CHAPTER 1.5 – “THE SOBER GIRL”

-CHAPTER 1.5 – “THE SOBER GIRL”-

Location: Unknown – Deep Space – Koruch Vessel

Date: NTC 1446.07.15

While the debate in the infirmary raged on, the orange-bereted organic Mute standing in the far corner remained perfectly still.

Motionless. Expressionless. Almost forgotten.

But it was listening.

Every word, every glance, every tone—recorded, categorized, analyzed. It seemed inactive, yet behind its dead eyes, something was aware.

For a split second—less than that, really—its eyes flicked toward the girl on the terminal bed. To Merry.

No one noticed the movement. Except Yorgo.

He turned his head, his gaze brushing over the Mute without suspicion. It was more instinct than intent. He frowned slightly, then dismissed the feeling and returned to his screen.

The silence broke again with Yusuf’s voice.

“This girl…”

He hesitated.

“I mean, Merry’s data doesn’t make sense. Nothing matches up.”

Korsica turned to him, shrugging with disinterest. “So what? Let it not match. That’s the State’s problem, not ours.”

Kerim’s voice cut in, more serious now. “Taking her on board might’ve gotten us into serious trouble.”

Yusuf raised his voice. “No, that’s not what I mean!” He pointed at the screen. “Look at the data!”

He stepped forward, tension building in his voice.

“It says MT-2, but no variant. No compatibility test results. She’s listed as a fugitive, but her threat score is zero. Nothing adds up! Everything is either missing or contradictory!”

Kerim’s expression darkened with realization. “Which means someone’s protecting her.”

He leaned forward.

“That MT-2 classification preserved her citizenship. And someone blocked any testing from being done.”

Thomas folded his arms. “So she was being shielded.”

“Looks that way,” Kerim agreed.

Korsica’s face drained of color.

“We’re screwed,” she hissed. “Agents from Inayet will come after us. Maybe even the Apostles themselves!”

Thomas burst into laughter. “Come on, Captain. Don’t exaggerate. The Apostles? Really?”

Kerim shook his head. “Seriously, that’s over the top. Does this girl distort the Truth or something? Why would Apostles come for her?”

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Korsica took a long breath, forcing herself to calm down.

Kerim’s voice was steadier now. “Still... the Inayet Compatibility Bureau might come looking.”

Yusuf raised an eyebrow. “Why would they? I doubt they even know she's exists.”

Yorgo, who had been silently watching the analysis screen, finally spoke.

“Why are you all overthinking this?”

His voice was low and tired, like a man who had long since stopped caring about the consequences of anything.

“She’s MT-5 level or higher,” he continued with a lazy shrug. “The only problem is bureaucratic. We’ll just give the Mute Merchant a slight discount. The plan doesn’t change.”

Korsica frowned. “But the system says she’s an MT-2 citizen. Who would buy that?”

Yorgo raised his hand mid-sentence, waving her off. “Someone will.”

He spoke calmly, even as the crew stared.

“Let’s say the Compatibility Bureau gets to her. They run their tests. Result? MT-5. Maybe higher. They’ll neutralize her, assign her to State service, or—more likely—put her up for auction. This kind of regeneration... that’s money.”

Yusuf leaned in, voice picking up.

“So basically, we do the neutralization ourselves. Then sell her to a merchant willing to handle the paperwork.”

He paused. “Bad news, we have to give them a discount.”

Kerim nodded thoughtfully. “I know a few who’d take the deal. It’s a risk, but the payout’s too tempting.”

Korsica’s face lit up with sudden joy. She laughed, rubbing her hands together.

“Hahaha! Good job, Yusuf! I knew I shouldn’t have doubted you!”

A moment ago, she was berating him like a disowned stepchild. Now she was slapping his arm and grinning like a proud mother.

That was how Korsica worked: if there was money, there was forgiveness too.

She turned to Yorgo. “So? How much can we get?”

Yorgo didn’t answer at first. He lazily pulled a cigarette case from his coat and fished one out. As he lit it, he spoke through a plume of smoke.

“With that level of regeneration and durability?” He took a drag. “A good merchant might go as high as two hundred thousand Nur.”

The smoke drifted toward the orange-bereted Mute in the corner.

Its face twitched.

A barely visible flinch—gone in an instant.

Yorgo saw it. Or thought he did. He narrowed his eyes, watching the Mute out of the corner of his vision.

Then shook his head.

Must be seeing things...

Korsica didn’t notice. She was doing mental math.

“Two hundred thousand…” she said at last. “Better than nothing.”

The tension in the room evaporated.

Everyone exhaled.

Especially Yusuf. He let out a long breath, relieved beyond words.

But then, without warning—something happened.

The girl moved.

Merry’s eyes snapped open.

She lifted her head slowly, deliberately. Her gaze swept across the room—sharp, clear, dangerous.

Then her eyes found Korsica. And stayed there.

A smirk curled her lips. Cold. Mocking.

And then she spoke.

Her voice was clear.

Sharp.

Angry.

“Only two hundred thousand?”

The infirmary fell into dead silence.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

And in her eyes, they saw nothing but one thing.

"Rage."