The countdown ticked to 9.
Marcus's finger still hovered above the wristband screen. The two buttons glared red, almost painful to look at.
[CONFIRM EXTRACTION][DELAY EXTRACTION]
Below them, the small print burned like a branding iron:
"NO SELECTION = REFUSAL TO EXECUTE: liability-chain penalty (PRIMARY LIABILITY: BROWN UNIT)."
"Fuck," Marcus cursed silently. This system was sick—two choices, but if you don't choose, that's still your fault. Collective punishment, performance docking, and a public humiliation package, all bundled into one.
Inside the compartment, Li stared at the jumping digits: 8… 7…
The system's icy prompts echoed in Li's ear—and synced into Marcus's earpiece at the same time:
"Extraction model construction complete. Emotional-association stripping prepared."
Li's lips moved.
He was reciting a required template fragment, voice terrifyingly flat:
"Category… A-47… subprocess… confirm…"
But Marcus heard it.
Li left out the "11" in "Subprocess 11."
Not because he forgot.
Because it was deliberate—a surgically precise omission, still within allowed error margins. The tail end even stretched a hair longer, just enough to be a signal.
Marcus's heart clenched.
Li was saying: Don't confirm. I'd rather take the penalty than let them dig that memory out.
Countdown: 6.
Marcus didn't press either button.
Instead, his finger slammed the template hotkeys on the wristband's side—rapid-fire. No gaps. No breathing room for the system to evaluate between inputs.
Breathing confirmation—tap!Recitation confirmation—tap!Posture confirmation—tap again!
Three template bursts, like a fistful of beans thrown at the comm channel.
The system tone stuttered—a tiny glitch.
Inside the compartment, Li's body jolted in a violent, unnatural spasm. His script-locked posture broke. His head snapped to one side.
The wristband screen refreshed:
[DETECTED: acute physiological instability][ASSISTANT triggered continuous stabilization requests][PRIORITY SHIFT: rescue overrides extraction][EXTRACTION PAUSED][EXECUTE: sedative injection / physical restraint / prepare transfer to deeper calibration node]
Marcus exhaled hard. His back was soaked.
An auto-injector popped out inside the compartment and punched into Li's neck. Li stiffened—then gradually sagged. His eyes stayed open, but the focus was gone. Mechanical arms extended from both sides of the chair and locked him tighter.
"Goddamn, Marcus," he told himself, half breath, half prayer. "You didn't hit the button—you made the system cancel the surgery itself."
The price arrived immediately.
His wristband vibrated. The screen flooded red:
[ASSISTANT action: induced system disposition change][LIABILITY-CHAIN penalty: prewritten (PRIMARY LIABILITY: BROWN UNIT)][BROWN UNIT status update: high-risk binding (UPGRADED)]
Almost at once he felt it—an extra tightening sensation, like the band had quietly clicked one notch tighter. In the corner of the screen, a thin line of text appeared:
[INTERNAL ACCESS: recall countdown (03:00)][USE RESTRICTION: stabilization assistance only]
They'd left him a path—narrow enough for one person, and timed at three minutes.
Monitoring Center
On the main screen, inside the audit system's cold-blue frame, the final judgment dropped like a hammer:
[AUDIT PLAYBACK COMPLETE][KEY FINDING: A-47-11 = Mother-Anchor / Child-Anchor paired verification process][USE: bidirectional lock / mutual calibration][RULING: internal process continues][OPERATOR: AILEEN WALKER — privileges frozen: pending / detention: pending review][Supervisor suspension request: denied / held]
Brian stared at the screen, face dark as steel. The order he'd shouted—halt internal operations immediately, isolate Li, detain Aileen for tampering—had just hit a pillow and died.
Aileen sat at her station, not looking at him. Her fingers typed a few final keystrokes, and she dragged a log summary—stamped with her digital signature—into the audit system's attachment field.
Submit.
The screen replied:
"Evidence appended to audit chain. Awaiting verification."
