Dawn tested the brace.
Etta blinked honest on Oren's beat—blink, two, three, four, blink—and the lamppost answered like a metronome that had learned to be useful. Under the grate by the bakery, the pipe shifted its weight once, slow, like a sleeper deciding to turn over and thinking better of it. The resin held. The rebar hummed a tired tenor and shut up.
"03:17," Oren reported, palm on the lamppost's panel. "One nudge. Brace took. Etta sang."
"Good," Leon said.
The Blue Lamp's ring lit the laundromat wall; the Council Minutes board leaned against it with UNSEEN WORK dried in big letters and today's agenda in neat hand beneath:
– Organ Donation Opt-In (Law)
– Bio-Foundry (Site)
– Duty Clauses (Retreat to Bowl; Intervene; Write)
– Ombuds Reading
– Wardens: Night Rotation
"Live in three," Nyx said, satin over wire. "Ambient only. No faces. Ad-break at twelve. The Saint expects elegance; the Policy Office expects a fight."
"Feed stays on hands and board," Leon said.
He tapped the Civic Ledger once to steady himself, twice to warn the part of him that liked applause to sit down, and set it on the hood of the stalled sedan. Juno's case sat beside it; inside, the boss-class plate lay on a towel like a newborn someone had decided to be careful with.
[City Council — Ward 4, Last City (Morning)]
[Agenda: 1) Organ Donation Opt-In (Law) 2) Bio-Foundry (Site) 3) Duty Clauses 4) Ombuds Reading]
[Feed Mode: Ambient — Hands/Board only; Minor Filter: Hard]
[Policy Fine (Dead Air): Final episode active (−20% Favor)]
Kite climbed his milk crate and tapped the cardboard that read SPEAK AT THE X. Sister Irena set the Blue Lamp on the mailbox like a chalice; its ring kept eyes where dignity lived. Brutus took the clinic doorway and made patience look like a post.
"Organ Donation Opt-In," Leon said. "A law dull enough to save lives."
Mae uncapped the marker with her teeth and wrote in block letters that rain had learned to bead neatly on:
Organ Donation Opt-In (Draft)
– Consent documented in clinic; two adult witnesses; no minors
– No payment; no quotas; no inducements
– Cooling-off period: 48 hours for revocation (except Do Not Resuscitate)
– Family consultation window: 2 hours after death (override only if no prior consent)
– Chain-of-custody: anonymized tags; bowls required for all transfers; no faces filmed
– Oversight: Citizen Press + Ombuds; quarterly public stats (no names)
– Memorial: Names read at Unseen Work
Juno lifted her leaf-printed gloves a fraction. "Add 'no on-camera body movement,'" she said. "And 'Foundry ops off-feed.'"
Mae wrote:
– No on-camera body transport
– Foundry operations off-feed (Ambient only: hands/tools)
Tarek Han—gray jacket, notebook tabs made from medical tape—stepped to the X and put a palm on the board. "Duty clauses," he said, voice clipped but not harsh. "Duty to retreat to the bowl when a Blue Lamp enters a corridor. Duty to intervene if a Warden escalates off-script. Duty to write—incident report before end of shift. Add 'duty to protect consent' for clinic staff."
Mae added with the economy of a person who liked their pen to mean things:
– Duty: Retreat to Bowl; Intervene; Write; Protect Consent
Matron Feroce set two fingers on the board with the delicacy of a jeweler. "Waste stream," she said. "Regulate smell. I sell cloves, not grievances. If your Foundry stinks, my stare becomes a law."
"Vent to the old printing shop's flue, carbon filter, negative pressure," Juno said. "We'll publish air-quality logs weekly."
Mae wrote:
– Venting & Air Logs (Public); Negative pressure; Filters
A nurse with wet cuffs and steady wrists set her hands on the crate. "Consent forms in simple language," she said. "No jargon. No God words they didn't pick."
"Plain speech," Sister Irena said, and drew a small cross in the air that belonged to no camera.
Mae added:
– Plain language consents; interpreter on call
Nyx counted metrics in Leon's ear like she was rolling rosary beads. "Craft House humming," she said. "Trickster bored. War asleep. The Saint is sipping. Policy sharpening a bold."
