In front of my digital canvas I remove my MIRCS nodes and have two paintings.

A plain white figure standing in a barren field.

A white haired woman holding a faceless baby.

Abstract, and flawless in line.

“But now what?”

I quietly pick up the prints and snap the laminations to the magnetic receptacles on my wall.

Two more paintings. I suppose that woman is I, and the baby must be Suzanna.

A trickle of blood emerges from the woman’s hand, from the back of the baby's head.

What is with this incessant bleeding? Why does this bleeding theme keep returning?

None of this makes any sense. Of course, I'm only more intrigued.

I take a seat, folding my robe over myself, sitting to stare at it more, only to understand less with every second.

“Suzanna was a child? Of mine?”

“Perhaps,” FABIAN mutters.

“Mother Elin,” Chuji again. She, alongside another voice.

So rare, solitude is. But then again, the ponderance did not seem fruitful, perhaps this interruption was needed for the sake of efficiency.

“Lieutenant Baumschneider and I have a confession to make.”

If only my ears could twist like Diogenes’s.

“The photographs of the child from last month were spread along TwigPost by one of our ranks, as you may have guessed.”

“Dare I act surprised?” I tilt my head.

“Punitive measures aren't very useful right now; however, you can imagine I'm disappointed in my underlings. Nevertheless, there is always more work to do.”

“Understood, Mother Elin. Notify us how we could be of further service.”

“Remedying this would be a good start,” I grin. “Cleaning the media is a solid first step.”

“Are you seeking strongarming? Discreet bribery?”

“Your ideas came quicker than mine. Both seem like appreciable options, and with that we shall begin, thank you,” I mutter.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Do not fear punishment, for we both have fears of consequence; your assistance is as much needed as ever, thus I am allowing everyone to move along.”

“Understood. We will update you on how our attempts go.”

“Do what you must to stop the spread, but it’s also likely too late, and we will then have to bribe a larger number of people. I’d prefer not to, but the money is there if needed.”

Not sure if I’d want all of my Daughters with me in my escape modules. Kind in intention, but foolish in execution.

The Earworm transmission ends.

Another Golden Boy emerges from the shower in the suite, scrubbing his curly black hair with a towel, steaming as he approaches.

“Mother Elin,” he grins, his row of porcelain white teeth almost shining in the room.

“Aren’t you quite the presentation?”

“Why, thank you,” he smiles.

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“Hm,” he hums. “Not really anything in particular.”

“Pancakes and fruit?”

“I guess my mind has changed.”

“Of course,” I smile back at him.

“Chef, please,” I call over Earworm.

Hurried footsteps approach the door outside the living room. The door cuts through the blank white surface of the walls.

~~

“You seem stressed, Doctor.”

Her hands shake slightly as she grasps her coffee.

“Yes, Ms. Aldero’s affairs are taking a bit of a toll on me. But I will manage, Mother.”

“May I be of any assistance?”

“Aside from further reexpression of her VEGF-A gene to continue bolstering her aerobic capacity and endothelial condition, which we could use some budget reallocation towards–”

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“You already have full control over the laboratory budget, Doctor,” I smile.

“Oh. Right. Pardon…”

“Cynthia’s body seems to be able to tolerate all the tomfoolery we throw at her, I see no reason to hold back on whatever idea you have next,”

“Agreed,” she replies.

I look out the window to see an overcast day. Cloudy, just like this poor Doctor’s mind.

“When you have a moment, do not hesitate to come to the Sanity Chamber for decompression. Talent like yours does not deserve to be torn down by your burdens.”

“If I give another minute to rest, everything will–”

Grasping her hand, I whisper, “Doctor, I believe that is a sign you truly need it. Your body language fails to hide it.”

She freezes, as if starstruck, by my presence.

“Come, the project of Ms. Aldero can wait one or two hours.”

“Mother, there cannot be any delay–”

“We are delaying in any case. Come, come,” I pull her by her wrist. “Place your clipboard here. I will call secretaries to manage this. FABIAN?”

