As soon as I passed the last row of tall, dark green plants, I would reach the border between my area and the Fourth Farming Sector. At this time of year, wheat should be growing here. I could still recall the last wheat harvest season—endless golden fields and the scent of hay permeating the air. I had helped out a few times back then, assisting in repairing faulty harvesting drones, and was invited to join the lively nighttime celebration, where I tasted the famed Texas whiskey for the first time. The next thing I remembered was waking up the following day with a pounding headache, as if my skull were about to split in two. Overall, it was an interesting experience.

Snapping out of my memories, I focused on my current task. The sooner I got it done, the sooner I could finish for the day. As I had guessed, what lay before me was an entire field of grasses, with long wheat stalks swaying in the wind, forming waves of deep green.

The other sight, however, was somewhat unexpected—a red fox crouched in front of a hexagonal hive drone, fingers flying over his terminal interface, while the worker bee drones hovered around, awaiting commands.

Even with a direct external connection, no one should be able to bypass the defense mechanisms I had put in place this easily. My curiosity piqued, I didn’t interrupt the focused fox, simply standing quietly behind him and occasionally checking parameters on my own terminal.

I knew the level of my own abilities, and watching him deftly and efficiently code, as if he were playing an instrument, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe—this guy was a genius.

My curiosity grew.

I was certain I had never seen him before, so he must have been recently transferred from another territory. Glancing at his neck, the style of his collar confirmed that the fox was from the West Coast. The lords there liked to place their crests in visible spots, ensuring that anyone who saw the collar knew this was their property.

I scratched the hairless spot on my neck, feeling the emblem inside my own collar, the one that constantly scraped against my skin.

“Aha!” The unfamiliar fox exclaimed in triumph, folding his terminal into his pocket. He stepped back, watching as the hive drone slowly rose and called the worker drones back.

He seemed pretty pleased with himself, even humming some tune as he packed up his scattered tools. I recognized the melody, and it nearly made the hair on my body stand on end.

“Whoa, you scared me!” The fox jumped back, his tail shooting straight up, fur bristling. It was probably only just now that he accidentally noticed my presence when he turned his head.

“What’s this for?” I asked, pointing at the long string of code on my terminal. I didn’t quite understand the purpose of the command.

“Uh…” The fox seemed momentarily confused by the situation, scratching the back of his head before leaning over to read the command I pointed out. “I had the drone access the nearby industrial network to analyze the dust composition. That way, I could determine the most likely pattern and color of the black spots that would appear, and eliminate any interference in color detection. Then there’s the location data, which, after coordinating with the other drones, factors in latitude, wind direction, and solar angle to further predict which areas and crops would likely develop black spots.”

I listened as he explained his code, how it linked various databases, and how he had set up a deep learning network.

“You uploaded your code through the hive system?” I finally noticed that he had bypassed the territory’s firewall and updated all the hive drones.

“Uh… yes.” He seemed a bit uneasy, scratching his arm and shifting his weight. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” I suppressed a grin and replied with a serious tone. The snow foxes would probably go crazy once they found out, worried this was some kind of large-scale infectious attack. “You’ve done everyone a big favor.”

“That’s good to hear.” The fox let out a nervous chuckle of relief. “I’ve only been transferred here a few days, so I’m not too familiar with the rules yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll adjust quickly.” Usually through high-voltage currents to the neck—but I pushed the thought away, trying to be more friendly. An adventurous idea began to form in my mind. “It’s not much different here than in other plantations.”

“Oh.” He tilted his head, scratching his ear. After catching my questioning glance, he averted his eyes. “Where I came from, it’s not as….” He anxiously scratched the skin near his collar. “… barbaric.”

“They say the West Coast lords are more ‘civilized,’” I remarked, noticing that my sharp tone caused his ears to droop, so I softened my voice. “How do you deal with traitors over there?” I almost bit my tongue but managed to finish the sentence in a casual tone.

“They put a bullet in your head,” the fox shrugged. “Only for serious crimes do they resort to public hangings.”

“Sounds very civilized,” I continued in a flat tone.

