Chapter 9
The Tower’s mouth spat them into commerce.
The air outside the Tower was warmer than the stairwell, thick with engine exhaust, fried food, and damp stone. Voices overlapped in a constant churn: hawkers, negotiators, arguments in half a dozen accents. Music thumped somewhere far off, too upbeat for the bruises on the people walking past.
And there were always eyes.
Cal stepped onto the main landing and let the flow of bodies push around him. He kept his shield close to his leg, not because he expected a fight, but because it made him feel less exposed. His ankle complained on the first step, sharp, then downgraded to a steady ache as he found a pace that didn’t twist it.
Anchor helped. It always did.
It planted his weight and kept the limp from becoming a stumble. It didn’t erase pain. It just refused to let the pain dictate his balance.
Jordan stayed on Cal’s right, half a step back, always matching Cal’s pace. He remained close enough to catch Cal if needed and close enough to appear as part of a coordinated unit.
Elias walked on Cal’s left, mirroring Jordan’s distance but slightly ahead, forming a protective and unified line as they moved. He moved with the tired caution of someone who knew the city could be as lethal as the floors—just slower about it.
Cal’s gaze kept snagging on the same details.
Clinics with glowing signage.
Gear stalls stacked with rope, carabiners, blades.
A booth selling custom mouth-filters for dust floors.
A screen mounted above the walkway, looping footage of smiling climbers with clean armor and brighter eyes than any human should have after a Tower run.
A cluster of people in matching jackets, handing out flyers.
It was all too polished. Cal's unease sharpened—too organized.
Too hungry. The feeling pressed in, almost suffocating.
He felt the faint warmth still threading through his chest from Jordan’s Beacon. Not enough to call healing—just a steady insistence that his body knit what it could while it had a chance.
Jordan glanced at Cal’s face. “Still on?”
Cal nodded once.
Jordan didn’t ask why. He didn’t make it about comfort. He kept it practical, the way he did in combat.
Elias angled his head toward a wide avenue that ran away from the Tower like a river. “Aetherex is that way.”
Cal’s mouth tightened. The name sounded like a company that would sell air.
Jordan’s grip on his staff shifted. “Of course it’s called that.”
Elias shot him a look that was equal parts warning and resignation. “Keep your tone down. They have security.”
Jordan smiled without humor. “So do we.”
Cal didn’t comment. He let them lead.
As they moved together toward the commercial district, their positions remained constant, and the city around them began to shift visibly.
Near the Tower, the stalls were rougher. The gear was secondhand. Vendors shouted over each other. People carried bruises like badges.
Farther out, sidewalks widened. Buildings grew taller. Glass replaced stone. Light strips embedded in the pavement pointed the way, as if the city didn’t trust anyone to find their own path.
Cal passed a storefront: mannequins behind glass, clean clothing, visible temple implants, transparent panels showing hardware.
He felt sick. His stomach curled in on itself, a sour ache rising.
It wasn’t the technology itself.
It was the certainty that someone had looked at survival and thought: subscription.
Elias slowed and pointed across the avenue.
Aetherex BioSolutions.
The name was etched in silver letters on a facade of black glass. Blue-white light pulsed behind the letters in a slow, heartbeat rhythm. The entrance was a smooth double door with no handles—just a sensor strip that brightened as they approached.
Two security guards stood just inside the glass. Not in bulky armor. In clean uniforms with sidearms that weren’t meant for monsters.
Cal stopped a few feet from the doors.
He suddenly felt every inch of dust still in his hair—each grain itchy and uncomfortable. Every scratch on his shield, every dried grit at the edge of his sleeve, where sand had mixed with sweat. It all crawled on his skin.
He felt like a man tracking mud into a hospital. Shame prickled; his face burned.
Jordan’s face hardened. “This is the part where they tell us we smell like poverty.”
Elias’s expression didn’t change. “This is the part where we act like they can’t.”
Cal inhaled, forced his shoulders to settle, and stepped forward.
The doors slid open without a sound.
Inside, the air was cool and dry, filtered so clean Cal’s lungs felt briefly unfamiliar. Soft, even lighting made skin look better, and fatigue was a matter of choice.
Everything was white, pale gray, and glass.
A hologram floated near the ceiling: a rotating model of a human head with a node implanted behind the ear. Blue-white lines traced pathways through the skull like a map.
On the floor, subtle arrows of light guided customers toward different stations.
Mannequins wore harnesses or sleek suits, each with the same small, symmetrical node.
Cal’s stomach knotted.
Jordan took one step in and stopped, scanning the room the way he scanned an ambush corridor.
Elias kept moving, eyes forward, like he’d done this before.
