The Mo:Nthly Inspection:N

Xenox straightened. “Have children already. Produce more of you, so that I can put them to work in the scrapyard. That’s all you’re good for,” he said coldly.

He smirked, as if savoring her submission. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned around, his appendages clacking rhythmically.

“Carry on,” he said over his shoulder, his voice casual, as though he had just delivered a weather report instead of a verbal assault.

The door creaked shut, and the sound of his heavy footsteps gradually faded.

Inside the hidden compartment, Tackle huddled against the reflective walls, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her heart raced, each thump echoing in her ears like a drumbeat of fear.

She had heard everything—every cruel word, every sharp edge of Xenox’s voice. His bellowing tone reverberated through the small room, making the walls seem even closer.

Her thoughts swirled in chaos. Why does he talk like that? Why does he hate us so much? Why does Mommy have to be so quiet?

The dim room buzzed faintly as Tackle’s mother approached the hidden panel. Her hands trembled slightly as she typed in the long string of numbers, the soft beeping echoing through the quiet space. The hidden door slid open, revealing Tackle curled up in the reflective cubby.

“You can come out, dear,” her mother said softly.

Tackle crawled out hesitantly, her small hands clinging tightly to her mother. She looked up, her wide eyes filled with fear.

“Who was that man, Mommy?” Tackle asked.

Her mother hesitated, kneeling. “That’s Xenox, the monitor of the cybersecurity force in our district. But he’s more like a dictator.”

Tackle’s shuddered. “Why do I have to hide from him?”

Her mother gave her a sad smile. “I hide you so they don’t know you exist. If they find out, they’ll force you to work in the mines, just like me. It doesn’t matter how young you are—they’ll take you.”

Tackle’s eyes filled with worry, but she nodded silently, her trust in her mother absolute.

Days turned into weeks, and Tackle’s mother continued her grueling routine, working day in and day out in the mines. Despite her exhaustion, she always came home with something for Tackle—bits of food, small trinkets, and, on lucky days, books.

One evening, however, her return was different. The door creaked open, and she stumbled inside, clutching her neck. Her face was pale, her movements frantic.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?!” Tackle cried.

Her mother winced, leaning against the wall as she fumbled with her collar. “It’s… nothing, dear,” she said weakly. “Just… something new we’ve tried.”

Tackle pulled at her mother’s hands, revealing an inflamed scar etched into the side of her neck—a series of jagged numbers burned into her skin.

“What is this?!” Tackle gasped.

”Good news,” Her mother brushed the scar. “The other humans and I… we came up with something in the mines. We used scraps to create a branding device. Heated it up and branded serial numbers onto our bodies.”

“But you’re in pain!” Tackle exclaimed. “How is this good news?!”

Her mother knelt, gripping Tackle’s shoulders, her expression suddenly alight with hope. “Because, sweetie, we think this will let us pass Xenox’s inspections. If I can fool him into thinking I have a serial number, I won’t have to work in the mines anymore. I’ll walk among the computers—as one of them!”

Tackle blinked, her tears slowing as her mother’s words sank in. “And… if it works?”

Her mother smiled, filled with conviction. “If it works, I’ll get a serial number for you too. You’ll be able to go outside! You’ll be able to see the world!”

Tackle’s heart leapt with excitement, and she threw her arms around her mother. “Really?! I’ll get to see the world?”

Her mother held her tightly, her tears mixing with laughter. “Yes, my dear. You’ll be free.”

The following month, the dreaded knock came again.

“Inspection!” The officer’s voice boomed.

Tackle listened nervously from her hidden room as her mother approached the door, her hands trembling. She took a deep breath, opening it to reveal Xenox once more.

“Turn around,” Xenox commanded.

Tackle’s mother obeyed, her breath shaky as she turned her back to the officers.

One of the officers stepped forward, scanning her neck. A beep echoed through the silence.

“Clear,” the officer said flatly. “Serial detected.”

Xenox glanced at her briefly, then waved a dismissive hand. “Onto the next,” he muttered, already turning away.

The door shut, and the sound of their departure slowly faded.

