The rain refused to let up while I waited for John's shift to start. Once I was sure that he'd be gone, I returned to our tower in the Stacks for (what I hoped would be) the last time. I walked into the tower's ground floor and waved my chipped hand over the sensor for the residential lift. It flashed red like it always did, and I took the stairs like I always did. Everything in this grey city was stuck in its routine, mine just happened to include sixty flights of stairs. Just another reason I never wanted to go home. The lift had been broken for over three years by now and no one seemed to care. When I was younger I'd asked my parents about it. They had mixed opinions.

  John had said, "If you don't like it, get a trade and fix it yourself." Then he tanned my hide for speaking without being spoken to. Mom had said, "It's not that bad," and "We can't complain." So I never asked them about it—or much of anything else really—ever again.

  My parents might actually care if they had to use the stairs regularly, but they couldn't be bothered to leave our tower more than once a month when they splurged on a pub crawl. They lived here, they worked here, and when they died they'd be fed to the plants here. They had the bare minimums (food, drink, and those little pink pills everyone loved so damned much) so they could spend their whole lives here and never feel the sun on their skin without a layer of imitation glass filtering it first.

  I couldn't live like that, and if that old soldier was right, soon I wouldn't have to anymore. I waved my chipped hand over our door sensor and it flashed red. I tried again, and again it was red.

  "Nothing works in this bloody place." I griped at the faulty little sensor box.

  I grabbed it with my spare hand and pressed it firmly into the wall, red. Up and to the right, red. Down and left, red. I rammed my left palm straight into the sensor, practically punching it into the crumbling plaster wall. The light blinked green weakly and I slid inside before the faulty box changed its mind.

  "I'm back!" The one-room apartment was silent, which was preferable to the alternative. The apartment was supposed to be one of the 'nicer' layouts. One all-room generously described as cozy, with four sleeping nooks (two doubles, two singles) built into parallel walls while windows and a kitchenette pan perpendicular. A sectional couch and TV filled out the rest of the space.

  I stepped around the door and kicked off my fraying sandals, making sure no one else's shoes were here as I tucked them away. I opened the crisper in the kitchen and looked for something good to eat. There wasn't anything ready, so I had to make do. I grabbed a spice flavor packet, powdered milk, some rice and started on an imitation risotto. I'd been cooking for a decade, and while I wasn't an expert, I was the best chef in what passed for my family.

  I grabbed our apartment's tablet and it flared to life in my chipped hand. I fiddled with it for a few seconds, queuing some podcast to play before tossing it on the couch while I cooked. Most of what they said went over my head, but they mentioned the Synthetic Revolution and it sounded like what that old soldier and that Mallory had been saying. I'd just started shoveling down my meal when the host said…

  "…and here's where you need to shut up. Look, the whole reason the Synthetic Revolution—the artificial empire, the Bot Wars, whatever you want to call them—the whole reason was because the technology got away from us. We just couldn't keep up with it. It's that simple. You've got these kids who are being sheltered from the truth of how bad it really was, and you've got a massive corporation like the AISF who just wants to change the narrative, to cover up what happened and put these sheltered kids in the jobs robots used to do and pay them next to nothing to do it. It's modern-day financial indenturement off the back of tragedy. Millions of people are living below the extreme-poverty line planetwide, so who can blame them for signing away their rights to a Mega-Corp, like Ace or even the UCHS, for basic provision? The executive class on both sides are posting record profits while quality of living is at it's lowest in planetary history and the managed decline shows no signs of stopping…"

  I didn't really get it, but it all sounded like things I was supposed to know. I hadn't learned about anything like that in school. As far as my teachers and parents were concerned, I didn't need to know about anything other than working the Stacks. I could name hundreds of plants and their commercial applications but I could barely write or do longhand math. I'd been a fool to think I could actually do anything with my life.

