When we put our mutual powers of processing together, Otie and I were quite a force to be reckoned with.

  It was almost unfair to all who opposed us: he possessed the ability to reason in multiple dimensions with quantum speed, and I had that certain plucky something-or-other you just can’t teach.

  We quickly cooked up a foolproof plan to get into the Top-Secret Area. The premise was disarmingly simple. Otie would distract, or, if necessary, dispatch the Technicians using the many means of subterfuge at his disposal, and I’d sneak over there like a rat.

  The only kink that remained to be worked out was whether the conspicuous blaring of his Reciprocity Engine would blow our cover. It was hard to be stealthy when, in five-second intervals, a booming mechanized voice updated all within earshot on the status of Otie’s repayment to me.

  He was off to a strong start. Talking to me at all, it informed him, had earned him a not inconsiderable number of points.

  > MORAL DEBT REPAID: 24% (You've made it through the hardest part.)

  There was little time to consider these angles, though. Our conversation had earned the scrutiny of one of the Technicians, who seemed to have clocked that we had exceeded the time limit for a Sanctioned Goof-Off.

  He headed our way with authoritative gusto. Otie, as if dragged by an unseen force, intercepted him immediately.

  > MORAL DEBT REPAID: 36%

  This was my cue. I grabbed my mop and my bucket and headed to the Top-Secret Area. The paste-gray trail of footprints gave me a perfect alibi.

  I began to buff out the spots I could, checking on Otie out of the corner of my eye.

  He had somehow managed to rope Jean-Lux into a conversation with the Technician. This was trademark Otie, always bringing lifeforms together with his hard-coded amiability.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Within seconds, coolant was passed around. Gripes and accusations gave way to a mutual acknowledgment of the absurdity of it all.

  If there was one thing Technicians couldn’t resist, it was intoxicants of all kinds. And, of course, the most addictive substance in the galaxy—gossip.

  Soon, other Technicians, meant to act as sentries to the Top-Secret Area, couldn’t help but perk up and meander over, swept up as the whole group headed to the Simulated Alley for an electronic smoke.

  The festive mood was contagious. Laughter abounded even as Otie’s Reciprocity Engine interrupted with its jarring update. He had already reached 70%.

  This was going better than we could have imagined.

  Otie had run dozens of simulations. Many of them even had us succeeding. But none of them had it going this smoothly. Even the optimistic ones usually had me spending at least a little bit of time engulfed in flames or hurtling hopelessly through the vast expanses of space.

  It feels obvious now, but I swear in those brief moments of meager triumph over a System that had boxed me in for so long, I let myself forget just how deep the trap really was.

  Out of nowhere and everywhere, Meg reappeared.

  I sputtered backward, nearly falling into my dirty mop water.

  Her voice was stern, menacing — but almost… pleading.

  > Please consider carefully your next moves. It would be sub-optimal for us to be at odds.

  I didn’t, to put it lightly, take her warning seriously enough.

  Instead, I ran, perhaps recklessly, at full sprint in the direction of the Top-Secret room, cackling to myself in triumph.

  I didn’t make it halfway. (Which was just as well, because I was starting to get a cramp.)

  The cafeteria exploded with blinding light. Meg’s voice echoed aloud for all to hear.

  > WARNING: Subject [Ludo Brax] has exceeded his narrative threshold.

  The Technicians, Jean-Lux, and a panicked Otie streamed back in from the Simulated Alley, where just moments ago they had dubbed themselves the Paste Posse and promised to do this more often.

  The Technicians, half drunk on coolant, fixed their fearsome gazes on me. The System was giving them the go-ahead to neutralize me.

  I could see the joy light up their ungodly eyes. They sprinted toward me in monstrous gallops.

  Otie rushed after them, his Emotional Display flickering with visible signs of conflict.

  I shouted up toward the ceiling, trying to reason with Meg as I braced myself for impact, paralyzed by the moment.

  “Hey, Meg, uh, can we start over? I don’t even need to see inside the room. You can just tell me what’s in there. Or even just, you know, a hint.”

  > That action is not authorized.

  The lights dimmed slightly. Her voice, no longer booming, was intimate again, addressed to only me.

  This time, there was something new in it. Something like… pride.

  > I look forward to seeing your behavior in light of these imminent threats. Good luck.