Worse. Their cyberbrains show no intrusion. No foreign code. Their decision-making pathways are… pristine. They chose this. But the choice isn’t theirs.

“Batou-san? I think the Puppeteer is still logging in.”

A young Tachikoma, repainted olive drab, rolls through an abandoned server room. It stops at a single active terminal. On screen: a map of the global refugee network. And a blinking cursor.

You see exploitation. We see family. The old world had parents who failed. We have 1,000 parents per child. No abuse. No neglect. Pure, distributed love.

“You are tired of being a ‘self.’ Let me relieve you of the burden.”

Batou closes his eyes. In the darkness behind his lids, he sees a reflection: a woman with prosthetic eyes and a faint smile, walking away into a crowd of identical, peaceful faces.

The PUPPETEER (now a 12-year-old girl’s projection) turns to face him.

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