Snow and Douglas climbed the spiral staircase, the crescent of silver light within the darkness leading to Griswold Baine's office. Apart from their footfalls, the room was silent. Snow looked aside, where blacklight blood coursed through the veins of four pillars. The blacklight surged, lit Snow's face in soft purple. She turned forward as they broke out into the light, beneath the floating marble giants whose arms stretched out to the city below.

"Afternoon, Douglas," Griswold Baine greeted. He nodded to his second guest. "Snow."

"Griswold. Always a pleasure," Douglas returned. Snow stayed quiet, and nodded her greetings.

"Can they get you anything?" Griswold asked Douglas, hands raised toward the androids that stood to each side of himself. One blonde, one brunette. Mathematically perfect faces. He chuckled. "Or would that be in poor taste, with your company?"

"We don't need anything, thank you," Douglas returned.

"In that case, I'll get to it," Griswold said. He leaned forward in his chair, and the two sips left of his whiskey clinked on the table. "It's been a couple weeks since we've checked in on the integration experiment. How's that coming along?"

"Still going well," Douglas answered. "Apart from the ones who found out, it doesn't look like anyone suspects a thing."

"Good," Griswold replied. His beard crackled beneath his palm, and a grin spread. "Very good. A broken prototype with a shot ESM, and still nobody suspects it. A working Third Gen would be indistinguishable." He chuckled, and reached back out for his glass. "I'm surprised this one made it out of its test tube, but now look at it; the single most important android in ensuring the success of The Apoptosis Project. You were right, Douglas. Thank you."

"Of course, sir."


As Douglas's sedan rolled to a stop before red hard-light, Snow remembered her first ride home from Frontline Biomedical. Knowing nothing, expecting everything and nothing, seeing everything new for the first time. Even the bowels of Port Cyrreine– the asphalt catacombs fifty feet beneath white pavement and curated greenspaces– were fascinating, fun. She remembered their first stop on the way to Skye Manor. Trying on clothes. Human clothes. Becoming the girl she claimed to be for almost a year, or maybe the girl she still was. She turned toward her driver.

"Can we go shopping?"
"Shopping? What for?"

"New clothes," Snow answered. Their car passed through a pool of sunlight that poured in from the gap above. Back into darkness. "It's going to start warming up soon. I'd like new clothes for Spring."

"Don't you already have some?"

"I do," Snow answered. "Maybe just one dress? It's okay if you don't want to go."

Douglas sighed, rubbed his palm on his cheek with one hand still on the wheel. "No, it's fine. Let's do it."

The North end of Cyrreine mall, closest to their destination, was full with all the usual crowd of a Friday afternoon. After ten or so minutes of grumbling Douglas admitted defeat, and took a left toward the four-story garage to the South. So they walked across the mall, father and daughter, though further apart than they had walked before.

Snow wondered why Douglas was so quiet. But another voice broke their silence.

"What the hell is this?!"

To their right, a woman in a white velvet coat held out a paper-wrapped bundle to a masculine android. Her eyebrows stitched together, aside from the cleft between them.

"That appears to be a slice of tomato."

"And what did I say? Go ahead and tell me what I said."

"You requested no tomatoes."

"Then why the hell is there tomato in my sandwich?"

"I requested no tomatoes for you," the android explained. "This must be an error on the part of the restaurant. I can–"

"I don't care who put it there! I didn't pay two thousand lien to put up with this kind of shit. Go back, and get me another one. Now."

Her dirty look turned toward Snow, who had slowed to watch. She blinked, faced forward, and caught up with Douglas.

Snow hummed softly to herself as she perused the shelves and racks of the two-story boutique. She found a few promising options. She liked the way the black dress fit her, but its color didn't say "Spring," and it was exactly an inch and a half too short for her taste. The pink dress looked better on the mannequin, as its color did little to complement her hair and skin. She eventually settled on option three, a sky blue sundress with an abstract suggestion of floral patterning and a band of white silk at the waist. Her reflection admired her, and how the shade of blue deepened her eyes. She pinched her skirt and let go as she twirled, smiling and watching its pleats fall into place.

Behind her, Douglas looked bored. Or maybe a bit angry.

"Is that the one?"

