As we are walking, I am hearing muffled sound even more, then we are getting to small small room branching off of hallway where girl I am not recognizing is bound to a chair with her arms being restrained behind her, so that I am knowing it is paining her. She is having plastic band over her mouth to be keeping her from shouting, and there is still marking on her face from where eye blanket is being stripped off. But I am also seeing cream that is smeared on her face, and it is the same cream that we are using when we are raiding the cyberization facility. The cream that is keeping camera and machine from recognizing our faces.

“Her name is Grace Leung,” Xifeng is telling me, and when I am looking at the prisoner’s face like a red-blood and not using the technology in my braincase, I am seeing that she is looking like Xifeng.

“She is Chinese,” I tell Xifeng, like this is a thing we are both discovering at the same time. And I say it in Taishanese, because I am wanting even this person to know that Xifeng is treating me special. “Like you.”

Xifeng smirks. “She’s nothing like me.” Then she steps closer to the prisoner who is having dried blood under her nose. Fear is shining in Grace’s eyes, but there is also being defiance there like she is being ready to fight everyone she is seeing, especially Xifeng, who is walking close to her and is taking off plastic band that is covering her mouth and using her thumb to wipe off face-scrambling cream. “Are you?”

“Who are you?” Grace is asking through gritted teeth.

Xifeng rises to her full height, and it is looking like she is casting shadow over the prisoner. “I am your guardian,” Xifeng is saying in Mandarin.

“Talk to me in Taishanese,” Grace hisses in language I am understanding as language me and Xifeng are speaking when we are being proper mother and daughter.

Xifeng crouches on her haunches, so she is looking Grace in the face. “You grew up in the Colonies, didn’t you? That’s what you look like.” She wrinkles her face. “That’s what you smell like too. You smell like gweilo.”

Grace is trying not to be crying, and it is making her to be shaking in her chair.

“Now, my children are telling me you are here from the Colonies on a medical mission. Is that correct?”

Grace is struggling not to be saying anything.

“That there is some epidemic sweeping through the refugee population and it has something to do with their memories. My children have also told me that the Nigerian Security Service is looking for you. Which means you’ve already broken the law.”

Grace spits blood onto the floor next to her chair. “That’s what you’re doing here, isn’t it? Breaking the law?”