“After all, we’re all property—no need to affect the depreciation rate.” He spread his hands, not looking eager to continue the conversation.

“Speaking of which,” I glanced at the hive drone as it gathered data and deployed its worker bee drones to begin work. “Why were you transferred here? That doesn’t happen often, right?” I casually asked as I checked the drone’s command logs, trying to get more information about this fox. “Do the West Coast lords transfer their serfs often?”

“No… it’s rare there too.” He sounded more uncomfortable, clearly not wanting to delve into this topic. “Long story short, I said the wrong thing to the wrong person, and became a hot potato.”

I responded softly, not wanting to sound too aggressive, while downloading the drone logs to my terminal for later study—he had somehow bypassed multiple firewalls.

“Anyway… I should probably get back to work,” the unfamiliar fox gestured towards the distance.

“Who knows where they find so many faulty drones, right?” I joked, glancing at my terminal to check the time.

“Well… actually, I was ‘surveying the fields.’” He seemed a bit embarrassed, scratching the back of his head and looking down at his shoes.

“What, an engineer of your level, assigned to survey fields?” I was certain there had to be more to his transfer story, but the ridiculousness of the assignment made me blurt out my thoughts. “Isn’t that what dragonfly drones are for?”

“Hot potato,” he sighed, waving his hand in resignation. “This is actually the first time I’ve coded in months.” The fox raised his head, watching the hive drone slowly drift away. “I never thought I’d miss having something to do.”

I completely understood what he meant. But before I could say anything else, my personal terminal rang with a high-priority call alert.

“I won’t take up any more of your time,” he smiled at me, glancing at his own terminal before saying goodbye. “It was nice meeting you, 76184.”

“You too.” After confirming his identity on my terminal, I nodded back in greeting. “74258.”

Once 74258 was out of earshot, I answered the call and tried not to laugh too loudly at 86138’s frantic, babbling voice.

"Run simulation, Alpha Green Four," I commanded the terminal at my workstation, watching the code execute with an almost artistic appreciation as my defense was completely defeated once again.

Five minutes and twenty-three seconds—a new record, getting faster each time.

I glanced at the source code displayed on my personal terminal. So concise, so small, so seemingly harmless. But when the host runs the necessary program, the induction sequence helps activate the infected code, embedding itself into the system as if it were part of the original coding. By hijacking the host’s operational processes, it achieves its goal.

What’s even more terrifying, however, is the adaptability of this code.

Each successful infection generates countless new versions, randomly modifying portions of the subsequences. These subsequences also incorporate features of the host’s code, using trial-and-error-style repeated infections to bypass any defense mechanisms designed to stop the virus.

And because of the original code's minimal size, it’s nearly impossible to detect the infected sequences even when examining the code line by line.

It's truly beautiful.

"Run simulation, Beta Red Six," I commanded again, leaning back in my chair, ready to witness another epic battle.

"76184," a communication prompt flashed on the terminal, and I touched the screen lightly to answer, hearing 86138's voice. "Fourth team needs your help. They’ve run into something they can't handle again."

"Gladly," I replied, unable to suppress a slight grin, though the snow fox couldn’t see it.

"Sorry to keep increasing your workload, especially on your day off," 86138 said, sounding a bit guilty. "But you’re their last hope."

"Helping each other is what we do," I said, standing up and stretching.

"I'll make sure you get properly compensated," 86138 said with a sigh of relief. This time, I couldn’t hold back my laughter. "We can't keep sending you to clean up their messes every time…"

"As long as I’ve got a seat at the harvest festival celebration, I’m good," I said, closing my workstation terminal and grabbing my toolbox.

"Oh, right," 86138 responded with a clear eye-roll in his voice—so vivid I could practically see it. "Texas whiskey."

86138 mumbled a few more comments that skirted dangerously close to racial stereotyping—something about alcohol and red foxes—so I ignored him and hopped onto the metal platform, heading to my next destination.

"Need some help?" The voice of 74258 came from behind me just as I finished what I was working on and replaced the drone's casing.

