Silver Catsuits — Day 3
Wednesday Afternoon — The Interaction
Jane waited in the science building lobby. Sinclair’s afternoon class would let out any minute. Most students used this entrance to come and go.
Kate was positioned farther down the corridor in case Maria headed the other way.
At 2:50, Jane spotted Maria walking through the lobby with that unmistakable robotic gait. Jane fell into step beside her.
“Hello, Maria. Long time no see. Can we talk for a minute?”
Maria kept walking without turning her head. “Affirmative, Jane. I can spare a few minutes before my next study session.”
Jane gestured toward a bench in the nearby quad. “Let’s sit and talk.”
Maria gave a single, unnaturally smooth nod. “Suboptimal but acceptable compromise.” She pivoted toward the bench with stiff precision. Her eyes locked onto Jane for a long, uncomfortable second. “What is the topic of the conversation?”
Jane sat beside her, drawing on years of psychology training. There was no textbook on reversing technological mind control, but she knew techniques from cult deprogramming. Start slow. Remind her who she used to be.
“Maria, the psychology department event at the end of last semester? We talked for a long time. You were thinking about switching majors. You seemed really excited about psychology and the humanities.”
“Indeed, that event occurred. Do you have any more inquiries?” Maria’s voice remained flat and monotone.
“You were set on pre-law. I wanted to check if you’d made the switch yet.”
“I was going to switch to pre-law, but thanks to Professor Sinclair I am now in materials science.”
“You seemed so certain—and so happy—when we talked about humanities majors.”
Maria answered automatically, as if the response had been pre-loaded. “That was a careless emotional decision. Professor Sinclair convinced me with better arguments.”
“May I ask what those arguments were? As a humanities grad student, maybe I could offer another perspective.”
“Impossible. Professor Sinclair is always right.”
Jane realized she had struck a wall. The programming pushed hard against any dissent. Back off. Flatter the programming first.
“I understand. Professor Sinclair is very experienced. You clearly respect her guidance.”
“Affirmative. Professor Sinclair is a great mentor.”
Jane noticed Maria’s posture ease slightly—about as relaxed as a robotized person could get. Praising Sinclair seemed to lower her defenses. Jane pressed gently. “I’ve heard from others that you’re far more focused and disciplined now. You’re studying more. This mentorship is clearly having a positive effect on your academic performance.”
“Affirmative. My academic attitude has greatly improved under Professor Sinclair’s mentorship.”
Encouraged, Jane tried to create internal conflict. “You used to be full of questions, ionate, and argumentative. That debate spirit is what made you want to become a lawyer.”
Maria paused, her face freezing like a system processing a heavy load. Jane leaned in. “I liked that version of you—happy, full of life, fun to be around.”
For a moment, Maria’s stoic mask cracked. A faint, longing smile touched her lips. “I was... fun and happy...” Then concern flickered across her face. “It has been days since I did anything fun...” Her voice suddenly glitched into a halting robotic tone. “What... is... happening... to... me...”
Jane saw her chance. “Hold on to that feeling. Hold on to who you used to be.”
But the crack sealed almost instantly. Maria’s expression smoothed back into perfect robotic neutrality.
“Past and emotions are irrelevant. Internal conflict is inefficient. Following Professor Sinclair’s instructions is optimal. I am better now than I have ever been. Our conversation should end. I need to return to my tasks.”
Jane knew this was as far as she could push. Time to test something else. “And you’re better because of Professor Sinclair’s influence?”
“Affirmative. Professor Sinclair’s influence has given me greater focus and discipline.”
While Maria spoke, Jane’s fingers—honed by high-school magic tricks—slipped the girl’s wallet from her bag in one smooth motion.
“Thanks, Maria. I don’t want to waste more of your time.” Jane held up the wallet. “Oh! I think you dropped this.”
Maria took the wallet without comment and walked away with stiff, mechanical steps. She didn’t even say goodbye.
Wednesday Night—The Sneak
Jane sat on a bench near the science building entrance, pretending to read a book while keeping her face partially hidden. One of Sinclair’s TAs should be arriving soon to set up the evening class.
Kate leaned against the nearby wall, scrolling on her phone. Jane’s paranoia flared again when she noticed the black boots, but they were the same pair Kate had shown her. Her friend seemed mostly normal, just a little quieter than usual.
A tall brunette approached, walking with robotic precision and silver boots glinting under the lights. Jane recognized her immediately—one of the women from the lab on Monday night. Definitely a TA. Jane caught Kate’s eye; they exchanged a subtle nod.
Kate waited a beat, then “accidentally” walked straight into the TA. Both tumbled to the ground. As Kate apologized profusely, Jane moved in behind her, swiftly lifting the keyring from the TA’s bag. She slipped away before the TA could get a good look at her.
A few minutes later, Kate caught up. “Hi Jane. Did you get something?”
“I think I have a key to Ms. Roboto’s office,” Jane said with a nervous grin. Kate didn’t smile at the joke.
They waited until just before the evening class began, then headed to the third floor where the faculty offices were located. Jane tried the keys one by one until the door to Professor Sinclair’s office clicked open.
Heart pounding, Jane slipped inside. The room was dimly lit by a single desk lamp. It smelled faintly of leather and expensive perfume. She moved carefully across the carpet.
Kate followed her in after a moment, keeping watch in the hallway first before ing the search.
Jane checked the desk drawers—mostly istrative paperwork, grant proposals, and lecture notes. The computer was on but -protected. Dead end.
Kate opened the unlocked filing cabinet. She flipped through folders on nanomaterials, research papers, and student evaluations. Then, in the bottom drawer, she pulled out a thin black folder with no label.
“Jane, look at this,” Kate said quietly. “All her other folders are neatly labeled. This one was hidden in the back.”
Jane took the folder with shaking hands. Inside were technical notes and formulas she couldn’t decipher, but one page made her blood run cold:
A list of students.
- Rebecca Thompson — Converted — 3 weeks ago
- Sarah Chen — Converted — 2 weeks ago
... and many more.
At the very bottom:
- Jane Vance — Aware of Project — High Priority Target.
Jane’s voice came out in an urgent whisper. “Look at this, Kate. I’m scared. I’m definitely on her radar.” She pointed at her own name.
“Jeez, Jane...” Kate murmured, sounding convincingly alarmed. She placed a steadying hand on Jane’s shoulder, rubbing gentle circles—the perfect image of a ive best friend. “Your name is right there. ‘High priority.’ This is really bad... But look—my name isn’t on the list. She hasn’t noticed me yet. I can still help you without raising suspicion. That’s good, right?”
Jane took a steadying breath. “Now it’s personal. We need to get out of here.” She quickly photographed the list and other pages with her phone, then returned everything exactly as they had found it. “We’ll figure out the next step once we’re safe outside.”
The two of them slipped out of the building through a side exit.
Jane turned to Kate. “I’m going to ‘return’ the keys to the TA.”
Kate’s expression tightened with concern. “That’s reckless. Professor Sinclair clearly wants you next.”
“I’m already her target. Might as well show a brave face. You should stay back since she hasn’t noticed you yet. You’re my ace in the hole.”
Kate hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll stay close. Text me if you feel unsafe.”
Jane walked toward the classroom, each step fueling a growing resolve—courage mixed with spite and determination. She was a target, but at least she knew it.
She waited until the lecture ended, then strode into the room and approached the TA. “You dropped your keys at the entrance.” Before the woman could respond, Jane turned and locked eyes with Professor Sinclair across the room. The stare was pure ice.
“May the best win at this game,” Jane said loudly enough for Sinclair to hear.
Sinclair smiled, calm and predatory. “You are not even a player, my dear.”