Stage 14 was not for the broken. It was for the almost-tamed. The two women kneeling on the polished obsidian platform, wrists bound in translucent polymer cuffs, were the final test subjects of the day’s batch. Their files glowed on the Overseer’s slate.
Behind them, the RBD 276 facility began to list its own colors:
, ID 776-Θ. Former orbital navigation specialist. Rebellion: attempted flight. Her Color was Crimson – the shade of high alert, of unreconstructed defiance. The nanites in her skin pulsed a deep, angry red, a visual lie broadcast over her calm, pale features. She had stopped struggling two stages ago. That was the dangerous part.
Alarms blared on Stage 14. The Overseer’s pleasant voice distorted into a screech of corrupted code.