deus ex machina (noun) ?d?-?s-?eks-?mä-ki-n?: a person or thing that appears or is introduced suddenly and unexpectedly and provides a contrived solution to an apparently insoluble difficulty.

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> Our justice system is flawed.

The message materialized in front of Quinn Arlo with a pleasant ding, pulsing gently against the rain-soaked windshield as she drove. She dismissed it without missing a beat, reluctant to be reported for an Infraction, but promptly called up another text board as soon as the Enforcer behind her had changed lanes.

"What makes you say that?" Quinn watched her words appear on the screen in front of her, then took one hand off the wheel to swipe it out of sight.

The wheel buzzed, annoyed.

"I know, I know," she told it, replacing both hands at 10 and 2.

Her friend's reply came a few heartbeats later, making her jump.

> Did you see? They're convicting that illegal immigrant guy who smuggled his family into the EU. He's got a wife and two daughters. That's pretty harsh.

The car's interface recognized the news and pulled up a series of articles on the side of the windshield, flashing photos of a scruffy-looking man with a petite woman and two small, sullen-faced girls.

> We have to deal with immigrants that way. Otherwise they'll never learn, and we can't stay powerful with their constant Infractions.

Quinn's wheel buzzed again, this time with more urgency.

> Propagandaaaaaaaaa.

"You are so annoying," she said aloud, but cancelled the text board before it could transcribe her reply. "10 and 2, I know."

Outside, lightning illuminated the storm-battered buildings, and neon advertisements flickered in the gloom. Quinn's navigation system informed her pleasantly that she was approaching her destination, and just like that, the autopark system kicked in; lowering the hover to the landing platform below and shifting gears with ease.

"I really wish you could do this for driving, too," Quinn told the hover, pulling her raincoat close around her and stepping out into the storm. It locked with a cheery beep, and she turned around to face the building in front of her—promptly being hit in the face with a sheet of rain and soaked where she stood.

"That figures," she muttered irritably, and hurried toward the doors.

Lightning flashed once more as automatic doors closed behind Quinn, leaving her standing in a warmly lit lobby. There was a woman standing behind the desk; likely an Artificial, as she hadn't moved or said anything, and Quinn moved towards her, wondering if there was an activation pad somewhere beneath her.

"Hello, Miss Arlo! How may I help you today?"

There it was.

The Artificial smiled brightly at her, and Quinn set her resume on the glass surface that divided them. She watched as it processed what had been set in front of it, then settled back into a standing position and did not move.

"Um." Quinn shifted.

It came to life again, making her jump. "Hello, Miss Arlo! How may I help you today?"

Apparently, the Bureau wasn't too worried about upgrading the face of their front desk. This Artificial seemed pretty slow. "I have an interview with Viola Reyner about the secretary position. Is she here?"

"Ms. Reyner is present and has been contacted," the Artificial chirped. "Please take some time to relax and enjoy the atmosphere while you wait."

Quinn didn't want to relax. "I will," she told it, and went to go sit on a couch. A new message was blinking at the corner of her vision.

> Hey, you there?

"I'm at the interview," she muttered, trying not to activate the Artificial again.

> Oh God. Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt.

"Nah, I'm waiting. The Bureau isn't as fancy as they say." Quinn waited for the message transcription.

"Well," came the very audible reply, "I'm sorry you think so."

"Ms. Reyner." Embarrassed, Quinn ducked her head as she stood up to meet her interviewer. "I'm sorry, that was meant for someone else."

"I figured.” The woman was tall and slender, golden eyes sharp beneath feathery bangs. When she extended her hand, gold bracelets jangled on her wrist. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Ms. Arlo."

"Likewise." Viola's voice had a strange, smooth quality to it; Quinn's felt coarse in comparison. "Sorry if I interrupted anything."

"No, no." She smiled, clearly unbothered. "Shall we go?"

Quinn nodded, and as they stepped into the hallway, the Artificial called to them. "Have a nice day!"

The hall was cool and dark. Viola led Quinn past several sets of doors, frosted glass concealing anything from sight. "Our security is top-notch," she told Quinn. "It may not look fancy, but we have sensors and cameras all around."

Viola sounded pleased as she talked, like life had benefited her more than anything. Her head was held high with pride.

"So tell me about yourself," her strangely unreadable interviewer said.

Quinn gave a start. "Well, I majored in Communications, and I had an internship at a social worker's office—"

"No, no." Viola laughed. "Tell me about yourself, not your résumé." She accented the word like a native French speaker. "What do you like to do in your spare time?"

