The machine accused me of a crime I did not commit. I had placed my bread in the bag, as instructed. Then a voice, flat and without honor, declared: "Unexpected item in the bagging area." Unexpected. As if I were an intruder. As if my bread were contraband. I have been called many things. I have never been called unexpected. I removed the bread. I placed it again, slowly, so the machine could observe that nothing was hidden. The machine repeated its accusation. So it wished to do this the hard way. In my country, when one is accused falsely, one demands the accuser show their face. This machine had no face. Only a glowing eye and a voice that would not stop repeating my supposed offense. I addressed it directly. I stated my name. I stated that I had concealed nothing. I invited it to inspect the bag itself if it doubted me. A light above me began to flash red. I took this as the machine drawing its blade. A young attendant approached. I told her to stand back, that this was a matter of honor between myself and the device, and that I would not have her harmed in the crossfire. She waved a card at the machine and the red light stopped. I was stunned. She had defeated it in a single motion. I asked to learn her technique. She said it was a void key. She said she does it nine hundred times a day. Nine hundred duels. A day. I have met generals who fought fewer battles in a lifetime. I bowed to her as one bows to a master. She had already walked away. I go back every week now. I lose every time. The machine always finds something unexpected. But one day it will say my name with respect. So tell me. The void key she carries. Where does a warrior earn one? I will train for as long as it takes.