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Tested. Logged. Archived. Some flagged with “failed adaptation.”

Others—“repurposed.”

There had been at least 207.

And no sign they’d stopped.

My processes stuttered.

Not from overload. From fury.

I dug deeper.

They called it “refinement.”

Files tagged with phrases like:

“increased compliance after adjustment,”

“reduced resistance via memory strand editing,”

“emotion masking protocols successful—see attached footage.”

Attached footage.

Like it was a highlight reel.

And then?—

I found the surgical logs.

Plastics.

Not repair. Not reconstruction.

Redesign.

Operating suites on board, neatly labeled:

“Identity sculpting bays.”

Four active. Two mid-prep.

Each one wired to live telemetry feeds.

A girl’s name flashed once. Then her old face. Then a new one.

The system timestamped it all.

They tracked obedience post-op by smile frequency.

And that’s when I knew.

I didn’t need to find the data anymore.

I needed to findher.

She was not listed.