"Public comment," Leon said.
The Quiet Choir runner slid out of the Bloom seam with a folded square of black cloth. He held it in both hands like a letter you send to a person you don't hate. Sister Irena took it without looking at his face. She set it on the board and smoothed it with her palm.
"NO EYES / NO CHAINS," she read. "KEEP THE CLINIC CORRIDOR DARK. WE WILL KEEP IT SAFE."
Mae wrote:
– Clinic Corridor Dark (Policy)
"Add 'Memorial channel—off-feed,'" Murmur said, appearing with fingertip microphones and rumor cards. "We'll read names at Unseen Work; we'll record hands tying ribbons, not faces."
Mae wrote:
– Memorial (Unseen Work): Names read; hands; no faces
"Ad-break in two," Nyx murmured. "Land it on twelve."
"Vote," Leon said. "Hands."
Hands rose—calloused, clean, scarred, steady. Kite counted like a metronome finding its key. "Thirty-five aye," he said. "Four nay. Two abstain."
"Pass," Mae said, satisfaction trimmed to fit the room.
[Law Passed: Organ Donation Opt-In]
[Effect: Unlock condition met for Bio-Foundry]
[Trust: +5 (Clinic/Shelter)]
[Merit: −100 (reserved for Foundry on build)]
[Craft House tipped +200 Favor: "Ethics as scaffolding."]
[Glass Saint tipped +500 Favor: "Dull, beautiful law."]
[Trickster: −150 Favor ("You made death boring.")]
chat_Arbit3r: He wrote a law with commas that save lives.
Saint'sChalice: Consent dressed in linen. Continue.
"Bio-Foundry," Leon said. "Site."
Juno slid a card out of her case—a printed sheet laminated with tape like a field guide.
[Blueprint Card: Bio-Foundry (Structure)]
– Function: Convert chitin/biomass → protein paste, medical grafts, chitin plating
– Cost: Ether 800 + Merit 100 + Law: Organ Donation Opt-In (met)
– Side-effect: Attracts scavengers unless waste processed (Recycling Plant)
– Synergy: Clinic + Market Charter = "Closed Loop" (−15% upkeep; +5% Hope)
"We build it where the old printing press stood," Juno said. "Paper Street. Brick walls, heavy floor for the tank, flue for negative pressure. Back door to the clinic corridor—bowls, no faces. Not on the market's nose."
Oren tapped the map with a blunt finger. "Load-bearing columns intact," he said. "We can hang filters. Etta can baby a dedicated line without brownouts if we move the laundromat's sign to an honest grid."
"Smell?" Matron Feroce asked.
"Filter stacks here," Juno said, marking with her gloved finger. "Activated carbon. Oren's pretty friend Etta runs fans. We post air logs weekly. If it stinks, you get my sleeves."
"You'll get my stare," Feroce said. "It may be enough."
Mae wrote:
– Site: Paper Street Print Shop; Flue; Filters; Back door to corridor; Bowls mandatory
"Ether," Leon said. "Cost eight hundred. We have Merit. We need the seam."
Nyx's overlay slid across his sightline like a menu pretending not to be one.
[Ether Sources Nearby]
– Tram Substation (sealed vent; requires breaker override; medium risk)
– Subway node (beneath Canal; vent guarded by apex presence; high risk)
– Night Market trade (Matron: limited stock; high price; Greed House interest)
"Tram," Oren said. "Breakers I can sweet-talk. Apex can wait until the brace has a sister."
"Night Market will sell you lollipops with a hook," Feroce said. "Bring me something I can stamp in return."
"We bring you chitin guards for carts," Juno said without thinking, then grimaced at her own enthusiasm. "Once we can print."
Feroce's eyes warmed a measurable degree. "We will discuss."
"Vote on site," Leon said. "Hands."
Kite counted. "Thirty-seven aye. One nay. Five abstain."
"Pass," Mae said.
[Project Queued: Bio-Foundry @ Paper Street]
[Requirements: Ether 800 (pending), Merit 100 (available), Site prep (Unseen Work)]
[Trust: +2 (Plan clarity)]
[Craft House tipped +150 Favor: "Proper sequence."]