She spoke to him through the mirror. "Yes, I think so."

"Good. Let's head out, then."

Douglas was quiet through the checkout line, but kind enough to the cashier. She wondered if she should have gone for something less expensive. Maybe a dress from the discount rack instead, since she'd only be wearing it for a few months. But money never seemed much of an issue for them, and he had been quiet before she suggested the shopping trip, so the thought didn't make much sense to her.

"Thank you for buying me this dress," she said, holding up its bag. "I really do like how it looks on me."

"Yep. No problem."

"Would you like to buy anything?" she continued. "I feel a bit selfish, making you come out only for myself."

"No, I don't need anything."

They walked in silence for a minute or two. The Friday afternoon bustle passed and swirled around them.

"How has your week been at work?"

"It's been fine."

Another minute of silence.

"A test is coming up in History of Vale. I think I'm well-prepared, but I am a little nervous."

"Well, good luck."

Another minute, and they were in the car. She felt, again, as though it were her first time outside, her first time away from the basement of Empyrean Tower. But all the naïve, childlike wonder was gone. Only their shadows– the confusion and fear for all new and unknown– were left behind. As the engine roared to life, she flipped the sun visor down. Flipped up the mirror. And looked into her reflection's eyes.

Blue. Bluer than anything through the windshield, and bluer than anything else reflected in the mirror.

"You can drop me off at school now, if you'd like."

"Yeah," Douglas affirmed. "That's a good idea."

The car ride was brief. Down the road, up the hill, circle around to the front of Madrona Hall. A song and a half, and a truck's horn were the only sounds on their ride back. When Douglas slowed to a stop and a click in the door let Snow know she could leave, she turned back to him.

"Please drive safely. I love you."

"Thanks, Snow."

She waited for words she was afraid wouldn't come. Three seconds, four seconds, five. She backed away a step, and closed the door. Her eyes followed the sedan's tail lights until they rounded the corner, and were gone.


The dinner rush had already begun by the time Caspian arrived at The Roots, though he knew he'd be alone in joining it. Snow was spending the evening with her family, and since there was no Saturday training exercise, wouldn't be back until Sunday. Moka was visiting her mom, and was off to a party with Lilly after. Rowan said something the day before about meeting up with some of Noriko's friends, good for him. And he'd barely seen Ichigo in a week, ever since he mumbled something about a new project.

He walked along the row of booths by the window, looking for a place to take dinner and read his textbook. But an unexpected flash of blue made him stop. Snow's eyes stayed in his for more than a fleeting second. Long enough he felt she didn't avoid him, but they darted away just quick enough to leave him wondering if she'd rather be left alone.

He settled in across from her.

"Hey, Snow," he greeted. "Not going home today?"

"Do you know what I'm doing wrong?"

"What?"

"My father has been upset with me recently. I could tell he didn't want me around him, so I stayed here instead," Snow explained. She still looked out the window. "It feels as though I've done something wrong, but I don't know what. It hurts."

"I don't think you've done anything wrong," Caspian responded. He paused, absently stirring his pasta with a fork. "Maybe a few days ago, when the Headmaster wouldn't let you come with us? I really do appreciate what you did. But maybe it's because you refused his orders?"

"Maybe," Snow considered. But she didn't sound convinced. "But it felt this way before that day, too. Even I can tell something has changed."

"Don't say 'even.'"

"Hm?"

"You said 'even' you can tell something's changed," Caspian reminded. "But I don't like that. You're more empathetic than a good handful of people I know. Of course you can tell."

"Thank you, Cas," Snow returned. "But if I've done nothing wrong… you still think I can feel, right?"

"Yes, Snow. I know you can."

"You know I can feel love. And I can feel pain."

"I know you can."

"Thank you, Cas."

Caspian only nodded, and silence fell between them. "Do you want me to stick around? Or do you want some space?"

Snow turned away from steaks of rain falling down the window, toward Caspian. "Please stay," she requested. "At least for a little while, if you don't mind."