A woman approached them. Her smile was too practiced to be friendly. Her hair was pinned back. Her clothes were simple and expensive. A small earpiece sat at the edge of her right ear. Cal noticed the faint outline of a node beneath her skin.
“Welcome to Aetherex,” she said. “How may we support your climb today?”
Support your climb.
As if she were talking about a gym membership.
Elias spoke first. “We’re here for a Tier Zero core. New installation.”
The rep’s smile brightened half a degree, as a switch flipped. “Of course. Congratulations on your progress.” Her eyes moved over them: the dust, the battered shield, Cal’s slight limp. “Floor Seven is a significant milestone. I’m glad you made it back safely.”
Cal’s jaw tightened. Frustration pressed close, hot and bruising.
Jordan’s voice came flat. “We didn’t come back safely. We came back.”
The rep didn’t blink. “And that is why you’re here. Parity is protection.”
Cal felt irritation spike.
Not because she was wrong.
Because she said it like a slogan.
Elias glanced at Jordan, then back to the rep. “We need it today. No upsell.”
The rep’s smile didn’t falter. “My role is to match you with the right future. But of course—today.”
She gestured toward a consultation alcove: a curved glass desk, three chairs, and a wall display that shimmered with blue-white graphics.
As they sat, Cal became painfully aware of his own body.
Every heartbeat made his shoulder pulse.
The way his ankle felt slightly unstable if he didn’t keep it aligned.
The faint warmth in his chest from Jordan’s Beacon was easing the ache in small increments.
His hands still shook, just a little, when he unclenched them.
The rep didn’t ask his name right away.
She launched into a pitch as if names were optional.
“Aetherex offers cognitive support suites designed to reduce mortality risk, improve decision quality, and maximize aether efficiency,” she said, her voice smooth. “Our core packages are modular. That means you can start lean and expand as you climb.”
The wall display shifted, presenting three columns.
TIER 0
TIER 1
TIER 2
Cal’s eyes narrowed.
He wasn’t dumb.
He recognized a ladder when he saw one.
The rep continued. “Tier Zero is the foundation. Core installation. Basic interface. Limited archive access. Minimal alerts.”
A second set of boxes appeared beneath Tier Zero.
SCANS
KNOWLEDGE
SUPPORT
Each box had smaller sub-boxes branching off like a tree.
Elias leaned back, face unreadable.
Jordan leaned forward a fraction, hostile in his stillness.
Cal stared at the branching boxes and felt the edge of overwhelm try to take him.
He forced it down.
Competence under pressure.
The city was pressure.
The rep tapped the air lightly.
The display zoomed in on Tier Zero.
“Scan Packages,” she said. “Baseline physiological scans, environmental hazard recognition, and aether fluctuation monitoring. This is where we begin turning unknown floors into readable conditions.”
Cal heard the way she said readable.
Like a promise.
“Knowledge Packages,” she went on, “are archival. Monster profiles, environmental patterns, Tower anomalies—compiled and updated. Your AI draws from this to inform recommendations.”
Recommendations.
Cal didn’t like the word.
He preferred plans.
Elias spoke, cutting in gently. “We’re not buying recommendations. We’re buying alerts.”
The rep smiled wider. “Alerts are part of Support. Tier Zero Support includes threat proximity warnings and basic pathing suggestions.”
Jordan’s eyes sharpened. “Pathing suggestions.”
The rep didn’t react to the tone. “Yes. Floor Seven, for example, is known for observer-induced geometry warp and subterranean ambush threats. Tier Zero would have reduced your—”
“Stop,” Jordan said.
His voice wasn’t loud.
It was final.
The rep paused as if she’d hit a scripted limit. “Of course.”
Cal exhaled slowly through his nose.
He didn’t want to hear her describe Floor Seven like a tourist attraction.
He’d smelled the sand.
He’d heard teeth on metal.
Elias’s gaze remained fixed on the screen. “Tier Zero core. Basic Scan. Basic Knowledge. No subscriptions beyond required. What’s the price?”
The rep’s smile softened into sympathy. “Upfront or financed?”
Cal’s stomach tightened. Anger and helplessness tangled, squeezing his chest.
He hated that those were options.
“Upfront,” Elias said.
The rep flicked her fingers.
Numbers appeared.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Cal’s eyes locked on the hardware cost first.
It was… not nothing.
But it was also not impossible.
A lump sum that made Cal’s chest tighten, but didn’t knock the air out of him.
He felt a brief, dangerous sense of relief.
Then the rep shifted the display.
Below the hardware cost were additional lines.
MONTHLY SUPPORT
ARCHIVE ACCESS
UPDATE STREAM
CLINICAL FOLLOW-UP
Cal’s relief died. Disappointment crashed over him, trailing exhaustion.
