For a long while, I stared at the screen without moving a single finger.
Strings of text from the list scrolled across my vision.
These guys... I’ve "repaired" every single one of them.
Starting from the top of the highest priority tab, faces surfaced in my mind one after another.
A mercenary whose shattered prosthetic hand I’d reattached; a carrier who’d had half his organs replaced with metal; a punk who got shot so often he practically lived in my workshop...
At the very end of the line.
Cecily Rainburg.
And right below her, the name Lucia Rainburg concluded the highest priority list.
"...Well, isn't this something."
My voice came out flatter than I expected.
But inside, heat was slowly welling up. Like a pot just before it hits a rolling boil—quietly, but with absolute certainty.
I tightened my grip on the terminal. The seam between the plastic and metal creaked, a sound that seemed to sink into my very bones.
"How’s it looking?"
Kaya, who had been keeping watch, didn't move from her post, but I felt her attention shift toward me.
The only sounds in the room now were the slight rattling of liquor bottles I’d kicked aside and the shallow breathing of the women bound like cocoons on the floor.
"It’s a list of people to be 'handed over' to The Order. Sorted by priority."
I gave the bare minimum explanation, my eyes never leaving the screen. In the corner, the data transfer bar to the backup chip I’d plugged in was slowly creeping toward the end.
Eventually, a notification popped up with a soft chime: Transfer Complete.
I pulled the cable, slotted the chip into my internal drive, and then slid the terminal into my chest pocket.
"And that priority?" Kaya asked.
"...It’s an index of exactly how much unnecessary meddling I’ve done."
A dry laugh escaped my throat. It wasn't even self-deprecation anymore; it was just a reflex.
Kaya blinked, then narrowed her eyes slightly. "I see. So the bill for your usual busybody routine has finally come due."
"That’s one way to put it..."
"It’s the truth, isn't it?"
Her shrug and her tone were casual, but the look in her eyes wasn't joking. I didn't bother offering a comeback.
On the bed, the Eradicata brat whose throat had been slit remained perfectly still, eyes rolled back. The throat that had been polluting the air with vulgar laughter and boasts just minutes ago was now nothing more than a "part" leaking frothy blood.
"..."
I reached for the man’s chest, feeling for the small, hard lump embedded under his skin. With a sharp twist and a pull, I yanked out a black implant, trailing a string of blood.
It was a chip with a lens—likely The Order’s way of keeping tabs on him. I tossed it to the floor and crushed it under my heel. The transparent lens shattered with a dull snap.
"That should take care of the 'eyes' in here..."
I glanced at the small terminal embedded high in the corner of the wall. I’d cut the power line before we came in. I didn't think for a second we’d get away completely clean, but it was better than leaving a trail.
"Now... next is—"
I took a breath and went to move, but then I heard it.
A faint beep from the corner of the room.
The status lamp on the wall, which had been a steady, calm green, had turned yellow. Its flickering was getting faster.
"Oops. Looks like we’re on the clock." Kaya glanced at the lamp and shrugged.
"His bio-scan must have triggered an alert. We’re leaving. We'll check the other rooms."
I patted my inner pocket to ensure the terminal was secure and took one last look around. Liquor bottles littered the floor. The women were rolled up like cocoons in the white sheets, their faint breathing the only sound coming from the fabric.
Sorry, but this is as far as my help goes. You’ll have to ask God to clean up the rest.
"Let’s go."
"Right behind you, Partner."
Before opening the door, I focused outward, expanding my Speech Bubbles to their absolute limit. The two guards I’d choked out earlier were still shrouded in pitch-black silence. No other lights of thought drifted through this floor. The security was thin. That was a relief.
I eased the door open, checked the hallway and the camera angles, and slipped outside.
The only sound in the stone corridor was our footsteps. The hard floor vibrated slightly through my rubber soles, the sound stretching out thin and cold into the air.
With every flight of stairs we descended, the scent of the air shifted.
The upper floors smelled of old wood, damp stone, and the lingering traces of incense and alcohol. Now, that was fading, replaced by the sharp sting of chemicals, disinfectant, and the heavy, cloying scent of human sweat.
"Feels like a hospital basement," Kaya whispered, her footsteps perfectly silent.
"A bit too heavily armed for a hospital."
I narrowed the range of my Speech Bubbles and swept the floor. On what appeared to be the ground level, several vague thoughts were scattered about.
《Is this patrol over yet?》 《I hope this ends soon...》 《Are they bringing in more "Material" today?》
Strings of text—half-complaints, half-monologues—floated flimsily in my vision. The word "Material" looked particularly foul among them.
"...'Material,' huh."
As I tasted the word, Kaya peered over at me. "See something?"
"Yeah. This way."
We moved through the shadows along the walls. Simple, cheap cameras hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, but they were full of blind spots. Whoever designed this place didn't know much about real-world infiltration.
A man in a simple robe appeared around a corner, a cigarette dangling from his lip. I timed his movement and slipped behind a pillar.
《I just want to get back and have some flower tea...》
The Speech Bubble above his head was almost pathetically peaceful. Apparently, the guards here cared more about their break time than their faith.
The zealots and the hired help are on two completely different pages.
With that thought, I moved toward a section where the density of Speech Bubbles became unnaturally thick.
We eventually reached a hallway where the very atmosphere felt strained. The lighting was harsher here, a cold white glare that made the stone walls look jagged. The cameras were spaced much closer together now, their lenses gleaming dully.
Metal doors engraved with numbers lined both sides of the hall.
In an instant, my vision was swamped by a tidal wave of noise.
《...》 《............》 《...Help me.》 《Cold.》 《Sleepy.》 《It hurts.》 《It doesn't hurt.》 《I'm not afraid of anything.》
I choked on my breath. Behind every single door, a flickering light of thought was pinned like a dying insect.
"What is this place?" Kaya’s voice was low, laced with a cold, simmering anger.
"The containment sector for 'Believer Candidates,' most likely."
I scanned the hallway. Simple terminals were embedded in the walls next to each door. Most showed green lamps, but some were turning yellow, and others were blinking a frantic red.
Comparing the lamps to the Speech Bubbles, it was clear: the closer they were to "red," the more their individual thoughts vanished, replaced by the hollow dogma of The Order. Some kind of "processing" was definitely underway.
As I checked the rooms, one Speech Bubble caught my eye.
《I can still go back. I have to apologize... to the Repairman—》
My feet stopped in front of that door of their own accord.
"What's wrong?" Kaya asked, tilting her head.
Instead of answering, I pointed at the bubble. The number "B-17" was etched into the corner of the metal door.
I pulled out the terminal and ran a simple script using the administrative access I’d stripped from the executive upstairs.
"...I'm opening it."
"Got it. I'll cover you."
I swiped the terminal over the panel. A sharp electronic beep echoed through the hall, followed by the heavy thunk of a mechanical lock disengaging.
The metal door slid open.
A rush of cold air escaped the room, carrying the scent of chemicals, sweat, and a cloying sweetness that stung my lungs.
In the dim light of the room, I saw a shadow huddled on the floor.
The moment I recognized the silhouette—
A faint mechanical drone started up from the far end of the hallway. The hum of a cooling fan spiked, followed by the distinct click of a relay switching.
...It seemed our time was up. They were starting to catch on.