A green diode blinked.
Boots moved.
A small cart rolled.
The sound passed his cube and kept going, purposeful, unhurried. He listened to the wheels until they turned a corner and became someone else's problem.
He took inventory of what he owned in here.
Floor drain, centered. Useful once it mattered. Vent high right with a grille honeycombed fine enough to laugh at fingers. Bolts he could not reach without tools. Camera he could blind if he was allowed to sleep and dream a fire hot enough to fog the lens, but that would get him sedated again and moved down a list of notes labeled "noncompliant."
He crouched and touched the floor with the back of his hand. Not cold enough to steal strength.
They wanted their numbers honest. He respected the process, but he hated the men.
