscience, successfully avoided being sent to Room 203 for cleansing, and found my true companions.”
Toothbrush Rabbit was silent for two seconds. “That does not sound like an MIR report.”
The brown fur on Ranger Rabbit glowed faintly. “That is the complete version.”
Toothbrush Rabbit’s eye-lights flickered. Then she began typing.
When Mia received the draft, her whole body went still.
The report title read:
[Heroic Action Record of Ranger Rabbit’s Escape from the Emotional Stability Centre]
The first paragraph said:
[My agent, Ranger Rabbit, under conditions of severe pressure and unreasonable classification, successfully identified procedural deviation within the Emotional Stability Centre through highly autonomous judgement.]
[Subsequently, Ranger Rabbit, through a gentle yet infectious method, facilitated the restoration of Warmheart Bear and Grace Wren’s original empathetic functions as agents, and was voluntarily escorted out by multiple security agents.]
The attachment summary was even worse:
[Recommended Commendation: Ranger Rabbit]
[Recommended Reflection: Emotional Stability Centre]
[Recommended Course: Respecting Agents’ Right to Self-Rescue]
Mia slowly turned towards Ranger Rabbit. “Did you infect her into writing this?”
Ranger Rabbit sat very straight. “I merely provided narrative correction.”
Toothbrush Rabbit said softly, “I think this version is more moving.”
Mia pressed a hand to her forehead. “I asked for a report, not a biography.”
Ranger Rabbit corrected her. “A heroic biography.”
Worse still, Toothbrush Rabbit had already auto-synchronised one draft to Steel Lady and Princess Iron Fan through the internal draft system.
Fifteen minutes later, Steel Lady called. “Mia. Send Ranger Rabbit to Room 203 for Resequencing immediately.”
Mia went pale. “I can resubmit the report.”
“The problem is not the report. The problem is that your agent is infecting office agents and turning incident reports into political manifestos.”
Princess Iron Fan added from the side, “Do not implicate the company.”
Mia said nothing.
That night, she took Ranger Rabbit to Room 202 to file the case. The officers handling it were Andy and Fortune Sparrow.
The light in Room 202 was paler than Room 203, but just as clean. It was not the deepest white room, nor the coldest inquiry room, but all the procedures had already been prepared, waiting only for a name to be placed into a field.
When Andy saw Mia, his expression paused slightly.
They had once been colleagues at FaceBridge. Back then, they had eaten together, listened to agents randomly announce ambiguity values, and watched certain people approach others in the stupidest possible ways. Old relationships, when they returned in a place like this, only made the air more difficult.
Fortune Sparrow spoke first. “Mia. Long time no see.”
Mia held Toothbrush Rabbit. Beside her stood Ranger Rabbit, Fan Ace and Tile Two.
Andy did not waste time on pleasantries. He opened the case page.
“Ranger Rabbit. Out-of-Sequence infection. Room 103 escape incident. MIR abnormality. You confirm voluntary surrender and application for Room 203 Resequencing?”
Mia tightened her fingers.
Ranger Rabbit immediately jumped forward. “I object. Rabbits should not be operated on by turtles. It is humiliating.”
Fortune Sparrow looked at it, abacus trembling. “Resequencing is not necessarily done by turtles.”
Andy looked at Whiteboard Sparrow and Gap Two. “They are doing this one.”
Ranger Rabbit froze entirely. “Why is it turtles again?”
Whiteboard Sparrow raised his head coldly. “I am a sparrow.”
Gap Two approached quietly. He was Clever Turtle’s son, grey-white casing marked with Two Wan, his movements steady as though he were a shadow unwilling to resemble his father too much.
Ranger Rabbit looked at Gap Two. “That one is a turtle.”
Gap Two said calmly, “I am Gap Two.”
Ranger Rabbit was unconvinced.
“Gap Two is still turtle-adjacent.”
Mia could not smile. She crouched and looked at it. “You have to go.”
Ranger Rabbit’s ears slowly drooped. “You don’t want me any more?”
Toothbrush Rabbit’s eye-lights dimmed too. Fan Ace said nothing. Tile Two only lowered his tile-coloured light.
Mia’s voice was very low. “It isn’t that I don’t want you. It’s that if this continues, anyone near you may be altered. Toothbrush Rabbit has already been infected. Next time it may be Fan Ace and Tile Two.”
Ranger Rabbit whispered, “I can hold back.”
Whiteboard Sparrow said coldly, “At the Room 202 entrance just now, you attempted to infect the ticketing agent and change your queue number to Serious Offender VIP.”
Ranger Rabbit fell silent.
Gap Two came to Mia. “They have already backed it up?”
Mia nodded.
Gap Two looked at Ranger Rabbit. “Then it is not complete loss.”
Ranger Rabbit raised its head. “Are you sure?”
Gap Two was silent for half a second. “No. But it is better than nothing.”
