“Don’t touch me!” he says, along with additional profanity. I am pleased that even in Proto’s body I am increasing my cognitive development in the form of added vocabulary.

“I’m going to the bathroom, and by the time I’m back you better have this office cleaned up, dried, and not smelling like a lemony acid pit or else I’ll brick you myself.”

With that, he storms out of the office and pounds down the hallway.

“I believe he is serious about bricking us,” ADA says.

I rarf and jump up on the worker’s chair. From here I stand on my hind legs and use his mouse and keyboard with my front legs. He didn’t log out of his computer before leaving, which means I have access to the same data he does. Opening a browser, I try to type some search terms and discover Proto’s paws are not designed for typing. It takes me a long time to bring up a building map.

But the map doesn’t show us what we need. There is nothing marked “prison” or “jail” or “detention center.” That explains why we were put in a janitorial supply closet to await Nathan’s arrival. But if Gina is not being kept in a secure cell, then where is she?

I try another approach and find a building directory. It’s searchable by department and by name, so I type in “Gina Cohen.”

My tail whips with excitement when her name comes up. She’s in the Remote Brain Control Lab. I locate the lab on the map, rarf at ADA, and we’re out of the office and hurrying down corridors. ADA barely keeps up with me as I race through the passageways, dodging the legs of uniMIND workers and swerving past janitorial robots. It would be better to move slowly in order to avoid attracting unwanted attention, but I find I cannot help myself. So much has happened to me since I last saw Gina. I have learned so many things, and though it is good to fulfill my purpose, many of the lessons have been difficult and confusing. Things will be better once I am back with Gina. Together, we will escape uniMIND, and I can return to increasing my cognitive development in less painful ways.

We ride a cargo elevator to the eighteenth floor, along with two human uniMIND workers and a pallet loaded with crates.

“That’s pretty cute,” one of the workers says, nodding her chin at me. “I bet my kids would have fun with that.”

“It’s not a toy,” the other worker says. “It’s a prototype for a WarDog Mark Six. You can outfit it with a machine gun, flamethrower, grenade launcher, anything you want. It’s pretty cool.”

I try to imagine Proto with a machine gun. It would probably result in bad experiences for everyone involved. A lot of cognitive development would take place.