Leaving Thirty-Six to her own devices, Kano searched for the humans. She homed in on their raised voices and found them in the living quarters, located in the facility’s outer reaches. It seemed they’d recovered from learning the true purpose of the facility and were preparing for the rest of Bornon’s group. As far as Kano could tell, their work so far consisted mostly of arguing with each other.

She thought it was lucky that Yon was too busy with her own research to have anything to do with this. Things were heated enough without a necromancer involved. Kano knew neither of them were happy about a necromancer staying here, but it seemed they were willing to ignore it for now in favor of their own work. The subject was sure to come up again once they were done, assuming Yon hadn’t figured out how to replicate the network by then. Based on the necromancer’s own admission, it was hard to say if she ever would.

With nothing but free time, Kano had put a considerable amount of thought toward how the network was made. But there was too much she didn’t know. Nothing about it was familiar. There had been a few times where she’d been on the cusp of an idea, only to lose the thread she’d been following.

It was frustrating, more so than almost anything else Kano had experienced, but she had only her failing brain to blame. Looking at it objectively, she found it to be an amusing catch-22. To earn a chance at a new body, she had to figure out how the network was made. And to figure that out, she needed a brain that worked, but she wouldn’t have one until she got a new body...

She tugged at her hair in frustration as she walked. Why did things have to be so hard? The humans were going through storage lockers when she arrived. By the looks on their faces, they weren’t having a much better time of things than her.

Rovon looked up and frowned. “What do you want?”

“Nothing much,” Kano said, scanning the room. “I was just wondering what you two were getting up to.”

Rovon set down the bag he’d been carrying. “Painfully little so far. As the hours go by, fewer and fewer things in here seem to work. We’ve had to start jamming the doors open, otherwise we have to force them open every time.”

Kano scratched her head. She hadn’t noticed any problems with the center. “Are you sure it’s not just this part? Everything seemed fine when I was talking to Yon earlier.”

“The failures appear to be concentrated in the outer portions of the facility,” Rovon said. “Rather unfortunate, as that’s where living quarters and life support systems are.” He sighed, sitting down on a nearby bed. “Normally I’d criticize such a design, but I can see why they built it that way in this case. These areas were only meant to be temporary. Once the network was complete, none of them would need food or somewhere to sleep.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off living somewhere else?” Kano asked. “This place doesn’t seem so great.”

Rovon shrugged. “Admittedly, it’s far from perfect. But from what I’ve been told of the outside world, it’s still the best option. This is the best chance we have of avoiding contact with necromancers.” He paused, and his lips twitched into a rueful smile. “Well, any other necromancers.”

Kano watched Bornon take a bar of some sort from a drawer and bite into it. Hungry, she took one for herself. It was dry and brittle, but it didn’t taste too bad. “You could always live in Shorinstown—that’s where Thirty-Six and I live. There’re no necromancers there.”

Bornon sneered. “It wouldn’t make much difference. Ghouls are as much of a danger to us.”

“You shouldn’t be so quick to judge,” Kano said, wagging her finger at him. “Sure, some of them would kill you soon as look at you, but others aren’t so bad. You’re living alongside me and Thirty-Six just fine right now, you know.”

“For now,” Bornon said. “But it’s not much use as a reference. You’re not a ghoul, and Thirty-Six doesn’t seem dangerous at all. If they were all as harmless as her, then maybe I’d consider living in this town of yours. But somehow, I doubt that’s the case.”

Kano thought they were being overcautious, but she couldn’t deny that Shorinstown was dangerous. And she supposed that they were part of a dying race, though she struggled to see why that was so important. Ghouls were a fine replacement. Much easier to deal with, too. She could see why necromancers were so fond of using them. In fact, she couldn’t see why the humans shouldn’t take advantage of that. “You could always buy some ghouls of your own to help you out here; it seems like you could use it.”

“With all due respect,” Rovon said, screwing up his face, “that’s a repulsive idea. It’s bad enough we’ve had to allow you and the others in here. And now you want us to invite more in?”

“I don’t get it. What difference does it really make? There’re already ghouls all over the place. Why do you care if there’s a few in here with you guys? It’s not like they’d cause any problems.”

“I can’t take any more of this shit,” Bornon said, shaking his head. The heels of his shoes clicked against the metal floor as he stormed out.

Stroking his chin, Rovon waited until Bornon had left. “It seems there’s been a breakdown in communication. I’m afraid that the humans will probably never feel comfortable living with ghouls. They were the ones that destroyed their homes, their society, everything they cared about. Surely you can see why they wouldn’t want them around.”

It seemed like pointless sentiment to Kano. Ghouls were no different from other tools when used properly. “Fine. I won’t bring it up again. It’s no wonder you humans were wiped out if you get so emotional about everything.”

“I find that to be a gross oversimplification,” Rovon said, amused. “Humans are emotional, certainly. But I don’t believe that was inherently the source of their downfall. Besides, what is a sentient being without emotions? Little more than a machine, doing what is required of them without any will of their own.”

Kano looked away. “I didn’t say they shouldn’t have any emotions, but this sort of attitude doesn’t help anyone.” The way Rovon acted so high and mighty grated on her. What did someone who’d spent their life stuck in a tiny room know about the outside world? He’d barely seen the world where she’d lived her life.

“You can hardly blame him for being cautious, or even paranoid. I don’t know what they went through before they went into suspended animation…” He smirked. “But it’s hard to imagine it was anything good, given what the necromancers have made of the world.”

Kano wondered why the humans bothered staying alive if they were all so enamored of what had once been. They’d be better off dying out than moaning about how bad things had gotten. It wasn’t really that bad anyway. There were plenty of people out there living their lives.

“Do you really think the necromancers are to blame for all this?”

Rovon blinked. “Of course. What do you mean?”

“I mean the humans are the ones who made them in the first place, aren’t they? It’s their fault, if anything.”

“Please,” Rovon said, rolling his eyes. “You should be well aware that necromancers have just as much free will as the rest of us. The atrocities they committed are of their own accord. If anything, giving them autonomy was the greatest mistake their creators made. They clearly can’t be trusted. But I suppose we were too proud of what we’d managed to create. It was a new form of life, something akin to humans but fundamentally different. It sounds good on paper, but seeing how it turned out…” He chuckled. “I can only laugh.”