The tension in the apartment didn't dissipate after Laura left; it curdled. Ash found herself looking down at her "lucky" lavender panties with a newfound sense of irritation. Lace was no longer just a tool; he was a liability. The fact that Laura had a TF-Scanner meant the secret was out, and the legal "ownership" of a missing person—even with a 28th Amendment waiver—was a headache Ash wasn't sure she wanted anymore.
A week later, Ash called Laura.
The meeting took place in the same apartment, but the vibe was purely transactional. Ash sat at the kitchen table, her laptop open to the Global TF-Exchange, where custodial rights could be transferred with a digital signature.
Lace was sitting in a Tupperware container on the table. Ash hadn't even bothered to wash him after her last gym session. He felt stiff, humiliated, and utterly discarded.
"Ten thousand," Ash said, not looking up from the screen. "That’s the market rate for a High-Risk Durable with a proven luck-stat. Plus, I want you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. You tell the school I 'found' him and returned him to you."
Laura didn't hesitate. She produced a credit chip—her entire savings for grad school—and slid it across the table. "Just give him to me, Ash. You don't deserve to own a dog, let alone a person."
The Transfer of Property
Ash smirked, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She didn't feel a shred of remorse. In her mind, she was just upgrading her gear.
"He’s a bit glitchy," Ash warned. "He likes to pulse melodies when he’s stressed. I usually just turn the dampening up to ninety percent. Here."
[NOTIFICATION: Custodial Rights Transferred to User 'Laura_Cello']
[ACCESS CODE: 8821-LACE]
"He’s your problem now," Ash said, tossing the Tupperware container toward Laura.
Lace felt the world jolt as the container slid across the table. For the first time in months, he felt the custodial "link" to Ash snap. The cold, mocking presence in the back of his mind was replaced by Laura’s familiar, frantic energy.
The New Warden
Laura didn't take him out of the container until they were back in their old dorm room. She sat on her bed, the room smelling of rosin and old sheet music—the smells of Michael’s former life.
"Michael?" she whispered, her voice trembling. She reached into the container and lifted the lavender panties.
Lace pulsed a single, long, agonizing vibration. YES.
"I’m going to get you back," Laura promised, her eyes tearing up. "I’ll find a way to reverse it. I’ll hire a specialist."
But as she spoke, she began to inspect him. She saw the "PROPERTY OF ASH" branding that had woven itself into his fibers. She saw how the music notes had replaced almost all of his original "skin" texture.
"God, she really let the R.T.F.S. take hold," Laura murmured. She hooked her phone up to the TFRM app, but she didn't disable the dampening. She didn't even check the communication logs.
Instead, she looked at her cello in the corner. She had a major chair placement audition tomorrow. The fear of failure—the same fear Ash had exploited—began to creep into her voice.
"I just need to know one thing, Michael," Laura said, her tone shifting from savior to something colder, something desperate. "Is it true? About the luck? Did you really help her with that solo?"
Lace pulsed a rhythmic YES. He wanted her to know he was capable. He wanted to be useful to her.
The Cycle Continues
Laura’s grip on the lavender fabric tightened. The "Michael" she knew was a friend, but the "Object" she held was a solution to her anxiety.
"I’m going to wash you," Laura said, her voice becoming practical, distant. "And then I’m going to wear you for the audition. Just for tomorrow. To make sure I stay steady. You’d do that for me, right? We’re roommates. We’re friends."
Lace pulsed a YES, but the vibration felt hollow.
He realized then that it didn't matter who owned him. The 28th Amendment hadn't just changed the law; it had changed the way people looked at their "friends." Whether it was Ash’s mockery or Laura’s "desperate need," the result was the same.
He was placed into a delicate mesh laundry bag. As the washing machine started its cycle, Lace felt the water rush in. He stopped thinking about the cello suite. He stopped thinking about Michael.
He just focused on being the most durable, lucky, lavender pair of panties he could be.