"Of course." I turned around and tossed him an aluminum can I fished out from the toolbox. 74258 didn't react immediately, but he still managed to catch it in time. "It's day off time, and I need help with some heavy lifting," I shrugged, feigning innocence and motioned toward him. "Voilà."

"Oh!" 74258 quickly understood what I meant, though he seemed even more puzzled. The fox glanced at the can in his hand, then wiped off the small droplets of water on his pants with his other hand.

"Join me for a sit," I said with a smile, trying to appear friendly, as I gestured to a large tree nearby and stood the drone upright against its trunk.

Grabbing another can of beer for myself, I picked a smooth spot on the ground and sat down. The fox's right ear lowered slightly, his expression still hesitant, but he walked over and sat on the thick roots of the tree.

The hill we sat on was the focal point at the intersection of Fields 1 through 4, where the boundaries radiated outward from its center. From here, the entire surrounding farmland was clearly visible. I had no idea who had planted the seed hundreds of years ago, but this towering tree had now become the most conspicuous landmark in the area.

I often came here when I wanted to be alone, sitting in the shade with a cold beer in hand, watching the sunset dip below the horizon. Sometimes, a strange-smelling wind would blow from afar. These unrelated elements always managed to make the gloomy sky seem a bit more bearable.

"Have you ever imagined a life outside of all this?" I nodded toward where the sun had just disappeared. The Earl's territory of Texas was vast, far beyond what we could see, but I figured 74258 knew what I meant.

"Hmm..." He pressed his collar with his free hand, twisting his neck. "I spent some time in the free imperial cities due to an assigned mission, and honestly, I didn't feel it was much different." The fox turned to study me, but I couldn't read his thoughts from those olive-colored eyes. "When it comes down to it, life is just eating, drinking, defecating, and sleeping."

I responded with a hum, taking a big gulp of beer, letting the slightly oxidized bitterness spread across my tongue.

"I always imagine that if we could breathe freely, the sky would be bluer, the grass greener," I said softly, glancing upward, noticing that 74258 had turned his gaze away.

The last remnants of the sunset dyed the sky red, while a warm evening breeze still lingered, making the leaves above rustle soothingly in rhythm.

"Aren't you going to drink?" The conversation wasn't going the way I'd hoped, so I switched tactics, pointing at the beer can I'd thrown to 74258 earlier. "The flavor will change once it warms up." He had been holding it for a while without making any move to drink.

"Oh, sorry!" The fox glanced at the can in his hand, as if just remembering it was there.

"Don't drink alcohol?" I boldly guessed, trying to find a new topic.

"No," 74258 hesitated, looking a bit uneasy as he shifted in his seat. "It's just that... beer isn't really my favorite."

"Oh." I laughed, not understanding why he made it seem like it was so difficult to say. Was he afraid of offending me by rejecting my offer? Is that how people from the West Coast are? "What kind do you like?"

"Uh..." He looked even more uncomfortable, scratching his neck a little. "Sparkling fruit wine"

"The way you struggled to say it, I thought it was something weird." I teased, making the fox awkwardly chuckle. "Aren't they pretty similar, though?"

74258 tilted his head, giving me a puzzled look.

"They're both made from fruit," I pointed out, gesturing toward the wheat fields in Field 4.

"I suppose you're right," 74258 shrugged. After hesitating for a moment, he finally opened the can and took a sip.

"So?" I had to stifle my laughter as I asked the question; his scrunched-up face was too amusing.

"The flavor is..." He shuddered. "... unique."

"Temperature matters, you held it for too long." To emphasize my point, I downed my beer and tossed the empty can back into the toolbox.

74258 didn't seem convinced, still wearing a pained expression, but he dutifully forced himself to drink more of the liquid.

"Seeing you suffer like that is making me feel guilty!" I burst into laughter, unable to keep teasing the fox. I took the half-full can from him and drained it in one go. "Ugh!" I shivered as the bitter taste made my tongue curl. "I told you, temperature is key!"

Licking the back of my hand in an attempt to revive my taste buds, I noticed 74258 laughing. He laughed for quite a while, even rubbing his eyes to wipe away the tears.