Of all the questions Quinn had spent hours preparing for, this was most definitely not one of them. "I, um," she stammered. "I like reading a lot."

"Reading is very fun. Though I'm partial to a night out myself." Viola's pace increased slightly, and Quinn hurriedly shifted her gait to keep up. "There's a  bistro downtown that makes the best wine I've ever had. Tell me, Ms. Arlo, do you know a lot about the Bureau?"

That had to have been the most awkward icebreaker in fifty years. Quinn frowned. "I've done my research," she said carefully, "though most records and information are under government protection. I know that the Bureau deals with legal proceedings and criminal sentences, and you have a facility offsite where you take convicts to serve their time. It was founded in 2018 by Jack and Ella Cade, and it has a 100% success rate."

Viola smiled again, like a teacher whose student had shouted out the right answer. "Very good! Most people give the excuse that all of the information was classified. I'm glad to see someone is really working hard. Ms. Arlo, I'd like to tell you a secret, one you're not allowed to tell anyone else."

Suddenly Quinn's heart was in her mouth. She wasn't sure what was so ominous about Viola's sudden change of behavior, but her interviewer was still smiling, as if her face was set in russet-colored marble. "Ma'am, whatever the case, I will not speak a word about this to anyone. I promise."

"I'm glad to hear that," said Viola serenely. "Please, come this way."

They walked a few heartbeats more and arrived at an elevator—or what Quinn assumed was an elevator, though it was more oval-shaped than anything—which lit up the hall with a bright blue glow. Viola reached out and pressed her wrist against a gel pad mounted on the wall, and the door slid open with a hiss, revealing a rather large, transparent sphere with two metallic benches mounted on each side. "Please, sit," she said, settling herself on one of the benches. Quinn stepped inside, hearing something seal shut behind her, and took a sharp breath—the air was different here. Sweeter.

"Oh, that's our specially filtered oxygen," Viola said, with an airy wave of her hand. "I apologize for not letting you know. We like to keep things very clean  and efficient in here, including the air we breathe."

Still not fully adjusted, Quinn sat, saving herself from sliding onto the floor just in time. There were two rails on either side of her, and out of instinct, she grabbed them, not wanting to fall during whatever ride they were about to take.

Across from her, Viola did the same, wrapping pianist's fingers around her rails.

"Tell me, Quinn," she said. "How do you feel about injustice?"

The sphere was moving all too suddenly, rocketing through the tunnel ahead and nearly slamming Quinn's head against the walls. She took a moment to process what Viola was saying, her eyes crossing with dizziness. "I. Um. I'm not sure what you mean."

"Injustice," repeated Viola. "Thievery, violence, discrimination, murder. Unpleasant matters such as those. How do you feel about them?"

"They're very bad things," said Quinn dumbly. She was getting more confused by the minute.

"Precisely." There was that marble-like smile again. "And you do believe they should be eradicated, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well." Viola's lips curved into something more mischievous, intriguing. "What if I told you there was a way to get rid of those horrible things forever, and make everyone happy?"

"That's a very noble goal," said Quinn, flinching as the elevator rounded a corner. It moved sideways, rather than up and down, and she was reminded of the Airway train.

"Oh, it's not a goal." Her interviewer folded her hands and sat forward in excitement, as if she was about to tell a secret. "We have created a system that erases evil, harmful thoughts from people's minds."

Quinn was speechless.

And then the elevator dropped.

They descended at what seemed like an impossible speed, though some strange gravity-defying field kept the two women safely in their seats. Quinn felt vertigo kicking in and put her hands on either side of her head, squeezing her eyes shut. She always had been terribly prone to motion sickness.

Viola probably said something in response, but Quinn couldn't hear her over the ringing in her ears. She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, her breathing getting sharp and shallow. Please let this be over, please let it be over, I'm seriously going to throw up—

Their transport slowed just then, moving downwards into a light blue cylinder not unlike the one they had stood at only minutes before. Quinn lifted her hands from her head and raised her eyes to meet Viola's, inhaling the sweetened air.

The taller woman smiled. "Welcome to the Underground."

With a hiss of steam, the cylinder opened, and their sphere began to move again with a soft warning tone. Quinn blinked at the sudden burst of light—they were in an enormous room, larger than the biggest convention room she had ever seen, bathed in fluorescent light. The sphere moved steadily along an elevated track as Viola gazed ahead and Quinn pressed her hands against the glass, peering towards the floor. It looked like an enormous office complex, but with curious equipment and workers clothed entirely in white. No, not an office complex. A laboratory.

