Lace had been missing from his "real" life for so long that his dorm room had been officially declared abandoned. But his roommate, Laura—a pragmatic cello performance major—hadn't stopped looking. She didn't believe the police report about Lace "dropping out of society." She knew him too well.
One afternoon, Laura showed up at Ash’s apartment. She had traced the last GPS signal from Lace’s phone to this address before it went dead months ago.
Ash was lounging on the couch, Lace tucked firmly beneath her leggings, when the frantic knocking started.
"Ash Dyer? I know you're in there," Laura's voice echoed through the door. "I’m Michael’s roommate. I have a court-authorized TF-Scanner, and I’m not leaving until I check this unit for his signature."
Ash stiffened. If Laura used a scanner, Lace’s biological frequency would light up like a flare, even in his garment form.
"Lace, stay perfectly still," Ash hissed, her hand instinctively pressing against her hip. She felt a muffled, terrified pulse against her palm.
She opened the door just as Laura was pulling a handheld device out of her bag.
"Look, I don't know who you think you are—" Ash started, but Laura pushed past her.
"I’m the person who has his cat," Laura snapped, her eyes scanning the room. "And his sheet music. And his life. The police said you were the last one with him. Where is he? Did you turn him into a rug? A lamp?"
"I don't have him!" Ash lied, her heart racing.
The Mockery Under Pressure
Laura began to move through the apartment, the scanner humming in her hand. As she got closer to Ash, the device began to emit a low, rhythmic chirp.
"That's weird," Laura muttered, pointing the scanner at Ash’s waist. "I’m getting a high-risk inanimate signature coming off... you."
Ash laughed, a forced, mocking sound. "Oh, this? Yeah, I’ve got a 'Durable' on. But it’s not your friend. It’s just a lucky pair of panties I bought at a TF-Boutique. Want to see?"
She pulled the waistband of her leggings back, exposing the lavender trim and the delicate bow. Lace was screaming internally, pulsing his name in a Morse code that felt like a frantic heartbeat. To anyone else, it was just the vibration of a high-end enchanted garment.
"See?" Ash said, her voice dripping with cruelty. "Does this look like Michael Lacey to you? Michael was a person. This is just... fabric. It’s great for support, but it’s not exactly a conversation partner."
Laura looked at the lavender fabric. She reached out a hand, her fingers hovering inches from the music-note branding. Lace pushed every ounce of his energy into one single, powerful vibration.
"Wait," Laura whispered. "That pattern... those are the notes from the cello suite we were practicing. Michael wrote those."
The Cruel Denial
Ash's eyes went cold. She realized she was close to being caught. She stepped back, mocking both of them.
"Lots of clothes have music notes, Laura. Don't be pathetic. You're so desperate to find your 'friend' that you're talking to my underwear. It’s honestly kind of creepy."
She looked down at her lap, speaking directly to the fabric while Laura watched. "Hear that, Lucky? This girl thinks you're a person. Isn't that hilarious? Tell her what you are."
She tapped the TFRM app on her phone, which was still set to 90% Dampening, and sent a command: [PULSE: STATUS_CONFIRMED].
Lace, forced by the app's override, emitted a dull, robotic, double-pulse. NO. NO.
"See?" Ash smirked. "Even the panties think you're crazy. Now, get out before I call the cops for harassment. I have a rehearsal to get to, and I need my 'Lucky Pair' to stay focused."
Laura stood frozen, her scanner still chirping a faint, mournful rhythm. She looked at Ash’s smug expression and then back at the lavender trim.
"If that's him in there," Laura said, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and grief, "I hope you know what you're doing. Because a 'Durable' that gets treated like that... eventually, the mind doesn't just go quiet. It breaks. And when it breaks, the 'luck' goes with it."
As the door slammed shut, Ash leaned against it, breathing a sigh of relief. She looked down at the lavender panties, her hand stroking the fabric with a rough, mocking affection.
"That was a close one, Michael," she whispered. "Good thing you're such a good liar. I think you need a punishment for almost getting us caught. How does a week in the 'Dirty' pile sound?"
Lace didn't pulse back. The "Michael" inside him was beginning to realize that Laura was right. He wasn't just losing his life; he was losing the ability to care that he had one.