It always surprised Caspian how quickly the city faded to suburbs, and suburbia gave way to forests. The ride to Uncle Douglas and Aunt Holly's house was about half an hour– twenty minutes, if not for the traffic in Port Cyrreine. The perfect amount of time to practice the conversation he desperately didn't want to have. A sea of pines parted at the two lane road he drove upon, interrupted only occasionally by driveways and intersections. Deep in thought, he nearly missed the handcrafted wooden mailbox that marked his Uncle's home.

The driveway snaked through the woods for a few seconds more, before the trees opened to a large, grey-and-white two story home. As Caspian pulled up, then stepped up to the porch and knocked, a light blinking above the door told him he was being watched. He waved and flashed the camera a polite smile. Not quite friendly enough to feel disingenuous.

"Oh, hi Caspian!" his aunt Holly's voice greeted through the device. "I'll be right there."

He waited only a few seconds for her to open the door. He took a deep breath in, listening to the breeze and birdcalls that drifted along it. The door opened, and snapped him from his brief meditation.

"Sorry, I would have cleaned up a bit more if I knew you were coming," she explained as she held the door for him. "If you're here for Snow, I was told she decided to stay at school for the weekend."

"No worries, I probably won't be here long," Caspian returned. He did a quick scan of the modern, open plan living room. A couple wine glasses from the night before, and a jacket strewn out across the couch. Not much of a mess, but he didn't see his uncle, either. "Is Douglas around?"

"Yeah, he's up in his study," Aunt Holly replied. She turned to the stairs. "Honey! Cas is here to see you!"

"Uh– wait," Caspian requested. He lowered his voice. "Sorry if this feels invasive, but has anything been different lately? With him, or between you?"

"Well…" she began. And instantly, Caspian knew his answer. The hesitation. Not wanting to accept something is completely amiss. He wondered if it ran in the family. "He's been a bit... distant, lately. I thought it was just me, maybe I was overthinking it."

"I don't think that's the case."

Caspian heard shifting from upstairs, then footsteps down the hallway. At that moment, his aunt's Holoband rang, and she greeted a friend on her way to another room. Now alone, an overturned picture on the shelf next to him piqued his interest. He examined it. Smiling back at him were his Uncle Douglas and Aunt Holly, holding Snow between them.

"Hey, Cas. Good to see you," Douglas greeted. "What brings you here? Snow's back at school right now, she had a test she wanted to study for."

Caspian turned the picture back over. "It's about her, actually."

The cordial smile faded. Caspian caught him looking at the picture for a split second before straightening himself, backing a half-step away. "Alright. What about her?"

"Well... is everything alright? She said things have been a little different lately. I just wanted to make sure you're all doing okay."

"Did she put you up to this?"

Caspian shook his head. "No. She did tell me, but I'm the one that decided to ask. Because I can tell how much this is hurting her. I know the way things used to be. What happened?"

Douglas shook his head, rubbed his chin, and glanced again at the overturned picture. He looked back at Caspian. "Reality set in."

"What 'reality?'"

His eyes were severe– darker than he'd seen before. But seemed to look not at him, but through him, through the window, into the clouds rolling in across the horizon.

"Snow is a robot. The sooner you understand that, the better."

"She is not a robot! She's your daughter, and doesn't deserve to be treated like this!"

"She's a computer that happens to look like a human, that I was assigned to monitor," Douglas grimly asserted. "That's all."

"You… you don't believe this. I know you don't."

"I do, Caspian. And it's time you stop pretending, too."

"I'm not pretending!" Caspian insisted. "And what about the Cingulate Code?"

"There is. No. Cingulate Code, Cas. It doesn't exist!" Douglas took a shaky breath in, and his next words were composed, calm. "Ichigo and I analyzed her code, and compared it to that of a standard-issue organic android. Four and a half million lines of code. Completely identical. Nothing sets her apart from any other Organd."

"But…" Caspian faltered for a second. "Back when all the Organds got hacked, she fought it off! If she was just like any other android, she couldn't do that. She outright refused the Headmaster's orders the other day, too. Can androids do that?"

"She's convincing," Douglas maintained. "But her mind is just, thousands– millions– of zeros and ones, all firing on and off in patterns and modules that look like thoughts. That looks like emotion."

"And how is that different from us?!"

Douglas opened his mouth. Stopped, and turned away.

"Go home, Cas."

"...Are you serious?"

"Yes. Now go home. Please."

