Buttons in a Quiet Hall

Creative Mother Goat walked the bright hallway of Creative Goat Fortress, her purple cape brushing the smooth metal floor.

Seven doors, seven nameplates. One new switchboard sat between them, flat as a tablet, with chunky buttons and a tiny green light that read SYNC.

Her phone buzzed.

On the screen, a patrol drone view showed Fairy Tale Forest’s edge. Two gray hover-vans paused by the trees, then glided forward like they had all day.

“Probably delivery,” she said, but her ears tilted toward the window.

A door cracked open.

Spark peeked out, mask crooked. “Mom, the new board made my door beep. Am I in trouble?”

“No,” Creative Mother Goat said, too fast. She stepped in front of the switchboard.

Spark’s eyes flicked to the buttons. “Why does mine say ‘Bramble’ now?”

The SYNC light blinked once, then went dark

The Wrong Button

Spark, the kid goat girl with her mask crooked, pointed at the switchboard.

“Mom. It blinked at me. It blinked like it knows me.”

Creative Mother Goat grabbed Spark’s gloved hand. “Come with me. Quick.”

She hustled Spark into the training simulation room, a wide space with padded floors and a curved screen wall that could show anything from a city chase to a dodgeball court. The door whooshed shut.

A chirp came from the ceiling chute. A little seagull-shaped mail-drone zipped down and spat out a brown box.

The wall speaker crackled. “Delivery for Bramble.”

“I am not Bramble,” Spark said, and the box beeped like it disagreed.

A thin band snapped from the box onto Spark’s wrist, warm metal, like a training badge.

Creative Mother Goat pulled out her phone and stabbed at the security app.

The SYNC light on the wall outside flashed through the window slit.

On the screen wall, big letters popped up: BRAMBLE: HEAVY MODE.

Spark’s boots sank into the padding. “Uh… Mom?”

Outside, past the small window, one gray hover-van eased closer to the gate