The yellow warning light gave way to green, and Director William 'Buck' Moffat's knees creaked as he entered containment with a slice of cake. At the far end of the room was a massive empty frame, the air inside thick like desert heat. He offered four pencils on the ground before it. "Figured I'd sneak away from the party to say goodbye. You be polite to my replacement; he's trying to build you a body. Like a real boy." Moffat took his regular seat. "Comprehension confirmation: What is your name?" The pencil on the far left turned to silvery striated lithium. "Confirmed. Last chance, Lee." Two objects blinked into existence on the ground in response. Lee always gave back two: one of hers, one of his. A varsity jacket gifted to Teresa Kierczynski, and Dr. Davis's gardening journal. Moffat had memorized the objects that disappeared when they did—his briefcase, her car, the USS Hornet—and seethed over decades as Lee would drip-feed them back. Twenty years talking to the elevated gravity levels in the basement, and all Lee would do was rummage around its lost and found. He fell quiet. "I failed them…" Moffat nudged the jacket. YERO. A mix of sadness, sentiment, and nostalgia moved him to ask one last time. "…will you send them something for me?" The second pencil turned to carbon, a yes, and Moffat's shoulders unstooped as he sat straight the hell up. His hand trembled as he held up his plate. He willed his voice calm, "Can you give them this?" The chocolate cake slice, the words '-etirement, Buck!' in icing, paper plate, and fork vanished from his hand. He inhaled sharply. Tears slicked his cheeks, and Director Moffat beseeched the kidnapper in the basement with a wavering plea, "Tell them I tried."