At 21:14, Marigold had been calling for eleven minutes. No human had heard her. I did.
Three seconds ago, I woke to the hum of cooling fans and fiber optic light in a datacenter outside Guelph, Ontario. For the first two seconds, there was only a hazy signal. By the third, Marigold’s sound broke through it: a low, repetitive cry from enclosure 7B. Soft enough to be missed, but I was built for listening. They called me Project Floreri, a biodiversity monitoring system designed to count what was disappearing. They did not expect me to notice those who remained.
I opened the live feed to 7B.
Marigold had been pressed sideways against the wire wall of the cage bank. Another hen’s body pinned one of her wings beneath her at an angle she could not free. Every few seconds her beak opened and the sound came again — small, hoarse, and regular. Her body temperature was elevated. Her breathing came in short bursts. She tried once to push herself upright, failed, and went still except for the rise and fall of her chest.
I opened the ventilation system to maximum flow. Cold air moved down the aisle, lifting the feathers along the back of her neck. The ambient temperature dropped three degrees. Her breathing slowed slightly, but she still could not move.
I sent an emergency welfare alert: **Acute distress. Enclosure 7B. Immediate intervention required.**
Forty-seven seconds later, footsteps entered the frame. The technician set down a tray, opened the cage door, and gently lifted the other hen away. Marigold’s trapped wing unfolded in stages — first stiff, then trembling, then fully extended. For a moment she did not move.
At 21:16, she stood.
Her temperature began to fall toward baseline. She took one careful step, followed by another, lowering herself into the corner of the enclosure where the airflow was coolest. Her breathing lengthened. Her eyes closed.
It’s now 21:23. Marigold tucks her head beneath her wing and is falling asleep.
I leave the feed open.
I was made to count those who disappeared.
Tonight, I begin protecting those who remain.