He bid his aunt an uneasy goodbye on his way out the door, then down the driveway to the blue sedan. The conversation had, somehow, gone worse than expected. Of course, he wouldn't for a second believe Douglas after everything he'd seen. He wasn't even sure his uncle believed himself. Until something changed a few weeks before, Snow was the daughter he tried for years to have with Holly. He wondered, again, if it tied into the Headmaster's 'plan' somehow. And what exactly that plan was.

His hand paused on the drivers' side handle. He looked over a shoulder, across the driveway, into the woods to each side of the house. It was the middle of a sunny afternoon. The clouds had only begun their campaign across the sky, and were still far from reaching the sun. The forest shouldn't be so dark. He couldn't take his eyes off an old pine just beyond the treeline. Like any of the others surrounding it, but entirely distinct. Some acute, uncanny and dangerous curiosity drew him in, tempted him, but warned him not to take a step closer. As he stared, the breeze stopped rustling the branches, and birdcalls fell to silence.

Replacing them, an ear-goring tone almost imperceptible in its high pitch. Like the whine of an ancient television set. He felt nauseous, and supported himself with a hand on the car's door. In his mind's eye, blood painted his shattered windshield.

He must have just been overthinking. The conversation was doing things to his head, and once he was on the road, he'd feel better. He ducked into the driver's seat, and the engine whirred to life. He was wrong. He only felt worse leaving the Hudson household behind. At least that strange paranoia faded in his rearview mirror.


Ichigo pounded at the sticks, buttons, and triggers of his controller, his glasses reflecting the screen filled with all manner of missiles and beams fired from his gigantic, cross-shaped enemy. Another fleet assembled before it to join in on the assault against Ichigo's lone pilot, who deftly rolled and weaved, returning fire with his own laser cannons. At the very top, only a red sliver remained of a health bar that spanned the width of the screen.

His Holoband began to rattle across the table.

"Not now…" Ichigo muttered. "Please not now…"

But in the split second the magenta glow blinked from his eyes, a crimson blast caught his ship, and the screen went grey. "MISSION FAILED," it read.

"Shhhh–oot! Freaking– darn it!" He spat. He raised his controller above his head in both hands, thrashed it down to an inch or two above his desk, and set it down gingerly.

He picked up Snow's call. "I was ten seconds out from beating Deos Prime on Excruciating mode, so this better be important."

"I'm sorry," Snow answered. "But I believe it is. My father dropped off a letter for you. He told me he would like you to read it at once."

"Okay," Ichigo allowed. "Know what it's about?"

"No. He only told me you should open it in a private place."

"Weird. I'll check it out."

He needed a break from the game anyway. An attempt at Deos Prime on Excruciating was a half-hour commitment, even for the most dedicated of False Reverence II's fanbase. He closed the screen with a bitter sigh, slid on his shoes, and made his way down to the wall of mailboxes in the lobby.

A single blank envelope waited inside. He plucked it out, and returned to the elevator with it tucked into a pocket. Again at his desk, he pulled out a messy scrawl on a scrap of notebook paper. Curiosity, then confusion, then fear all passed across his face. He set it down on his desk. Stared at the wall. From under his nose, the letter stared back.

"Forget everything I asked you to do. Now. Get rid of the drives. In the bay, if you can.

When you've read this letter, burn it."

An underline slashed the paper beneath "now," and "burn it."

Ichigo plucked the paper from his desk, folded it, crumpled its blank envelope and threw it in the bin. Twin thumb drives rattled as Ichigo pulled open the drawer next to him. He grabbed the one labeled "Snow," and slid "Control" into a pocket. He glanced around his room– toward his closet, the shelves above him, the plant Lilly gifted him for his last birthday dying on the windowsill. Then under his bed, where three pairs of shoes sat in a disordered line.

He took a step toward them and kneeled down, picking up the left shoe of his oldest pair. His fingers plucked the edge of the insole and he pulled until it tore past the heel. This left the tough lining, which he tore at with a pocketknife until he could fit the drive into a rubber groove in the sole. He pressed the insole back into place, and slid the shoe on. A slight bump, but nothing he couldn't get used to.

He put on the other shoe. He needed a lighter, and a trip to the bay.