But Skovgard raised his tender hand, and shook the willowy mosses dangling from his chin. "[color=#FF6363]I swear, IT is trained to create as many problems as they solve. They must think they'll lose their jobs once there's nothing left to fix,[/color]" he said. He was right not to worry, anyway, as soon enough the machine had begun to vomit forth the contents of its wiry stomach. "[color=#FF6363]Ah. Good.[/color]" The paper was snatched away before Ona could inspect it in any but a precursory way, but catching a mere glance of it, she saw that it depicted a colored line graph.

Skovgard scratched his pencil's point into the top corners. He checked that the computer had properly barred the readings on the Y axis. Indeed. (The company knew what trouble it led to, especially concerning black market drugs, doses and overdoses, when employees knew exactly where their levels were at.) Finally, he had set it down in front of Ona.

"[color=#FF6363]Ms. Ví, take a look at this chart, and tell me if it says what I think it does.[/color]"

[hider=IC image][center][img]https://s11.postimg.org/7ijyuf8vn/chartthing.png[/img][/center][/hider]