"Duty clauses," Leon said.
Tarek's notebook clicked open like a regulation. "Publish ladder—Presence, Voice, Non-compressive contact, Joint control, Temporary restraint," he said. "Add duty to retreat to bowl, to intervene, to write; publish weekly stats; teach 'tap'—Wardens stop when tapped."
Brutus lifted his hands. "Derek's already off corridor," he said. "We learned."
Mae wrote:
– Publish Ladder weekly; Tap protocol; Weekly stats (no names)
"Vote," Leon said.
Kite: "Thirty-three aye. Seven nay. Three abstain."
"Pass," Mae said.
[Use-of-Force Ladder — Published (Provisional) with Duty Clauses]
[Effect: +Trust (Enforcement), −Favor (War House)]
[Citizen Press: +Coverage; +Trust]
"Ombuds reading," Murmur said, and plucked two papers.
"Thanks: 'The bowl let my mother carry her face to the clinic. She died under a lamp. Thank you for making that law,'" they read, voice low. "Complaint: 'The Bloom ate my sign again.'"
"Trim," Leon said automatically.
Nyx breathed near-laughter. "Policy memo," she said. "They wrote 'ENCOURAGE LIVE EMOTION' in bold and italic. I hung it in Complaints. The ribbon is teal."
"Ad in 00:30," Nyx added. "Land something dull and holy."
Leon looked at the board, at the bowl, at the case, at the map with Paper Street circled. He raised his voice a notch so the room, not the camera, would hear.
"Deaths are not content," he said. "Bodies are not props. Consent is boring, and we will write it down every time. The Foundry will be a door with a bowl. If you have grief, bring it to Unseen Work. We'll read names with our hands."
[Glass Saint tipped +500 Favor: "A vow dressed in linen."]
[Craft House tipped +200 Favor: "Protocol as poetry."]
[War House: −200 Favor ("Give me something with elbows.")]
[Audience: 37,101 → 37,880]
The ad took the edges off the words and put teal lanterns and rain on copper in their place.
When the feed returned, the vote markers were dry, and Etta blinked on Oren's beat as if nothing under the street had teeth.
"Announcements," Mae said. "Site prep at ten—Unseen Work. Lamplighters: Paper Street corridor gets a bowl. Wardens: night rotation posted at noon. Tram raid for Ether scheduled for dusk."
"Citizen press will cover with hands only," Murmur said. "Rumors say 'Dawnshield planning a clean miracle.'"
As if the rumor had heard its name called, white paint turned the corner.
Dawnshield's van rolled to a stop two blocks down; a banner unfurled with speed and funding: GIFT OF HOPE — COMMUNITY DONOR DRIVE. A halo-cam found light without trying. A table appeared as if a stagehand had put it there in a dream. Kade stepped into the ring of his own kindness, smile tuned. Beside him, a woman clutched a framed photo against her chest and shook like a person who didn't have enough hands. A child stood behind the table with a sticker sheet and a face that wanted to be anywhere else.
Nyx's voice flattened. "Minor filter 'broken,'" she said. "By accident. Of course."
Sister Irena didn't look. She lifted the Blue Lamp so the bowl threw law across the street. "No minors on camera," she said, like a line read into scripture.
"Editor's Cut," Leon said. "Hard lock on minors. Hands only. Ambient."
"Armed," Nyx said.
Kade's voice carried—pleasant iron. "A hero city gives life," he said to his halo-cam, to his donors, to the part of the world that liked being told what to clap for. He gestured to a stack of glossy consent forms with branding in the corner. "Sign here to give hope."
Matron Feroce's stare traveled across the street like a law. "Sign in clinic," she said, softly lethal. "Not under a banner."
Brutus lifted both hands. "Blue Hands," he said, and stepped out, not to block, but to stand where a bowl could cast a shadow. Tarek moved with him, gray notebook in one hand, policy in the other.
Leon felt the inside of his mask fog and clear. He tapped the Ledger once. He did not tap twice.
"Nyx," he said. "Announce our law. Read the clauses. Hands only. Invite donations to the clinic—under the bowl. Consent inside. No halos."