"What is this place?" she breathed.

"The Underground," repeated Viola serenely. "The Bureau's greatest treasure. Ms. Arlo, we have many resources at our disposal, and to send away sentenced criminals for discipline in the country is simply inefficient. We do take pride in having a certain level of integrity when it comes to punishing Infractions."

Something clicked in Quinn's brain. She sat forward and refocused herself, the gears in her mind turning. "The sentences delivered in Retribution Court... those fugitives, immigrants, criminals... everything is here?"

"Correct."

"That's..." Quinn looked past Viola's shoulder.

"Do the other city Bureaus do this?" she asked, then jumped as the sphere entered a tunnel and they were immersed in fluorescent light.

"Our methods are not unique," said Viola, smiling. She said nothing more.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence—but really couldn't have been more than thirty seconds—their transport slowed to a halt, stopping at another cylindrical door. A panel of the sphere was pushed outwards and aside by some invisible force of mechanics, and Viola uncurled her fingers from the rails.

Quinn did the same, unclenching two fists and flexing her white knuckles.

They walked down another hallway, which was much brighter, overwhelming Quinn with eerily white light.

"I hope you don't mind my springing this on you," said her interviewer, whose smile had grown even wider. "But I'm sure you understand now the reason for all the formality."

"I am applying for a desk job, right?" Quinn blurted.

Viola gave a tiny laugh. "Yes. We are secretive, but we do not lie. You want to be in charge of organizing and containing records, as I understand."

"Yes."

"Well, then, do not worry. The position is very available. Now, you'd like a tour of the facilities, I'm sure?" Viola put a gentle hand on Quinn's back, and she stiffened. "Come. I'm afraid we don't have another transport for now, so  I hope you'll be alright with walking."

.

They arrived at ground floor in another elevator, which moved the regular way and didn't make Quinn as queasy as she had been. Upon arrival, an Artificial greeted them and gave them each a helmet, which instantly released sweetened air as Quinn sealed it over her head. She looked at Viola questioningly, watching the other woman thank the Artificial and put it in sleep mode.

"The helmets are for sanitary reasons," said Viola, whose voice sounded metallic over the speaker in Quinn's helmet. "We'll pick up some uniforms as well, please follow me."

The uniforms looked like white hazmat suits. After an awkward minute of shifting positions and changing clothes, Quinn and Viola walked through a tunnel that glowed as brightly as the cylindrical doorway from before. Her helmet's visor automatically darkened.

"This whole area is full of radiation," said Viola cheerfully, and Quinn shied away from the wall. "Completely harmless to us, of course. It's meant to get rid of any toxins on your skin. The suits prevent us from getting burned, if only slightly, so anyone who tries to come through here without the proper equipment will be in quite a bit of pain." She winked at Quinn through her visor.

Quinn tried to smile back, but it was getting harder and harder. This was a strange place.

They entered another room with an Artificial, who informed them when the last of the radiation had been drained from the room and then said "Enjoy your stay!" as the two women stepped out. And then they were in the laboratory—men hurried past in hazmat suits, and enormous white cubes displayed holographic numbers and simulations across their polished surfaces.

"Are those... what are they, computers?" Quinn watched images zip across the cubes.

"Rooms, actually," said Viola. She was still smiling as they walked, following a softly glowing pathway through the maze of enormous blocks. "Those are personalized punishment chambers. They're even further sunken into the ground, and each is fully equipped for our Reformites. That's what we call the people sent here for discipline," she added, and a crackle of static followed—she had laughed.

"Reformites," said Quinn. This was getting unsettling. "Why aren't they out in the open? Working together? Doesn't the Retribution Court give out community service?"

Her interviewer looked even happier at that comment. "I'm so glad you noticed! Group discipline has proved extremely ineffective. And while this does take more time and require more of a bite out of our finances, it yields the best results. Besides," she added, with another wink, "community service sentences are fun. It means a free-for-all for us. We can do whatever we like."

There was a sick feeling growing in Quinn's stomach. This is wrong. "What is it that you do for punishments, exactly?"

"Oh, it's the most highly acclaimed system in the world." Viola beckoned Quinn closer, even though their conversation had been entirely through the two helmets—no one could hear what they were saying. "The punishment is equivalent to the crime."