“Yes, Mother,” he replies.

“Come care for Honoko’s paperwork, make sure nothing gets moved, so she can resume right where she departed as I administer some treatment,” I say as we step along the pearl-white laboratory halls, the bright light diffusing from the walls and ceiling, in all angles. Quite a brilliant design, so nothing gets lost lest anyone drops things on the floor.

Honoko nervously looks at me, as I glance back at her. I feel her pulse bulging from her wrist. “I know how upsetting this is to you, but I beg your trust, my guidance to you is for the sake of not only you but all involved in your process.”

“U-understood,” she mutters.

Walking through pneumatic door after door, we approach the chamber. The gray sphere is dead silent, I could hear Honoko’s pulse still beating high, but gradually slowing down.

“You respond to your environment, I can hear your heart rate descending,” I mutter, touching her gently by her shoulders,” her crisp white lab coat rustles under my fingertips.

She stares at the other side of the sphere, speechless.

“The effects are coming quickly, aren’t they, Kynine?” I slowly ask as she takes a gradual and deep breath. “It’s really quite a simple facility. Just some sound dampeners and a blank surface.”

“The… The…”

I bring my lips centimeters from her ear. “Shh… Rest.” She stands, still staring at the other side of the spherical room. I brush a tuft of her jet-black hair from her forehead, and remove her glasses from her almond-shaped eyes.

“More breaths,” I mutter. “Your body demands it.”

She complies.

“Think back to what brought you solace.”

No response.

“I… do not remember,” she mutters.

“Mmm,” I quietly grumble.

“Usually… I need Serenity-Q to enter this state of mind,”

“What do you remember from your childhood?”

She freezes again.

“Not that much…”

“Concerning, no?”

“Yes, like most others, my childhood was mostly in the boarding school,” she talks, as blurry images of a child’s hands, flipping through a large book in a daycare, appear on the side of the sphere Honoko is staring at.

Another child seems to spill a cup of liquid on the book, which then from the perspective of young Honoko, whom begins crying.

Then, another scene where Kynine then is yanking a tablet from a classmate, only succumbing to the superior might of said classmate, and falling onto her palms, then to be struck at the head, and the scene ends.

A third scenario, where an assumed teenager Kynine is working through a VR simulation on a surgical model, the display shuts off and she frantically pushes buttons, attempting to restart it, only to realize the virtual project is all lost.

“That was my pregrad dissertation, I had to spend hundreds of hours more to recover all that work,” she mutters.

“Doctor,” I gently hug her, as small tears roll down her cheeks. “Rest assured, you are indeed still one of my Daughters, regardless of your past failures and whatever you may fail or succeed in next,” I state.

“Thank you,” she sobs. I gently draw a claw to swipe away the tear from her cheek, and then guide her out of the room.

“You are in no hurry to rush back to work,” I coo. “Take your time with your work. Rushing will only produce counter-productive results.”

Her black heels slowly clack against the solid glass floor, her head down as she returns to her laboratory.

“Although your wellbeing is chiefly your responsibility, I intervene when I see necessary.” I touch her on her shoulder. “Ring me through Earworm if you need anything else, otherwise I will go and check in on you,” I say to her back as she quietly moves along.

There is dull rustle coming from the lab as I turn around. As predicted, she rushes back in to her old habit.

~~

Ms. Aldero is once again in her stasis, full of fluid and tubes running through her circulatory system.

I gently knock on the glass.

“Cynthia, Daughter,” I smile.

She opens her eyes. “Good morning,” her muffled voice comes through the vocoder.

“Tell me… of your enthusiasm to perform today.”

“Sky high, as always,” she shines a teethy smile behind the transparent plastic respirator.

“Dandy.”

“What might we have in stock today?”

“Nothing too out of the ordinary. Another test of your endurance, which you seem to take pride in,”

“More specifically?”

“100 Jackals with one of a mutant variety.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, EVACorp is cooking a special recipe just for you.”

Muscles throughout Cynthia’s body start to press through her lean skin, with each strand making itself visible.