"Done," she said, delighted in the way a producer gets about rules used as knives.
[Public Notice: Organ Donation Opt-In — Consent in clinic; bowls required; no minors; no on-camera transport; Foundry ops off-feed]
[Citizen Press: Live text crawl; no faces]
Kade's smile held. His halo-cam looked for a child's bravery and found a bowl. He turned it a hair, practiced, and hit the corner of the Blue Lamp's ring. It washed his face into anonymity, perfectly legal, perfectly rude.
Saint'sChalice: He caught a halo with a bowl. More.
RabbleKing: Booooo. Let the hero be a hero.
A woman at the front of the donor line—scarf tight, eyes raw—hesitated. She looked from Kade's form to the bowl to the clinic sign and back again like a person who had been asked to pick a world. Sister Irena stepped toward her with both palms up, Blue Lamp between them.
"Inside," Sister Irena said. "Plain speech. No cameras. No angels."
The woman nodded once like a nail seating itself. She walked under the bowl. The line wavered, then thought again.
Kade's jaw ticked. He kept the smile. He had a brand.
Nyx purred. "Ad-break in two," she said. "If you want to plant a flag in their throat, your sentence goes here."
Leon lifted his voice one notch. He did not look at Kade.
"Consent is a bowl," he said. "Not a banner."
[Glass Saint tipped +300 Favor: "A cruelty that is mercy."]
[Craft House: +100 Favor]
[War House: −100 Favor ("My head hurts.")]
Kade's assistants—competent, paid, trying—shifted the angle of their table two inches and made the scene obey. The halo followed, hungry for a child's brave face it wasn't going to get. The rumor of applause fled down the block where rain made less noise.
Oren's panel beeped once—Etta's polite cough. Oren's head turned. "Pipe moved," he said. "Brace held. Two millimeters. She's itching."
"Tram at dusk," Leon said. "We need Ether before she asks to be invited."
Mae lifted the marker. "Site prep at ten," she said. "No cameras. Bowls."
Murmur held up the recorder so it captured only hands signing where a bowl made the world honest. "Citizen press," they said. "Ambient. We'll cut a tutorial."
"Make it dull," Leon said.
"Done," Murmur said, pleased.
Kade's halo-cam pivoted to find anyone willing to be beautiful for it and found Brutus's hands instead.
"Tarek?" Leon said, without lifting his eyes.
"Duty to retreat to bowls," Tarek said. "Applies to everyone."
Kade's smile froze a degree. He bowed, because it was what he had been built to do. He directed his crew to the market instead and sold their mops to a lens that liked the way water moved.
Nyx exhaled like porcelain cooling. "Your dullness is a weapon," she said. "The Saint is buying ribbon."
"Let her," Leon said.
He felt the Civic Ledger's weight on his arm and the plate's weight in Juno's case and the pipe's weight under the street. The Blue Lamp's ring kept faces where dignity lived. The bowl made consent into a law you could stand inside.
"Council adjourned," he said. "Site prep at ten. Tram at dusk."
"Second," Sister Irena said.
Kite tapped SPEAK AT THE X like a gavel and climbed down. People put folded paper into Thank You and Complaints because their hands had learned what boxes were for. Matron Feroce stamped receipts with her small brass loop and gave Kade's banner the stare she had promised to make into law.
The lamppost blinked—blink, two, three, four, blink. Honest. Etta purred. The pipe under the grate pretended to be asleep.
Across the way, a courier jogged up to the edge of the Bloom's ring and held out a sealed white envelope that had learned to look like bad news. Nyx hissed in Leon's ear before he even touched it.
"Producer Memo," she said, reading over the wire she lived in. "Category Conflict Notice: 'Medical Off-Feed Excess.' Threat: revoke Clinic Corridor Exception in 12 hours unless 'live emotion' increases."
Leon took the envelope and didn't open it yet. He looked at the bowl and at the Board and at the case and at the lamppost that had learned to blink on command.
He tapped the Ledger once.
"Put it in Complaints," he said. "And get me a tram map."
[Cliff: Producer ultimatum — Clinic Corridor Exception at risk (12h); Ether raid at dusk; Foundry site prep begins; Dawnshield pivots to spectacle]