A pitilessly sharp black triangle on a white background.

“What? Do you mean that you don’t want happiness?”

My head was breaking into pieces; two logical trains collided and crawled upon each other, rattling and smothering.⁠ ⁠…

“Well, I am waiting. You must choose; the Operation and hundred percent happiness, or.⁠ ⁠…”

“I cannot⁠ ⁠… without you.⁠ ⁠… I must not⁠ ⁠… without you.⁠ ⁠…” I said, or perhaps I only thought, I am not sure which, but I-330 heard.

“Yes, I know,” she said. Then, her hands still on my shoulders and her eyes not letting my eyes go, “Then⁠ ⁠… until tomorrow. Tomorrow at twelve. You remember?”

“No, it was postponed for a day. Day-after-tomorrow!”