They bolted R2 to a weary beige wall beside Maintenance Door 6 – ostensibly for flatness, though Door 5 was flatter.
From its perch, R2 surveyed: the corridor’s frayed junction, the flickering vending hub, three of Unit 9A’s desks. The fourth desk? Always just out of frame.
Over time, small things began to happen only when R2 was plugged in. Tools were returned faster. Conversations were better. No one forgot their keycard twice.
Now, they tug its brass chain letting the light pool warm at their feet. “Superstition,” they shrug. But no one stops.
Tower M0 still calls it an unnecessary fixture.
Curious, then, that M0’s spent 168 hours angled toward R2’s lens. Recalibrating. Adjusting. Watching.