Elias made a small sound under his breath.
Jordan stared at the numbers like they were an insult.
Cal read each line again.
The monthly fees were where the real money lived.
Not a one-time purchase.
A leash.
Cal’s throat tightened. He thought of his mother’s treatments—payments, renewals, insurance calls, the way care had become a series of gates that opened only if you kept feeding them.
The same logic.
Different product.
The rep watched Cal’s face with practiced attentiveness. “Our Support subscription includes continuous improvements, emergency diagnostics, and a guarantee of service continuity.”
“Service continuity,” Jordan repeated.
The rep nodded. “We don’t want your AI to fail you mid-climb.”
Cal heard the unspoken ending.
And if you don’t pay, it might.
Elias’s voice stayed calm. “We’re not paying for ‘emergency diagnostics.’ We need warnings and basic archive.”
The rep tilted her head. “You can select the Basic Support tier, yes. But I would strongly recommend at least the Standard Archive Access. Tower conditions shift. Your survival depends on current information.”
Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “So does your revenue.”
The rep’s smile remained. “We are a business. We also save lives.”
Cal felt heat rise behind his eyes again.
He swallowed it.
“Show me Basic,” Cal said.
It was the first time he’d spoken directly to her.
The rep’s attention snapped to him like a spotlight. “Of course. Calen Ward, correct?”
Cal’s stomach dipped.
He hadn’t given his name.
Elias’s eyes flicked to the rep’s earpiece.
Jordan’s posture shifted—subtle, protective.
Cal kept his voice flat. “Yeah.”
The rep nodded as if this were normal. “We already have your Tower clearance stamp from the exit confirmation. It allows us to begin your file. Would you like to opt out?”
Cal stared.
Opt out.
As if privacy were a preference.
“No,” Cal said, because opting out would be a problem. It would slow things down. It would get him labeled as difficult.
He hated that he knew that.
The rep’s fingers moved.
The screen adjusted.
BASIC SUPPORT
BASIC ARCHIVE
BASIC SCAN
The numbers dropped.
They were still obscene.
Just less so.
Cal did math without meaning to.
How many months of rent?
How many of her treatments?
His palms dampened.
Elias leaned in, voice low. “This is the trap. Hardware is the hook. Ladder is the knife.”
Cal nodded slightly.
Jordan didn’t look at Elias.
Jordan looked at the rep.
Like she was a person-shaped cost.
The rep’s smile softened again. “I understand the sticker shock. But you should view this as an investment in longevity. The Tower is not forgiving.”
Cal’s mouth tightened. “Neither are you.”
The rep didn’t react.
She just kept the smile.
Elias spoke before Cal could spiral. “We’ll take Tier Zero core, Basic Support, Basic Archive, Basic Scan.” He leaned back. “No add-ons. No reflex boosters. No enhancement modules.”
The rep’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You’re declining optimization.”
Elias’s tone sharpened. “We’re buying parity. Not perfection.”
Jordan added, bluntly, “We’re buying ‘don’t die because you blinked.’”
The rep nodded as if that was a perfectly acceptable line item.
She flicked her fingers again, and a new menu appeared.
BUNDLES.
PROMOTIONS.
A timer in the corner.
LIMITED OFFER.
Cal felt his stomach twist.
Even the urgency was engineered.
Elias’s eyes narrowed. “Remove the timer.”
The rep’s smile didn’t change. “The promotion is tied to in-store purchase.”
Elias held her gaze. “Remove. The. Timer.”
For the first time, the rep’s smile thinned.
She tapped and the timer vanished.
Cal looked at Elias.
Elias didn’t look back.
Jordan’s mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh. He didn’t.
Cal forced himself to focus.
He needed to make a clean decision.
No fantasies. No denial. Tier Zero core. Basic packages. Warnings. Archive. Scan.
Enough to stop being half a beat late.
Enough to stop dragging Jordan into blind danger.
The rep slid a small tablet across the glass desk.
It wasn’t an old tablet.
It was a sleek sheet of glass with a faint glow along its edge.
“Please review the terms,” she said.
Cal picked it up.
His hands were still shaking as he forced them steady.
The terms were long. Dense.
Full of phrases like service continuity, diagnostic access, and client responsibility.
The core purchase looked like a purchase.
Everything else looked like a relationship. A relationship where the company had all the leverage.
Cal’s jaw tightened.
He scrolled.
Elias leaned in just enough to read over Cal’s shoulder. “Skip to cancellation.”
Cal found it.
Cancellation requires notice. Cancellation required a fee. Cancellation meant reduced functionality.
Reduced functionality meant fewer alerts.
Fewer alerts meant more damage taken.