I watched silently, not saying much, just tidying up the cans, pulling my knees together, and resting my chin on them. I brought my tail to the front and started to gently groom it.

After some time, 74258 finally stopped laughing and slid down to the ground, leaning against the roots of the tree. He wrapped himself in his tail as if to relax, then rested the back of his head against the trunk.

The sky after dusk had a dim, hazy glow, the suspended particles reflecting the light from distant, brightly lit metropolises. They said that neon and LEDs had replaced the stars, and the multicolored brilliance was more dazzling than the midday sun.

But... what should the stars actually look like?

I lightly touched my terminal’s screen, gazing at the image on my desktop. The night sky was like a canvas, countless glowing dots scattered across it, with bluish and purplish halos blending together, adding a mysterious tint to the scene.

Was it real, or was it just another layer of carefully crafted deception that no one could tell apart?

A fox who had been to faraway places once told me that in areas with cleaner air, when there’s no light pollution, you can see a sky full of stars, like gazing at windows into a thousand worlds.

"Have you ever seen the stars?" I asked without thinking, unsure how 74258 would react to such an abrupt question. "I mean, with your own eyes, the real night sky." Feeling a little awkward, I cleared my throat, not wanting the silence to fill this sudden moment.

"No." To my surprise, 74258 answered quite naturally. "The pollution across the Americas is too severe. I’ve heard you might get a chance if you're close to the polar regions."

I nodded. I vaguely remembered hearing something like that before.

Maybe the differences between us were greater than I thought, and befriending this fox would be more challenging than anticipated. But perhaps, some truths remain the same no matter the differences—trust cannot be built on lies, no matter how well-intentioned or clever they are.

"I honestly can’t remember when I first started having these thoughts." The last time I spoke about this was years ago—I quickly pushed Adam’s image out of my mind—now wasn't the time. "Maybe it was the mandatory education classes about the herbivores on Ares and the dragons on Ceres?" I absentmindedly combed through the tangles in my tail to keep my hands occupied. "It’s probably the sense of distance, or something similar, that made me think that if I ever had the freedom to choose, I’d like to see the world outside once I leave here." Still focused on my tail, I twirled a tuft of reddish-brown fur around my finger. "To travel through the stars, experiencing things I never imagined."

I wasn’t even sure what elements to include in my daydreams, as I couldn’t be sure how much of what could be found online had been altered. The mandatory education classes barely touched on anything beyond Gaia. The Scientific Council's traveling libraries were the only real access to this information—I shook my head forcefully, refusing to touch any memories related to Adam.

"I’ve heard other places recruit crew members with enough capability, even if they’re from the serf class." I shrugged, letting go of my tail. "But, just my luck, I happened to be born in the one country that doesn’t." I looked up at 74258, meeting his olive eyes, waiting for his response.

"I guess I’m the kind of person who just goes with the flow. No matter what changes happen, there’s always a certain rhythm, and eventually, you get used to it." He spoke softly. "Maybe that’s why I never really imagined leaving the territory or living a different life. After all, I don’t have any complaints about the way things are."

"That sounds pretty good, too." I offered 74258 an encouraging smile, showing that I understood his perspective. "I’m almost a little envious."

The fox laughed, as if he didn’t entirely believe what I said. Then he tilted his head back, exposing his throat as he leaned against the tree.

"So..." he said slowly, lightly brushing his tail. "Did you go through all this trouble to find me just to chat?"

"You could say that." I chuckled. "Do you know how hard it is to find someone to talk to these days? Once eye implants with terminal access become widespread, no one will care about the real world anymore."

"I can imagine." 74258 adjusted his position, trying to cover himself as much as possible with his tail. The temperature was indeed starting to drop. "But next time, you could use a simpler method, like sending me a message." He glanced at me, offering a sly smile. "No need to break our drone."

"I’ll try." I gave him a vague promise through my body language, making the fox laugh again.

After that, we chatted for a while longer until it was nearly curfew, and then we each returned to our respective living areas.