Tackle’s mother collapsed to her knees, trembling violently as tears streamed down her face. But rather than tears of despair—they were tears of relief.

She smiled. “It worked. It really worked.”

The faint sound of a keypad echoed as Tackle’s mother unlocked the hidden room. As the door slid open, Tackle peeked out hesitantly, her wide eyes meeting her mother’s tear-streaked face.

“Mommy?” Tackle asked nervously.

Her mother pulled her into a tight embrace, tears of joy streaming down her face. “It’s over, Tackle. We passed. No more hiding, my dear.”

Tackle clung to her mother, burying her face in her chest. “Really? Does that mean…?”

Her mother nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow, I’ll brand you too. We’ll finally be able to live a better life.”

The next day, Tackle sat in a chair, nervously fidgeting. Her mother held the branding tool in her hands, its jagged edges glinting ominously in the light.

“Okay, sweetheart,” her mother said softly, kneeling beside her. “This will only take a moment. Be brave for me, alright?”

Tackle nodded. “I’ll try, Mommy.”

The branding tool whistled as it heated up. Her mother pressed it gently against Tackle’s neck. The searing pain made Tackle wince, tears forming in her eyes.

“Just a little longer,” her mother reassured her, her voice trembling.

When it was done, her mother dropped the tool to the floor with a clatter and immediately pulled Tackle into her arms. “I’m so sorry, my love,” she whispered, her own tears falling. “But now, we can finally live.”

Days passed, and for the first time, life felt normal. Tackle’s mother found work as a cashier at a small grocery store, her uniform a symbol of stability they’d never known before. Tackle explored the streets of District 2, marveling at the luxuries the computers enjoyed—hovering trams, automated kiosks, and brightly lit plazas filled with activity.

She even made friends with other children who played games on sleek, metallic devices. For the first time, she wasn’t just a hidden shadow—she was part of the world.

One evening, her mother returned home, her uniform slightly rumpled but her face glowing with pride. “Are you ready, Tackle?” she asked as she set down her bag.

Tackle turned from the book she was reading, excitement bubbling within her. “For what?”

Her mother smiled. “Tomorrow will be your first monthly check-up. Are you ready to face Xenox?”

Tackle swallowed her nerves but nodded determinedly. “Yes, Mom.”

The next day came too quickly. The knock at the door sent chills down Tackle’s spine.

“Inspection!” The officer’s voice bellowed.

Her mother straightened her back, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Xenox stood there, His presence suffocated a young tackle.

“This inspection will be different,” Xenox said, his tone colder than usual. “We’ve received reports of humans engraving fraudulent serial numbers to pass as computers. From now on, our inspections will be… more thorough.”

Tackle felt her mother’s hand tighten on her shoulder.

“Turn around,” Xenox ordered.

They obeyed, their movements stiff with fear. The cybersecurity officers approached, their cold hands running over the back of Tackle’s and her mother’s necks.

“Serial detected,” one officer reported.

“Pass or fail?” Xenox asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

The officers hesitated. “Fail,” one finally said. “The skin is fleshy. Not synthetic.”

Xenox’s lips turned into a cruel smirk. “Lying about being a computer is punishable by death under my rule. Officers—kill them.”

Tackle’s heart stopped. Her mother spun around, grabbing Tackle by the shoulders and shoving her toward the back door.

“Run, Tackle!” her mother shouted, her voice breaking. “Go! Don’t look back!

“Mommy, no!” Tackle cried, her tears blinding her as her mother pushed her toward safety.

“Run!” her mother screamed, turning to face the advancing officers. “Be strong!”

Tackle stumbled out the back door, her sobs echoing through the alley as she ran. Behind her, she heard the officers’ weapons strike her mother, Xenox’s cruel laughter ringing out.

“Beat that foolish human to death!” he barked.

As Tackle sprinted through the streets, her vision blurred by tears, a young boy peeked out from a window above. It was a younger Epongi, his face pale as he watched the horrific scene unfold below.

Tackle didn’t stop running. Her chest burned, her legs ached, but she couldn’t stop. Her mother’s final words echoed in her mind, urging her forward.

Be strong.