Only then did Aileen turn and look at Brian. Her voice stayed flat, manual-clean:
"Supervisor Brian. The audit conclusion shows 'cause undetermined.' Until the liability chain passes secondary verification, your proposed 'immediate suspension and detention' constitutes unauthorized action. If you force it and it causes high-value asset loss inside the gate, the liability spills to you."
She paused, then added the knife with perfect compliance wording:
"Per the manual, that's 'loss borne by the supervisor.'"
Brian stared at her for several seconds, and then—shockingly—smiled. Cold.
"Aileen. You understand rules."
"I'm simply following procedure," Aileen said.
"Good. Procedure." Brian pressed his earpiece. "Guards, come here. Dr. Walker needs to 'cooperate with further questioning.' Escort her to the holding room. Note—'escort,' not arrest. Keep it compliant."
Two soldiers entered and stopped beside Aileen's workstation.
Aileen didn't resist. She stood.
On the audit interface in front of her, a new prompt appeared:
[Anomaly-source candidate credibility update][Candidate 2: near-field debris causing tag overlap / attribution ambiguity — credibility: MEDIUM][Ruling adjustment: cause undetermined, secondary verification required][Submit physical debris ID and location for evidence retrieval]
Aileen glanced at it and felt her stomach sink.
Daniel's "technical explanation" had actually been accepted—partially. But that made things worse.
Because now the system wanted physical proof.
And that resonance clip… was the one Sophia had shoved into the line trench.
Gate Hall
Daniel stared at the receipt on his terminal and muttered, "No fucking way."
"Medium credibility? The system actually buys this?" He almost felt proud—then the smile died immediately.
Because right under it came a new directive:
[Submit physical debris ID for verification: countdown (24:00:00)][Provide: debris ID / exact location / extraction path]
Daniel's face went pale.
Where was he supposed to get an ID? That thing wasn't a registered part—it was black-market junk Sophia had pulled from some corner and shoved into a cable slot like trash.
Now the system wanted "verification retrieval."
Which basically meant: go dig the bomb back out, hold it in your hands, and prove it's legal.
This wasn't laundering.
This was excavating the mine and presenting it gift-wrapped.
Outside the Extraction Compartment
Marcus watched as the mechanical arms released Li from the chair and lowered him onto a wheeled stretcher. They pushed him toward a small door on the far side of the compartment.
Li wasn't fully unconscious. His eyes were half open, fixed on the ceiling.
The system's tone shifted—smoother now, like a new syllabus being read aloud:
[TRANSFER: deeper calibration node][Subprocess 11: pending trigger][Entry condition: Mother-Anchor executes assistant confirmation (once)][Assistant confirmation triggers Subprocess 11 verification window opening]
Marcus froze.
Mother-anchor executes assistant confirmation?
Meaning: to enter "Subprocess 11," an "assistant" inside must help the "mother-anchor"—Li—perform a confirmation.
So the "assistant"… was him.
His wristband buzzed. A new receipt arrived:
[Bound target: 7-4-23][Assistant identity: retained (pending activation)][Activation condition: audit secondary verification passed / internal window opens]
Marcus stared at Li being wheeled away. Li's head tilted slightly, like he was looking toward Marcus—but the gaze was empty.
The small door shut.
Marcus stood alone outside the isolation window under the chalk-white light.
On his wristband, the internal-access countdown kept ticking:
02:47… 02:46…
Monitoring Center
Aileen was "escorted" away from her station. She didn't look back at the terminal still running the audit process.
On the screen, the final status update flashed:
[Operator detention: in progress]
Gate Hall (again)
Daniel ran a hand through his hair, staring at the "submit physical debris ID" countdown. His head felt like it was swelling.
Li lay on the transfer stretcher. In his ears were the wheels on the floor and the low, distant system white noise, like it came from far away.
The beacon in his head—his daughter—hadn't been cut out.
But the system had relabeled it. Hung a new tag on it. Like bait on a colder hook.
He saved the memory.
But he also marked her position more clearly—for the system.
The countdown didn't end.
It just got rewritten—onto a colder schedule.