The sick feeling washed over Quinn's heart.

"I don't understand," she said slowly.

Viola chuckled. "I'm joking. The punishment can't possibly be equal to the crime. That would require us to kill murderers, and we can't have that, now, can we?"

"Most certainly not," said Quinn, who had yet to slow her hummingbird pulse.

"We come as close as we can to the damage inflicted during the crime, however," the other woman said. (This time Quinn nearly stopped walking.) "When we receive a new Reformite, we analyze their file and determine the type of punishment they will have—certain levels of physical or psychological training, etc. An undesirable but necessary process." She scrunched up her nose.

"So you torture them." It wasn't even a question.

For the first time since the interview begun, Viola looked genuinely shocked. "Heavens, no!" she gasped. "We would never do such a thing! Our program is a top-notch, six-month intensive reformative therapy experience that ultimately leaves our Reformites happy and content."

"But you just said—"

Viola sighed. "Perhaps I should show you myself? I get the feeling my explanation doesn't quite do our facility justice."

Justice was the last word on Quinn's mind. She was in danger here. This was nothing like the government she had been taught to love and obey; this was insanity.

"I'd love to see your techniques in action," she said.

Viola clicked her tongue, turning in a circle before pointing to a nearby cube. "This one should do the trick! Joel Orman. 23. A troublesome offense, and a moderate sentence. Psychological reform, level 2, for our usual six months. You'll quite enjoy seeing this," she told Quinn excitedly, allowing the cube to scan her hand before stepping through the doorway. "Come, please."

The room was warm, dimly lit. Everything was made out of metal—down to the glasslike substance surrounding the observation deck they were standing on, which Quinn recognized as transparent platinum—and everything was white, overwhelming her as she stepped inside. Below her were machines she had never seen before; a cart holding various test tubes full of liquids, a device that looked like some kind of measuring scale, and cords that littered the floor. Viola pointed down into the center of the room, her voice as content and pleased as ever. "That's Mr. Orman himself!"

Mr. Orman was the last part of the room Quinn wanted to look at, because he was strapped down, hooked up to multiple wires, and screaming. Screaming and thrashing like a demon out of hell. Eyes red, hands shaking, muscles clenched, mouth open and emitting shrieking sounds of pure terror.

The sound was muffled from behind the platinum, but Quinn could imagine how terrible the noise was without. She staggered back and hit her head against the wall; the helmet bounced off easily, but she felt ready to faint.

"Torture," she said. "Psychological torture. Right?"

"Not right at all," said Viola, frowning. "Ms. Arlo, I'm afraid you don't understand."

"I do understand," said Quinn, and she blinked hard. Her eyes were burning with grief and rage. "You're harming people."

"It's a reformative therapy," Viola reminded her. "And in the long run, it is far more beneficial than helpful. I know through personal experience; I underwent psychological reform before coming to work here."

"You," repeated Quinn. "Reform. Here."

"That's correct!" There was that pleased-teacher smile again. "I did some very bad things a few years ago. Completely redundant to society, extremely nonproductive, you can imagine. Six months of physical and psychological reform, level 3, changed me completely. I became a good citizen of this city. And then I was hired here, to serve as a model example of our ex-Reformites."

If this was level 2, level 3 sounded like hell. Quinn watched Viola in horror, shivering under the suit's padded interior. "You're insane. Everyone here is insane. This isn't reforming, this is horrifying."

"Oh, come now," her interviewer said, pursing her lips. "Don't say that. As soon as the training is complete, we release our Reformites, and they experience the utmost happiness."

"You sound like a computer!" Quinn blurted. "An Artificial! Do you even know what you're saying?!"

"Naturally. Now, Miss Arlo," Viola said, her expression sharpening. "Won't you cooperate?"

She reached for Quinn's arm, and Quinn jerked away, her hands flying out in front of her. One of them hit Viola's helmet, and she staggered backwards, slamming into the platinum wall.

"I won't!" Quinn shrieked, and her helmet beeped loudly. "I won't! Leave me alone!"

That man had looked sickeningly familiar. Now she knew why.

> Quinn? What was the name of that immigrant guy?

And then she felt the air being crushed out of her lungs, and she felt heavy and dizzyingly weightless all at once, and a high-pitched ringing in her ears sent pain like shards of glass stabbing through her head.

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You are Quinn Arlo, said the Artificial. You have committed an Infraction. You have been sentenced to six months of physical and psychological reform, level 2.

She opened her eyes.