In the gray hours after, in different cells separated by glass, Juno and Arman sat watching the city breathe differently. The Meridian was offline but being picked over by teams from three different institutions, some in good faith, some not. Forums were alight with patches, with tutorials for replacing heartbeat sampling, with civic groups printing guides and mailing them to neighbors.

A merc with a voice modulator barked for surrender. “You’re under citizen control act detention.” His badge glowed proprietary blue.

The clocktower’s shadow fell over the western stretch of the city like an accusation. It had once chimed for weddings and market days. Now it chimed for compliance.

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