Chapter 3

"Hazel..."

Marcus's voice came from the third row.

He was the only one with a B+ rating.

His mouth could move.

"Marcus?"

"Don't come close," his lips moved incredibly slowly, as if they were half-frozen. "If you get near me, my score will drop."

"What do you mean?"

"Interaction triggers a re-evaluation," Mr. Sterling chimed in, his tone like he was explaining a standard expense report policy. "If a B+ employee has too much contact with a 'Pending' employee, they are automatically flagged as a correlated risk. Their score gets downgraded."

"So if I talk to him, he loses points?"

"Oh, it's not just losing points. It's a risk-control downgrade," Director Vance murmured, making notes in her file without looking up. "This system is extremely precise. Just don't touch him."

I stood frozen, my knuckles turning white.

Even speaking had a price.

"Marcus," I whispered, keeping my voice as low as possible. "Do you know what happened to the outside world?"

His eyeballs rolled downward.

"Badge..." he wheezed out. Just one word.

Badge?

Mr. Sterling stood up.

"Hazel, let me remind you, Marcus's current score is a B+, right on the safety threshold. Every question you ask triggers another correlated interaction. After three—"

"After three, what?"

"A downgrade to B-." He walked over to Marcus and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Anyone below a B- loses speaking privileges. Do you want him to end up like Zach?"

I bit my lip.

I couldn't ask anything else.

But Marcus had given me a clue. The badge.

His ID badge hung on his chest, just like everyone else's. I stared at it from a distance. The front had his photo and name: Marcus Vance, Planning Manager.

What about the back?

I wanted to flip it over, but getting close to him would trigger the re-evaluation.

The lights flickered again.

The chair in the second row was empty.

Chloe was gone.

A small pile of grey powder remained on the floor.

The twenty-three minutes were up.

"Such a pity," Director Vance crossed out a name in her folder. "She was a sweet girl. But a low score is a low score."

I knelt down and touched the pile of powder.

It was warm.

Like clothes fresh out of a dryer.

"Mr. Sterling," I stood up, my voice trembling. "Is she really dead?"

"Not dead. Terminated," he corrected. "'Dead' is an imprecise term. In our system, it is called resource reclamation."

"You are fucking murdering them."

Mr. Sterling looked at me, showing no anger whatsoever.

That fifteen-degree smile remained fixed on his face. He didn't seem to have the capacity for anger.

"Hazel, emotional regulation is also an evaluation metric. That outburst just cost you two points on your EQ score. I suggest you watch your language."

Director Vance stood up.

She walked over to Marcus, leaning down as if inspecting the growth of a potted plant.

"Marcus, you just spoke to Hazel, didn't you?"

Marcus remained silent.

"The system recorded it," she stood up and clapped her hands. "That's one correlated interaction. Two more chances left."

She turned to look at me.

"Hazel, you need to hurry up. At this rate of elimination, there will only be five people left in twelve hours. If you want to rack up enough performance points to pass your probation, you need to handle at least three yourself. Three is the bare minimum."

"I am not doing it."

"Then you can watch them turn into powder one by one."

She walked back to her seat, picked up a cup of coffee that had appeared out of nowhere, and took a sip.

"Oh, by the way, Marcus just dropped to a B."

She glanced at the dial on her wrist.

"Next round of elimination is in one hour. Currently, the lowest score belongs to Lily, the receptionist, at a C-."

I looked at Lily.

The twenty-two-year-old girl had only been at the company for three months before the disappearance.

Her lips were trembling.

A single tear finally leaked out, sliding down her grey cheek.

Mr. Sterling pressed the remote, and the scores on the big screen shifted.

Marcus: B → B-.

His mouth clamped shut.

Completely sealed.

Mr. Sterling's voice drifted from behind me, flat as a memo.

"Hazel, you have twenty-two hours left. The scissors are on the table. You can pick them up anytime."