Underground Laboratory Unit 7 never slept.

Blue-white light illuminated the narrow corridors. Hidden cameras watched every movement, and steel doors never opened without a hiss of dry air. Children in white uniforms marched in rows. No sound. No questions.

She was in the middle of the line. Her face was clean, her hair always combed neatly as the rules required. On her wrist hung the KAB bracelet—tracking pulse, body temperature, and neural signals.

The digital clock ticked. 07:00. Time to head to the cafeteria.

Synchronized steps echoed.

Twelve children moved. Ten seconds. Twenty. Then a small voice from behind broke the silence.

“P-please... my bracelet fell…”

Everyone glanced back for a moment. Including her.

The boy crawled in panic, eyes red and trembling. His KAB bracelet had slipped off when they passed the cleaning rack. She saw it. It had been flung behind the sterilization unit in the hallway.

But she didn’t move. She only glanced briefly, then continued walking.

On time. Arrived at the cafeteria in forty-five seconds. Sat. Ate.

The boy’s body was dragged away by two guards. He screamed, but every head stayed down, eyes on their trays.

In the observation room, Professor Lennart watched everything from behind one-way glass. He tapped the screen, zooming in on her. Subject 17.

“There’s empathy... but logic wins,” he murmured.

He recorded the observation. But instead of marking her for routine evaluation, he pressed the blue button: direct interaction.