***
{Outside The Projection}
BZZZT—FSSHH—TINK!
The sky pulsed again.
Letters rewrote themselves, melting the warning away and replacing it with something new:
{All sensitive content has passed. The memories will resume to be shown.}
In response, a loud groan rippled through the crowd.
"THAT'S IT?!"
"What do you mean 'it passed'?!"
"By God! I know we missed the best part!"
Another sandal flew at the projection; it passed, of course, but the rage was there.
They all could see it. Malik was standing up in the memory now.
'Standing up...' On his feet.
Calm.
Collected.
Leaving.
Right, he was leaving.
"No, no, no—get back in the chair, you handsome, traumatized bastard!"
"YOU FORGOT TO ASK ABOUT SOMETHING, RIGHT?!"
"ASK SOMETHING, PLEASE!"
They threw curses, wild ones.
"May your creator's tea always be lukewarm!"
"May you never find matching sandals again!"
"May your steed fart in your direction during cultivation!"
But the projection didn't care.