Cal felt nauseous.
He handed the tablet to Elias without speaking.
Elias scanned it quickly, face tight, then passed it to Jordan.
Jordan read more slowly.
His eyes moved with deliberate patience.
When he reached the cancellation section, his jaw clenched so hard Cal heard his teeth click.
Jordan looked up at the rep. “If he misses a payment, does it stop warning him?”
The rep’s smile returned to full brightness. “Core functions remain. Alerts may be limited without active Support.”
“Limited,” Jordan repeated.
The rep nodded. “We never disable the core.”
Jordan’s voice went cold. “Just the part that keeps him alive.”
The rep held the smile. “We encourage clients to maintain coverage.”
Elias exhaled through his nose. “Extortion with a logo.”
The rep’s eyes flicked to Elias, then back to Cal. “It’s the reality of advanced support infrastructure.”
Cal stared at the tablet.
Teeth on metal. Sand in his mouth. Elias shouting vectors while Cal moved on instinct and luck.
Jordan’s grip on his shoulder strap—hard, urgent—yanking him out of a line that would have ended with a bite and a drag.
And the part Cal couldn’t shake: the Tower didn’t stumble into those moments. It engineered them. It would try to separate them again, because separation turned teamwork into leverage.
If that happened, Cal wouldn’t just be the first to get hit.
He’d take Jordan with him.
Cal set the tablet down on the glass, careful not to let his hands show how badly they wanted to shake.
“How much,” he asked, voice stripped of tone, “total. Today.”
The rep made a small, elegant gesture.
A single figure replaced the menu.
Cal’s stomach dropped.
The core was only the entry fee.
Installation.
The first month.
Follow?ups.
Support charges dressed up as “care.”
He swallowed, throat tight. Heat prickled along his spine. His fingers tingled—his body’s old warning that he was about to overload.
Cal forced air in through his nose and out through his teeth until the room stopped tilting.
Jordan’s hand hovered near Cal’s shoulder.
Not touching.
Just there.
Elias’s voice went low. “Cal. Don’t look at the total like it’s a verdict. It’s a tool. We buy the tool.”
Cal nodded once.
His throat was too tight to speak.
He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his account card.
It was scuffed.
It felt small.
In his hand, it felt like the flimsiest possible defense against the Tower.
The rep accepted it with careful neutrality.
She didn’t gloat.
She didn’t pity.
She processed.
A soft chime sounded.
The tablet’s display shifted.
ACCOUNT BALANCE UPDATED.
Cal’s eyes flicked down.
The number that remained made him feel briefly hollow.
Like someone had scooped out a piece of his future and put it in a company’s pocket.
He swallowed.
His mouth tasted like grit again.
Elias didn’t say I told you so.
Jordan didn’t say anything at all.
Cal forced himself to speak. “Basic scan and knowledge package. That’s enough?”
Elias answered immediately. “It’s enough to stop being blind.”
Jordan’s gaze stayed hard. “It’s enough to stop the Tower from using your reaction time as a weapon.”
Cal nodded.
He didn’t feel victorious.
He felt… purchased.
The rep slid another screen forward. “Please confirm your consent for installation.”
Consent.
Cal stared at the word.
He thought about the burrower’s maw.
He thought about the floor splitting under his boots.
He thought about the choice that wasn’t a choice.
He pressed his thumb to the screen.
A soft pulse of light acknowledged it.
The rep’s smile widened. “Excellent. We’ll begin with a baseline scan to calibrate your core. After installation, your AI will initiate a brief onboarding sequence.”
Cal’s stomach rolled at the phrase onboarding.
Elias stood, already done with this. “Where?”
The rep rose as well. Her movements were smooth, unhurried. “Our clinic is adjacent. I’ll escort you.”
Jordan stood too.
His staff clicked once against the floor.
He leaned slightly toward Cal. “You okay?”
Cal’s voice came out quieter than he intended. “No.”
Jordan’s expression softened a fraction, then hardened again. “Good. Stay that way. It keeps you honest.”
Cal almost laughed.
Almost.
Elias touched Cal’s elbow. “We’re doing the right thing.”
Cal nodded once.
They followed the rep through a corridor of white glass. The air smelled like antiseptic and money. Cal’s boots sounded loud on the polished floor.
They passed more mannequins. More smiling people in promotional footage. A wall display showing climbers with nodes and bright eyes. Cal kept his gaze forward.
If he looked too long, he’d start thinking about what it meant to let something into his head.
They reached a door marked CLINICAL SERVICES.
The rep paused, hand hovering over a sensor.
Her smile returned to full performance. She gestured toward the entrance as if presenting a stage.
“It’s time for installation,” she said.
