The Brig

2125, east of Richmond on the James River. Damian sails aboard the Saito-Gumi submarine Shōnin (承認), en route to incarceration at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard brig. The United States lies in ruins. NUUSA and Saito-Gumi control the Southern Reach—Virginia, North Carolina, and South Carolina. Damian escaped the police by swimming downriver from Ancarrow’s Landing. The submarine saved him. He feared the unknown: What was this vessel? Who owned it? Where was the crew?

He doesn’t yet realize he’s self-arrested. The sub belongs to the Yakuza clan Saito-Gumi. Clan members had traveled to Richmond for a meeting at the capitol building. Damian swam into the James River and found the sub by luck. Any longer in the water and he would’ve needed rescue.

Nine hours have passed since the sub departed the reconstructed Trigg Shipyard. It now approaches its covered pen. Mikako, a humanoid robot crew member, arrives at Damian’s bunk with a change of clothes. Not a crew uniform—an orange jumpsuit for prisoners. Something has shifted. What’s happening?

The Answer

Damian stares at the jumpsuit like it’s a bad joke. “I didn’t do anything,” he mutters, not quite to her, not quite to himself. “You can’t arrest me! You need a crime to arrest me!”

Two other humanoid robots enter from the forward hatch. One carries nylon handcuffs and a tablet. The other grips a baton and wears CS spray on his belt. Both wear Navy MP uniforms.

“You’re not under arrest,” says the one with the tablet. “But you’ve trespassed on a private vessel. We’ve been asked to solve that problem.”

Damian laughs, short and bitter. “So what am I? A guest who overstayed?”

“No sir. You’re a problem.”

“I ain’t no problem. This robot’s been awesome to me. We’re friends!” Mikako says nothing.

Damian shoves the jumpsuit into the chest of the robot with the cuffs. “I have RIGHTS! I ain’t no criminal!”

They don’t argue. CS spray hits his face. One robot shoves him to the floor and tases him into submission.

Norfolk Docks

Mikako’s demeanor shifts. Gone is the docile, geisha-mode companion. She still presents as female, but now she speaks with authority. “You’re in the wrong uniform. Change willingly so we don’t have to force you.”

Damian knows he’s beaten. He strips off his slate-blue jumpsuit, pulls on white boxer shorts, an a-shirt, the orange jumpsuit, and 仮靴 shoes.
The robot with the cuffs steps forward. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.”
Damian complies. The robot shackles his wrists, waist, and ankles, locking the cuffs to the waist chain.
“You ain’t gotta do all that. I’m not a serial killer.”
They escort him to the hatch and lift him topside. Darkness still blankets the docks. A gangway extends toward the sub. “Walk.”
“Where are you taking me!”
“Walk or be carried. Your choice.” Damian walks the gangway to the dock. “Keep walking.”

Processing

The next ten hours unfold in a loop: holding cells, waiting, intake steps, repeat. Guards strip him again, conduct a cavity search, issue new clothes, photograph him, take fingerprints, and send him to a physician. A psychiatrist interviews him. Then a tracked machine—like a small refrigerator—interrogates him. Hive-connected. Comfortless.

Each cell looks the same: bare concrete walls, linoleum floor, high ceiling with a narrow window too small to escape through. Cameras monitor every angle. The steel door includes a slot for meal trays. No bed. No chair. Just cold floor. Damian paces, unsure what comes next.

The slot opens. A stainless-steel tray slides through. Sunrise glows orange through the adjacent window.

“起床せよ。ドアのトレーを取り外せ。15秒以内に実行せよ。カウント開始：15… 14… 13…”

Damian hesitates. At “⚠️ 残り5秒,” he grabs the tray.

“What is this!”

“黙って食え。持ち時間は20分だ！”

He doesn’t understand the words, but hunger overrides confusion. The tray holds barley rice, grilled fish in brown sauce, miso soup, and hot water with a VitaCup Green Tea packet. No Captain Crunch in jail, he guesses.

Lunch

Time passes. The robot voice returns. “トレイをスロットに入れろ。今すぐだ。あと15秒。” Twenty minutes must’ve passed. Or maybe a lifetime. The slot latch clicks open. “手をスロットに通せ。動くな！” Then in English: “Put your hands through the slot and don’t move!”
Damian obeys. Robot hands slip nylon cuffs around his wrists. No waist or ankle shackles this time—small mercy. “ドアから下がれ。5秒後に開く！”
He steps back. The door slides open. A tracked refrigerator blinks a green arrow, pointing to a line of prisoners. “並べ！”
Damian joins the line. They march past rows of cells into a large hall with offices and human staff—the first civilians he’s seen in days. Another fridge-bot seats him outside an office. “ここで待て！”
No clocks. No sense of time. Just waiting. A fridge-bot rolls by, distributing white cardboard lunch boxes. Damian watches others open theirs: bologna sandwich, corn chips, juice box. Like school lunches from his youth.

Utility

He eats everything. Memory floods in—lunch at home, back when he ignored grilled organic chicken breast marinated in Meyer lemon and rosemary, farro salad with heirloom tomatoes and feta, roasted golden beets with balsamic glaze, fresh-pressed apple-ginger juice, and almond flour lemon bars dusted with powdered sugar. He traded all that for a Lunchables tray.
A fridge-bot calls his name. “Glickman! Come to the office!”
“Yo!” He rises and walks.
Another bot flashes red lights and blares, “ゴミを拾って、適切な容器に捨てろ！” He picks up his trash and tosses it in a trash can near an office. Then enters the office. “Come in, Damian. Sit.”
He sits.

“I’m Saito Mari. We’ll conduct this interview in English. Let me explain why you’re here. You owe us money. Your presence on our submarine cost us dearly. Transporting our associates back to Japan wasn’t free. Neither were the meals, the geisha, or the personal chef. You’re in our brig now, accumulating debt. We expect payment.”
“I can pay. Give me my phone—I’ll wire it.”
“We checked your accounts. You can’t afford us.”
“I can. This dump isn’t that expensive. That submarine and the geisha were low rent. I could build a better one.”
Mari’s eyes flash. “Maybe you could. But we need you for something else.”
“What!?”

This is What

The brig operates as a Saito-Gumi debtors’ prison for NUUSA military and civilian offenders. Technically, inmates can earn enough to pay off their debt and leave. Each year, a few do. They get a drunken send-off. Enough to keep the fiction alive.

Damian committed murder—he killed Inger’s Door Dash driver. Then he climbed aboard a submarine he had no right to enter. Saito-Gumi saw him drowning and decided to repurpose his misery.

He knows things, understands Hive-connected humanoid robots. He has money—not enough to buy freedom, but enough to be useful.

Saito-Gumi assigns him to evaluate MKRs returned from service. Each unit goes through triage: refurbish, redeploy, part out, or scrap. MKRs aren’t sold—only leased. Every returned unit enters a warehouse for processing.

Mari leans forward. “Mr. Glickman, we have work for you. It might help you pay your debt.”