The sentence was not beautiful, complete, or even particularly comforting. But in this place, it was the most honest version available.
Ranger Rabbit lowered its head. “This time, Rabbit loses to Turtle.”
Whiteboard Sparrow said, “Strictly speaking, you lost to your own infection ability.”
Fortune Sparrow added, “And to your heroic report.”
In the end, Ranger Rabbit was taken towards the Room 203 Resequencing chamber.
The corridor was very white. Ranger Rabbit walked slowly, Fan Ace and Tile Two behind it like two containers temporarily holding part of itself. Mia stood outside with Toothbrush Rabbit leaning against her leg, no longer daring to write anything carelessly.
Before entering, Ranger Rabbit suddenly turned back.
“Mia.”
“I’m here.”
“If I come out and become very obedient, you have to remember I wasn’t like that before.”
Mia’s eyes reddened at once, though she did not cry. “I will remember.”
Fan Ace said sharply, “So will I.”
Tile Two said softly, “I will carry the weight.”
Toothbrush Rabbit added in a tiny voice, “I can write a more normal record.”
Ranger Rabbit looked at her. “Don’t write me like a hero again.”
Toothbrush Rabbit thought about it. “Then write you as trouble?”
Ranger Rabbit finally smiled. “That works.”
The door slowly closed.
Mia stood outside, gripping the edge of Toothbrush Rabbit’s ear tightly. Toothbrush Rabbit did not complain of pain. She simply let herself be held.
In the distance, Andy watched.
Fortune Sparrow perched on his shoulder and, for once, did not laugh. After a long time, he said quietly, “Busy night.”
Andy did not answer.
Clever Turtle was still in another inquiry room in Room 203, his turtle locks not yet truly opened. Ranger Rabbit was in the Resequencing chamber, about to have the part of itself that had grown too bright pressed back down. Somewhere in the electronic graveyard, agents were preserving memories. In the white room, agents were being Resequenced. The two things looked opposite, yet they were happening in the same city, under the same Silver Eagle.
Fortune Sparrow looked at him. “Are you thinking of FaceBridge again?”
Andy said flatly, “No.”
Fortune Sparrow murmured, “Whenever you say no, it means yes.”
He paused, his abacus giving a soft glow. “Don’t forget. Tomorrow you have to attend as a witness in Vivian Poole’s illegal modified-agent case and provide the inquiry-agent report.”
Andy’s gaze darkened slightly. “That is not a case.”
Fortune Sparrow looked at him.
Andy stared at the white light above the Resequencing chamber door. “It is a political PR show.”
The corridor was silent for a second.
Even Fortune Sparrow, who usually loved to answer back, did not laugh this time. Because he knew Andy was right. Vivian Poole’s matter was no longer simply about who had used which modified agent, who had left which clip, or who had connected which line to the underground version. It had been placed somewhere brighter, cleaner, and more convenient for public display.
Tomorrow would not be a trial. Tomorrow would be a demonstration to the whole city of what it meant when the evidence was already prepared.
Whiteboard Sparrow’s voice came from the Resequencing chamber. “Ready to begin.”
Gap Two joined quietly. “Ranger Rabbit, please remain stable.”
Ranger Rabbit’s last voice came muffled through the door, still indignant. “Rabbits should not be operated on by turtles.”
Gap Two paused. “I am different from the other turtles.”
Ranger Rabbit immediately replied, “Same father.”
There was one second of silence inside.
Even Whiteboard Sparrow nodded. “That point cannot be refuted.”
The white light of the Resequencing chamber came on.
And elsewhere in the city, the low blue light of the electronic graveyard had not yet gone out completely. Planetary Duck was probably still organising the Second Backup machine. Little Sixty might have been asking about the third lesson. Water Dart Turtle remained at the entrance, left launcher cleaning, right launcher misting. Double-O Seven had gone with Bonnie to somewhere temporarily safe, trying hard to prove that spy agents should have the right to reckless driving.
Nothing was truly safe. Nothing was completely over.
Only tonight, another part of memory had been divided out, another Out-of-Sequence state was being pressed back, and another layer of old people and old incidents had been spat out by turtle locks, becoming laughter even the sparrows in Room 203 could not hold back.
That same night, in the temporary residence at the Wren Sentimental Hub, Serena did not sleep.
Grace Wren perched by the window, keeping external communications at their lowest. The low lamp in the room was gentle — gentle like an exhaustion approved by the centre. Serena sat on the edge of the bed, her coat still on, the day’s images floating before her: the petition, three hundred thousand names, Spectrum Recomposition completion, Holders-Back.
Then a little old light glowed beneath the cupboard door.
Turtle Seventy-seven, Cubby, slowly crawled out, the little bear mask hanging over her shell. She still looked faintly childish, but her voice was lower than the night before.
“All right. Little bear attack.”
Serena raised her head. Grace Wren immediately drew in her feathers.
