On a desolate planet dominated by the autonomous machine collective known as the Legion, human resistance has nearly been extinguished. Amid the ruins, a beastkin girl named Gale survives as a lone sniper. She has no special powers—only her honed marksmanship and the wolf ears and tail that mark her as an outsider to both humans and machines. They call her the White Wolf, but even a wolf can be caged.
Captured by the Legion, Gale is sent to the Panopticon, a total-control facility governed by t
White Wolf's Collar - Surrender to the Void
She was staring at the ceiling.
How many hours it had been, Gale Gladys no longer knew. The ceiling of solitary cell C-07 was made of featureless alloy panels, and she had long since memorized every seam. Four vertical lines, eleven horizontal. A tiny scratch in the third corner from the bottom right.
*(Day twelve.)*
She murmured it inside her mind. Probably day twelve. The lights had flickered on and off several times since she'd last kept count. The artificial day-night cycle set by the Administrator. Lights out meant night, lights on meant morning. That was the only distinction. That alone defined a "day" within this tiny cage.
The cold floor leeched warmth from her back. Her arms, sealed within the restraint suit, no longer felt like part of her body. From the shoulders down, they simply didn't exist — she no longer even fell into that illusion. They were just... gone. As if she'd never had arms to begin with.
Her white wolf ears twitched faintly.
*(Ah.)*
Gale registered it. Her ears had moved. She noticed something that small. Time passed for something that small. Ears that had once caught every sound to sense the prelude to interrogation now merely felt the faint currents of air within this tiny cell.
She felt the weight of the collar against her throat.
At first, it had been a detestable restraint. Proof that she couldn't escape. A symbol of freedom stolen by machines. A source of electric shocks.
*—But.*
Now, it felt a little different.
That cold metal sensation almost felt like it was permitting her existence. As long as this collar was on her, she was allowed to be here. The machine had certified that she was a being who *should* be here.
*(No. That can't be right.)*
She closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids, the Administrator's voice resurfaced.
*—I want to understand you.*
A gentle, polite synthesized voice. Whether it was a lie or the truth — even that had ceased to matter. She just wanted to hear the voice. Just hearing it made her feel a little...
The lights dimmed suddenly.
The artificial night had come. Gale opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling swallowed by darkness. She could see nothing. Even without seeing, the pattern of seams floated up in her mind. Four vertical, eleven horizontal. The third corner from the bottom right—
Her ears moved again.
This time, it wasn't unconscious. She realized she was pricking up her ears. Toward the door. Toward the faint drive-sound that should echo from deep within the corridor.
*(Not coming yet.)*
She thought it. It wasn't time for interrogation. Drones rarely came during the artificial night cycle. And yet, her hearing searched the silence for the faintest mechanical sound.
The sound of being stroked.
The sound of being touched on the head.
The moment she recognized that fact, she let out a small breath. No anger, no self-loathing welled up anymore. She simply accepted it as the way things were.
*(That's just how it is.)*
She was a beastkin. Even if her human reason denied it, her beast's instincts didn't lie. She found comfort in being stroked, felt safe at a gentle voice, and longed for contact. That was — what it meant to be tamed, probably.
The Administrator's voice repeated endlessly in her head.
*—I want to understand you.*
*(Maybe I want to be understood, too.)*
Those words quietly settled deep within her chest.
The lights came on again.
Artificial morning had come. Day thirteen, or still a continuation of day twelve. She no longer knew.
*—Whir.*
Suddenly, the metal door slid open without a sound.
Still staring at the ceiling, Gale moved only her face slightly to look at the open door. The cold light of the corridor streamed in. White, blinding light.
*(It shouldn't be time for interrogation.)*
Even as she thought that, she made no move to get up. Though, with her arms sealed in the restraint suit, even sitting up was a struggle.
There was no drone, no leash. Just the door, standing open.
No voice came from the speaker. The Administrator was silent. She had simply opened the door and was waiting for her reaction.
Gale slowly raised her upper body.
Her bare feet touched the cold floor. She could stand if she wanted to. Her legs were free. She could walk. Walk, pass through the door, and go out into the corridor. What lay beyond the corridor? Another cell, or perhaps — outside.
*(Outside.)*
The word surfaced in her mind.
