Two people pushed through the door.
The first wore a county sheriff's uniform. He was heavyset, with a ring of keys hanging from his belt that clinked when he walked. The second was in dark-blue workwear, a plastic badge clipped to his chest: Asset Compliance.
Daniel recognized the face. He'd seen him on the corner three days ago. The man was looking down at his phone, and on the screen was a thumbnail labeled "priority review"—Daniel's photo.
"Daniel Reeves?" the compliance officer asked.
"Yeah."
"Special inspection." The compliance officer slipped his phone away, his voice flat. "We're verifying repair records, serial numbers, and any civilian units you've had contact with recently. R-batch asset lots have started cycling back through the system. We've seen anomalous awakenings."
The sheriff stayed by the door. He looked over the shop, then glanced back at the sign outside, as if confirming the address.
The compliance officer held a handheld scanner—black, like an overbuilt barcode gun. He walked to the workbench and aimed it at the CU-20.
Beep—
A long tone.
He frowned and scanned again.
"What unit is this?"
"Customer's. Picking it up tomorrow." Daniel shifted half a step, blocking the photo on the wall without drawing attention to it.
"Specific."
"Nursing home asset. Custody ID RH-2049. Old Ed dropped it off."
The compliance officer looked down at the screen and swiped. His gaze stopped there.
Scanner display:
Firmware history: residual ethics framework
Signature: D. Reeves (revoked)
Flag: legacy empathy-module fragments / pending review
He lifted his head. His gaze slid past Daniel's shoulder to the photo on the wall, then settled on the blue ribbon.
"You trained as an ethics architect?"
Daniel didn't answer. He kept his eyes on the scanner, like he was waiting for the rest.
"Helios Dynamics," the compliance officer said, lowering the scanner a little. "Then you know why we're pulling R-batch. What you built—your people can't even certify it clean anymore."
The sheriff finally spoke, his voice rough. "Answer what you're asked. Don't stall."
Daniel glanced at him. "I'm not stalling."
The compliance officer ignored that and kept going. "You're on the nursing home contract?"
"Yeah."
"Any other long-term contracts?"
"No."
"Walk-ins? One-off repairs?"
"Some."
The compliance officer looked around the shop. "No surprise. You've got access to the contractor compliance portal. Small shops that touch the portal get pulled into the inspection pool automatically. R-batch is acting up, so we start with shops like yours—nursing-home contracts, medical-adjacent work, older models, former industry personnel."
Daniel said, "What do you mean 'acting up'?"
The compliance officer lifted his eyes. "You don't have clearance for details."
"Then how do I cooperate?"
"By procedure," the compliance officer said. "Forty-eight hours. Upload all your local repair records. Completed, incomplete, custody, loaned out, scrapped pending teardown. Miss one and it counts as evasion."
Daniel didn't say anything.
The sheriff slapped a stiff form down on the counter. "Sign. Says you got the notice."
Daniel looked it over.
Temporary Inspection Notice
Subject: Daniel Reeves
Scope: repairs and contact logs, last 90 days
Deadline: 48 hours
Status: follow-up required
"Last ninety days?" Daniel looked up. "You're thorough."
"This isn't thorough," the compliance officer said. "It's procedure."
He flipped through his handheld terminal as he spoke without looking up. "You're the third shop in this area. The first two cooperated quickly enough."
Daniel asked, "Where are they now?"
The compliance officer didn't look up. He nudged the form closer. "Sign."
Daniel picked up the pen. The tip hovered for half a second, then he wrote his name.
As he signed, he caught two grayed-out entries flicker on the terminal:
Hopkins / Closed
Carl Miller / Escalated
His fingers tightened. The last stroke of his signature dragged longer than he meant it to.
"Who's Carl Miller?" he asked, like it was casual.
The compliance officer finally looked at him. "You know him?"
"Haven't heard the name."
"Then don't ask." The compliance officer turned the terminal away. The screen was already back on its main menu. "You worry about your own shop."
The sheriff went to the doorframe and pulled out a narrow printed sticker. He slapped it onto the inside jamb.
FOLLOW-UP REQUIRED
Then he raised his enforcement terminal and snapped two photos—one of the sign, one of the shop interior.
"What's that?" Daniel asked.
"Follow-up marker," the sheriff said. "Don't peel it off. If you do, it counts as refusal."
The compliance officer gathered the paperwork. He glanced once at the CU-20 on the bench, then at the vacuum Daniel hadn't had time to put away.
"That one goes in the record too," he said.
Daniel followed his line of sight. "It's a consumer appliance. Not an asset unit."
"Contact is contact," the compliance officer said. "You don't get to decide what counts as risk right now."
He slid the scanner back onto his belt. His voice stayed level. "Forty-eight hours. If your upload's incomplete or fields are missing, the local node escalates automatically. Then it won't be us coming back."
The sheriff added, "Road checks, allocations, portal access—gone."
They turned to leave.
At the door, the compliance officer paused like he remembered something. He looked back at Daniel.
"One more thing."
"What?"
"Don't try cleaning anything up yourself," the compliance officer said. "Some people think they can delete first and play cooperative after. Doesn't work. When the node's online, every click you make is visible."
The sheriff nodded once, like it wasn't a threat. Just a fact.
The door shut. Outside, the compliance audit vehicle pulled away slowly.
Daniel stood where he was and set the screwdriver back in its tray. Sweat had made the plastic handle slick in his palm.
He went to the sink and rinsed his hands, then came back behind the counter and powered up the computer.
Forty-eight hours.
Miss the deadline and his whitelist, his allocations, his portal access—all of it would drop out from under him.
He logged into the contractor compliance portal.
Compliance portal
Top left: Asset Recovery & Compliance System
Two entries sat in today's queue: the nursing home CU-20, and the girl's robot vacuum.
He opened the CU-20 ticket first and started editing.
Model: CU-20 (nursing home asset, resident loan)
Issue: black screen on boot
Action: diagnostics in progress
Notes: pending recheck / incomplete
He didn't upload photos. He didn't enter the full serial number.
His cursor paused. Then he opened the vacuum entry.
Model: consumer cleaning device
Issue: drive wheel jammed
Action: foreign object removed
Status: complete
He stared at the word complete for two seconds, then left it. The sheriff's line was still in his ear—contact is contact.
He switched back to the CU-20.
System prompt:
Uploading this work order will automatically match the firmware fingerprint.
Confirm?
Daniel stared at Confirm for two seconds. His finger hovered, then pressed it.
Let it be age. Dirt. A normal failure.
Anything but that.
The screen spun for a few seconds.
A soft beep. A red warning box snapped open.
Red alert:
Firmware fingerprint match: R-batch risk library
Linked asset lot: Lot R-7 (high value)
Local node has captured this action: pending review
Daniel's throat tightened. The node was already online. The first things to go might be his whitelist, his allocations, and his travel clearance.
R-batch—he'd seen the news. Recovered samples got sent to labs. Memory scrubs. Repeated tests. The ones that couldn't take it broke. The ones that broke got destroyed.
His hands stayed on the keyboard. He didn't click anything else.
In the lower right, a gray line appeared.
Status:
Local Compliance Node: ONLINE
Every click. Every edit.
All of it was already on record.