Irving jumped, turning to find a man from O&D—Burt—standing just out of the light. Burt didn't look like a marauder. He looked tired.
Suddenly, the elevator hummed in the distance—the sound of an "Outie" leaving, a consciousness being switched like a light bulb. The Grim Barbarity of Optics and DesignSeveranc...
He stopped before the painting. The canvas was dark, its edges bleeding into the shadows of the hallway. It showed O&D workers, their faces obscured by the glare of glowing ID cards that looked like handheld miniature suns. They were tearing through MDR, not with swords, but with drafting compasses and T-squares. "It’s just a mediation," a voice whispered behind him. Irving jumped, turning to find a man from
Burt stepped closer, the light finally catching the silver in his hair. "The grim barbarity isn't the killing, Irving. It's the design. Look at the eyes in the painting." Suddenly, the elevator hummed in the distance—the sound