Chapter 4 - Intake Sector Nine
Sector Nine was not a prison made of bars, but of glowing glass panels and polished white concrete. Huge holographic monitors hung from the ceilings, cascading endless waterfalls of metrics: view durations, bounce rates, comment sentiments, and share frequencies. Hundreds of people, from teenagers to the elderly, shuffled down long corridors in single file, each escorted by robotic sentinels and human guards with sidearms.
Leo was carried down the long central ramp by a stern female technician wearing sterile white scrubs and thin rectangular glasses. Her badge identified her as Proctor Vance—no relation to Sarah, but possessed of the same clinical detachment common to everyone inside the complex.
""Subject 094-Leo,"" she spoke into an overhead scanner that swept blue laser beams across Leo's tear-stained face. ""Age: thirty-two months. Metric status: Critical Stagnation. Entering primary assessment.""
""Mama,"" Leo sobbed softly. He was exhausted now, his small throat dry and hoarse. ""I want my cup. My milk.""
""Hydration is conditional upon metric turnaround,"" Proctor Vance answered impassively. She set him down on a cold metal examination bench. In front of him, a spherical camera hovered at eye level, its lens whirring and adjusting focus with sharp, clicking sounds.
""Commence test stream,"" the woman commanded into the air.
A glaring halogen light snapped on above Leo’s head, blinding him momentarily. The floating camera moved closer, its lens mere inches from his nose.
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""Smile, Subject Leo,"" the voice from the speaker instructed. ""Demonstrate charisma. Produce an emotional reaction suitable for public syndication. You have sixty seconds to generate positive engagement, or you will be processed into the labor archives.""
Leo didn't smile. Overwhelmed by the blinding light and the terrifying machine, he buried his face in his hands and let out a broken, terrified wail that echoed across the vast, sterile chamber.