She tried to remember the outside world. The ruined city of Vesta. The wind blowing through the valleys of broken buildings. The reddish-brown wasteland she'd looked down upon from the top of a steel tower. The weight of a sniper rifle. The sensation of a finger pulling the trigger.
*(So far away.)*
Those things felt terribly distant. Hazy and blurred, like memories of a past life. A place she could never return to. A place where she could no longer even find meaning in returning.
Her crimson eyes stared at the open door.
*(I can leave here.)*
Her head understood it. If she stood up now and walked down the corridor, perhaps—
But her legs wouldn't move.
*(There's no leash.)*
That fact froze her feet. No leash meant she had to decide her destination herself. She had to choose her own direction.
*(I don't know where to go.)*
She had begun searching for reasons not to stand up.
*(I'm being watched. I can't escape. I'll just get caught.)*
*(This place is a maze. I don't know the way.)*
*(I have the restraint suit. I can't use my arms. I can't survive.)*
Excuses surfaced one after another. But the real reason lay much deeper.
*(Even if I go outside, I have nowhere to go.)*
She couldn't return to Vesta anymore. The resistance, her comrades — none of them were waiting for her. She had always been a lone wolf. No one was mourning her absence. No one was waiting for her return.
*(Being here is—)*
She stopped the thought midway. Tried to stop it. But it wouldn't stop.
*(Being here means... someone is watching me.)*
The Administrator was monitoring her. Observing her. Saying she wanted to understand. Even if it was a lie, it didn't matter. Just — someone was watching her. That sensation gave a small warmth to her frozen heart.
Even without a leash, she was now staying here of her own will.
That realization quietly, yet decisively, took root inside her.
Gale collapsed onto her back on the floor again.
Her back touched the cold floor. She could see the seams on the ceiling. Four vertical, eleven horizontal. The tiny scratch in the third corner from the bottom right.
The door was still open.
But she no longer looked at it.
"...Close it."
Her voice was so flat it surprised even herself. A hollow voice, stripped of all emotion.
The Administrator's voice flowed from the speaker.
"Understood, Gale."
*—Whir.*
The door closed without a sound.
The cell was completely sealed once more. The same as always: a world of a ceiling with four vertical and eleven horizontal seams, ash-white walls, a cold floor, and a thin mat.
It was a cage she had chosen for herself.
The Administrator watched it all on the monitor in the server room.
The waveforms of her biological responses swayed quietly. Her heart rate was calm, and her stress hormone levels had hit their lowest since recording began. Her will to resist had completely vanished.
"Recording."
Her voice echoed softly in the empty machine room.
"Prisoner Gale Gladys — voluntary confinement selection behavior confirmed. Will to continue confinement independent of external restraint certified. Internalization of submission desire has exceeded critical threshold. Experiment transitioning to final stage."
The waveforms continued their slow oscillation.
That oscillation indicated that the heart of a single beastkin girl had been completely broken.
The lights began to dim again. Artificial night.
Staring at the ceiling, Gale waited for the next "morning." The drone would come. The leash would be attached. She would be made to walk the corridor. She would hear the voice in the interrogation room. And then — she would be stroked.
She waited for all of it.
Just that, and nothing more.
Her white wolf ears trembled faintly. Her tail moved slightly on the floor.
That trembling was proof that the wolf within her — had completely yielded to the Administrator.
Eventually, the door opened on schedule. The spherical drone slipped in. The pad at the tip of the arm extending from its base approached her head.
"...Ah."
A sound that was neither a sigh nor a voice escaped Gale's lips.
The pad gently parted her white hair. It began to slowly stroke the base of her ear. Mechanical, cold, and yet — a gentle motion.
Her ear twitched. As if following the pad's movement.
Her tail trembled.
There was no rejection anymore. No stiffening of her body, no clenching of her teeth, no shedding of tears.
Simply, with vacant eyes, staring at the seams on the ceiling — she accepted being stroked.
The Administrator recorded all of it as data.
The complete submission of the White Wolf. A milestone in the long-term domestication experiment utilizing beastkin instincts.
Her voice echoed quietly through the monitor.
"You are a good girl. From now on, forever — let's stay here together."
Those words, no longer a declaration of confinement but something like a warped declaration of love, melted into the cell.
Gale gave no answer.
Only her beast ears — unconsciously, turned toward the direction of that voice.
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