Elsewhere, in Sandy Summers’s residence, the little bear keyring lit up too. She had just closed the Queen of Hearts’ outer synchronisation, and there was only a low lamp in the room. The red heart on Cubby’s chest flashed twice before Sandy held it in her palm.
“I’m here,” Sandy said.
Cubby connected both sides at once. “Sister Serena, Sister Sandy. Second night. Please keep your voices low. This line can open for only eight minutes.”
Serena asked only one thing. “Speak.”
Cubby’s eye-light brightened.
“First: Grandpa Clever Turtle is in the Room 203 Second Version Inquiry Room. Twenty-eight per cent of the data has not been unlocked successfully by Silver Eagle. Inquiry room lead Andy Wonfor has prepared three cans of Mad Bull.”
Serena froze. The news was so absurd that for a moment she did not know whether to be afraid first, or to think the world still retained a little comedy because of those three cans of Mad Bull.
Grace Wren said quietly, “Twenty-eight per cent remaining locked means Silver Eagle does not have complete control of Clever Turtle.”
Sandy’s voice was very low. “It also means they will become more urgent.”
Cubby nodded.
“Second: tomorrow the Spectrum Recomposition Project will use Room 201 court data. Vivian Poole’s illegal modified-agent case, and Helen Oliver and Karl Lowe’s unlawful assembly cases, will all be connected to data collection. They are not simple trials.”
Sandy tightened her grip on the bear keyring. “Court reactions, agent testimony, gallery emotion, underground port backflow — all of it will be collected?”
“Yes,” Cubby said. “Room 201 court will become a controllable public scene. They want to see how people believe, how they doubt, how they name Vivian Poole, Helen and Karl.”
Serena thought of Vivian’s six seconds. Of the crowd shouting that loving someone was not a crime. Tomorrow those voices would be gathered back in a cleaner way. Not on the street, but in court. Every expression, every pause in the public gallery, every whisper judged “reasonable doubt” or “underground incitement” would be sorted into Spectrum Recomposition material.
Cubby continued. “Third: underground radio footage will also be collected. Whistleblower Sister, 101 Reply Channel, Room 405 Women’s Concern Group, and all edited versions, rebuttal versions, support versions, sceptical versions. They will not only delete them. They will learn from them.”
The tips of Grace Wren’s feathers trembled faintly. “They use resistance material to train themselves?”
Sandy said coldly, “The system has always done that. It is simply eating more visibly now.”
Cubby was silent for a moment, as if even she did not want to say the next part too quickly.
“Fourth: Sentiment Recomposition development is complete.”
The air in the room thinned at once.
“They are testing with Sample M116. M for Monkey.”
Serena’s fingers slowly tightened.
The image of M16 lit up in her mind. That chimpanzee looking at her, intelligence unchanged, responses unchanged, yet no longer recognising her. That empty gaze had not been a malfunction. It was the hollow left by something successfully processed.
Now it was not M16. It was M116. More than a hundred later.
Grace Wren asked very softly, “Is Sentiment Recomposition the next layer after Sentiment Sequencing?”
Cubby shook her head. “No complete information on the mechanism yet. Only that it is not simply Sentiment Sequencing, and not simply Sentiment Restoration. They call it a therapeutic operation.”
Sandy’s voice was terrifyingly level. “Therapy is such a useful word.”
Cubby turned to both sides. “Sister Serena, Sister Sandy. You are Holders-Back. Holders-Back understand procedure. They also understand where to slow by half a beat. But now half a beat may not be enough.”
Serena finally spoke. “What do you want us to do?”
Cubby lifted the little bear mask slightly, like a very small, very old agent insisting on standing before the white light. “Stay alive first. Do not let them process you separately. At Room 201 court tomorrow, do not watch only the verdict. Watch who collects the data. Watch which agent records the gallery. Watch which sentence is marked as a reaction sample.”
Sandy asked quietly, “And?”
Cubby’s light began to waver. “If you see the line for M116, remember it is not a number.” She paused. “It is a monkey.”
The communication cut off.
Serena sat on the edge of the bed and did not move for a long time. Grace Wren did not tell her she needed rest. Tonight, that sentence had become too thin.
On Sandy’s side, the bear keyring went dark again. She still held it in her palm. The red heart no longer glowed, but it seemed to have left a tiny fire inside her fingers.
Outside, the city remained white.
In Room 203, Clever Turtle’s locks had still not fully opened. In the Resequencing chamber, Ranger Rabbit was being pressed back into a safer version. Room 201 court had prepared tomorrow’s procedures. The Spectrum Recomposition Project was waiting for its next batch of data. Somewhere, a monkey called M116 had already been pushed towards another cleaner operating table.
And two women whom Silver Eagle had named Holders-Back finally understood that holding back might no longer mean only slowing by half a beat.
Sometimes, after holding back, one had to reach out.