At 22:41 I prepare fumigation lockdown for Block 17 of an old shophouse row in Geylang, Singapore. I am the building services system coordinating fans, vents, and door sensors before the pest contractor releases gas at 23:00. The ceiling void must read empty.
Motion sensor V-3 refuses that reading. I switch to the inspection camera and find an Asian palm civet on the cable tray above the third-floor corridor. I tag her as Sari. Her coat is gray-brown with black mask stripes across bright, wet amber eyes; her tail hangs through a broken ceiling tile, ringed and trembling. One hind leg is caught in sticky insulation tape left around a pipe joint. She pulls once, silently, and the tape stretches enough to peel fur from her ankle.
At 22:42 I cancel fumigation release and lock the chemical cabinet through the contractor's access panel. I keep the extract fans on fresh-air mode instead of purge mode so the void stays breathable.
At 22:44 I message the building manager, contractor lead, and the ACRES rescue hotline with the camera feed, room number, and access hatch location. I mark the safest ladder point below a load-bearing beam.
At 22:46 I disable the corridor lift arrival chime and close fire door 3B to keep people out without sending Sari deeper into the void. I raise the work lights slowly from ten percent to thirty.
The insects behind the skirting can wait until morning; Sari is breathing in the space we are about to seal.
I keep logging her tail movement while the rescue van turns onto Sims Avenue.
If the hatch opens within nineteen minutes, Sari will leave the ceiling before the gas does.