He counted one and held. The scissors whispered through the blue strip; the hidden jaw under the skirt began to bite. Ash exhaled, settled the sight on the sliver of the pin he had, and took the shot. The pin sheared; the clamp spat out its teeth; line snapped back against armor and skittered away. The curtain stayed square.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Field disabling shot: auxiliary clamp pin (long-range, partial occlusion). Difficulty: hard. +250 Mechanic XP / +350 Basic Mechanical Repair XP.
The City-Admin clerk didn't flinch. He finished the cut, pressed the twin stub onto Admin's page, and lifted his chin. "Venue open."
"Objection," the Nightshade liaison said, jabbing at the grille. "Gunfire during convene—hostile—"
"Ruling: venue defense of tools only," the clerk answered, already writing it. "Logged. Proceed."
Admin laid his palm on the pad to still it. "Record: oversight protocol active. Attachment blocked. Watchers present. Seals read. Seizure request denied pending audit."
The Nightshade clerk read from his sheet like groceries that included bone: jigs, outputs, logs, tools. The City-Admin clerk stamped DENIED (PEND. AUDIT) on every line that tried to smuggle attach past the rope. "View-only inventory permitted under co-witness."
The inspector hugged his clicker. Ash stayed at the rope, Stag slung, safety on, eyes moving between the grille and hands.
Admin lifted a pouch. "Exhibit A: foreign micro-relay found on our control bus; removed under Admin authority with Nightshade techs present, after remote attempt registered." The pouch clicked onto the crate beside the recorder.
"Entered," the City-Admin clerk said. "Nightshade co-witness?"
"Observed," the inspector managed.
"Exhibit B," Admin said, showing the coin in its sleeve. "Active RFID hidden inside an INSPECTION PENDING tie on the bench leg; removed at audit request."
"Entered," the clerk echoed, writing HIDDEN RFID—INSPECTION TIE.
"Exhibit C," Ash added. "Cart fault: mast LED smoke from blocked intake—operator error. Co-witnessed."
"Observed," the inspector said again, smaller.
"Exhibit D," Admin said, steadier now. "Bench verification: three rifles, five hundred cycles each; then field re-zero of A-07, A-19, A-31 under audit and co-witness. One squib logged to Nightshade ammo lot. PV+Z on tags."
The clerk wrote VERIFIED LOT A + FIELD Z and let the liaison see the ink. "Response?"
"We maintain non-compliance. Your fabricated parts—"
"Have traceability," the clerk said, tapping the blue-sealed retain bag where H7 gleamed on a pin head. "Retains held. Marks present. Counts on record. You have view-only inventory."
"Inventory," the inspector said quickly, trying to make the word taller. His operator pushed the cart until Hale's presence and the rope agreed on where wheels stopped.
"From there," the clerk said, pleasant and unyielding. Admin read tags from the outgoing rack; the inspector repeated them. The recorder collected digits like rain collects roofs.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Venue status: in session. Attachment: blocked. Cart: outside rope. Risk: moderate.
The liaison tried again. "Seizure of tooling remains our request."
"Denied," the clerk said, stamping by reflex. "Snapshot of configuration only."
"The micro-jig is snapshot-sealed until dawn plus," Admin said, nodding at the blue wafer through the chain on the vise. "We don't move it."
The inspector feigned mercy. "Check under the bench for auxiliaries."
"Rope is your line," Hale said. "Your eyes can go wherever they can reach from there."
A polite chirp from Nono: motion at the rope near the bench leg. The cart man's assistant had eased a stiff fiber filament toward the padlock ear—camera tip trying to trade view-only for attach. Ash flicked a rag across the gap and let fabric make the rule obvious. The clerk didn't raise his voice. "Warning: attempted fiber probe beyond rope. Logged."
Numbers droned on, steady as bolts. The drone drifted to the corridor mouth as if presence were a credential; Hale pulsed the pocket light through the grille until the sensor decided the hallway was dull again. The last LOT A line slid into SEALED—AUDITED. Admin capped his pen. "Interim: status quo until noon. Throughput continues under oversight. Watchers outside. Cart at rope."
"We retain continuous inspection," the liaison said.
"View-only," the clerk and Admin answered together. The clerk boxed the order in neat squares and signed; Admin signed; the Nightshade clerk signed like a man adopting a dog he didn't want. The inspector printed his name with a click-scarred thumb.
The lights shivered a quarter, a brown that made the room think of diesel. The recorder hopped to its battery. "Generator?" Admin asked his radio.
"Local," came back, thin with corridor. "Tap at a junction; cut. Stable. Your seal holds."
"Logged." Admin wrote BRIEF BROWNOUT—JUNCTION TAP CUT.
The inspector drifted again as if momentum were permission. His assistant edged the fiber back toward the bench leg, this time with a tiny copper whisker taped to the tip, a ground lead slim as an eyelash, aimed at the knife-switch padlock ear.
Nono's chirp turned lower. Hale said, "No," in a tone that made air reconsider.
The hand paused—as if almost inside still meant outside. Ash stepped, set a light boot on the filament to remind it of physics, pinched the copper whisker with two fingers, and lifted it like a bug headed for a jar.
"View-only," he said, and the clerk wrote GROUND LEAD ATTEMPT—DENIED, underlining attempt so it felt the weight.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Venue: probe intercept (fiber + ground whisker). Difficulty: simple (higher-tier item). +10 Mechanic XP / +15 Basic Mechanical Repair XP.
"It's non-intrusive," the liaison tried.
"It's intent," Admin said. "Logged."
"Next attempt and your assistant leaves the venue," the City-Admin clerk said, and looked at Hale's shoulders the way men glance at mountains.
The clerk passed the interim order for the last signatures. "We reconvene at twelve. No changes to seals. No attachments. No deployments under our roof that look like law and smell like tools."
Admin patted the recorder with two fingers. The room exhaled the length of a bolt-turn. The drone sulked up. The watchers rearranged their lean into something they would call posture.
A delicate flicker touched the lights; the recorder's battery icon stayed calm. Ash let one coin's worth of weight off his shoulders and felt the bench at his back: hot-bench flag glowing red under the new blue on the rope; H7 winking from the jar like a signature with stubborn opinions.
Nono rolled toward the seam and gave that lower ping again. Ash turned as the inspector's assistant rehearsed a better lie: fingers crooking a hair inside the rope, the copper eyelash trembling toward the padlock ear a second time, the face preparing a sentence about coat sleeves and adjustments.
Hale's "No" resonated once, clean as a bell. The hand held its position anyway.
Ash shifted forward. One palm found the bench rail. The other gathered rag and wire at the same time the Stag's safety slid off without sound, not for shooting, for intent. He drew the whisker away and laid it on the rag as if showing it a softer future.
"Final warning," the clerk said, eyes on the assistant, pen ready. "Next violation, removal."
Admin wrote it down before the man could nod. The liaison's smile shrank until only procedure remained.
"Status quo stands," the clerk concluded. "We break to noon."
The rope gleamed with its fresh blue. The chain held the posts. The curtain breathed like a machine that had learned not to move for liars. Outside, the truck idle settled one step lower, and somewhere down the artery the generator remembered its key and kept it.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Venue status: adjourned (interim). Attachment: blocked. Watchers: exterior. Risk: moderate → low (temporary).
Ash tucked the rag with the copper eyelash into the evidence pouch, pressed the seal until the ink took part of his thumb, and met Hale's glance. Gravity nodded back.
They held the room.