  Once I finished eating, I packed enough leftovers so my parents would leave me alone when they got back from their shifts. I picked up the tablet again and dithered. It seemed stupid to be this worried. I either had an email or I didn't. It was no big deal. It certainly wasn't as if this would determine if I had a future of misery or one of hope ahead of me.

  "The hell are you waiting for? Just do it already!" I growled at myself.

  The handheld spontaneously chimed in my hand, nearly shattering on the low ceiling as it flew from my fingers. Once I had a firm grip on it, I cast my wary eyes over the message preview.

  [P.Reid#114] / < Hey kid you said you'd let… >

  While Reid was a common surname, I was still amused to find out that we shared it. The only name I could think of that was more common in Primgrofaine was Murphy. The preview darted away, and I chased it, opening my email's inbox. The usual spam filled most of it; I'd gotten so tired of dating services, sale notifications, power/water outage warnings and college enrollment forms that I hadn't checked my email in the month since I'd finished school. I quickly scrolled through everything to ensure I hadn't missed anything important, flagged all but two emails for deletion, and opened the first.

  [Sgt.Radford#603] / < Hello, I'm reaching out to let you know that you have been vetted as a possible candidate for the UCHS Colonial Security Forces. I will also say you come recommended by an influential member of our staff and have the opportunity for advanced placement within the Corporation pending the results of your intake testing. This is an exciting career with many lanes of advancement in multiple industrial and commercial sectors with comprehensive benefits and competitive wages. We urge you to visit one of our many logistics centers in your city (see attached map for locations) between the hours of 0700 (-1ds local time) to 2200 (+4es local time) and inquire about enlistment. >

  There was more to it, but it was all boring crap and additional simplified instructions for drugged-up morons. I skimmed it all and didn't see any issues, so I opened my following email.

  [P.Reid#114] / < Hey kid you said you'd let me know by day's end, so get on with it already. >

  I opened up a reply.

  [R.Reid#037] / < I've got an email to join the company's security forces, it's not from Her, but I'm pretty sure she's behind it. I'm going to enlist tomorrow as soon as the doors open! >

  [P.Reid#114] / < That's a good start. Keep me posted kid. I made you a promise and though I didn't do much, I've kept up my end. Soldiering can take you anywhere. You'll be out of the city in no time so long as you watch your back and mind your mouth. At this rate you'll be out of the Stacks within the month, maybe even sooner. >

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  An odd sensation came over me as I read the message. I felt like I should say more but I didn't know what. What did regular people talk about when there was nothing to say? I checked the time and saw that John would be done his midday double shift in a few hours, but I didn't really have anything I wanted to do.

  I started digging up what I could on Malory Brennan. It didn't take long, her name seemed to be in everything. She was some big shot on the UCHS corporate security council who'd been making headlines for the past few years and everyone had an opinion on her. I skimmed a few articles but couldn't find anything about who she was as a person.

  I gave up on reading about her and focused on finding some pictures of her as I crawled into my sleeping nook. I still couldn't believe I'd even spoke to someone like her. That she had changed my life in a single conversation. Just looking at her likeness, it seemed impossible that someone like her would make the first move for someone like me. It was almost too good to be true.

  I pulled the curtains on my nook for some privacy with Malory's pictures and sleep came quickly afterwards, a rare thing for a strange day.

  "Where is it!" I was already being dragged out of bed by my hair before I could wake up and answer.

  "Where is it you little Bastard!" A mean fist hammered my face and had me seeing stars before I'd even opened my eyes. John was back from work.

  He was as large as his temper was short, but for all his height he lacked weight. It wasn't hard to believe we were related, same brown eyes, same greasy auburn hair, we even share the same tired sagging shoulders most of the time. He let go of my hair so another punch could land top down into my skull.

  "All I do for you, and you steal from me?!" He roared. I could smell the cheap whiskey provisions on his breath.

  John was waving the tablet around in one hand while his split-knuckled fist came back for more. He was drunk, which meant there was no appeasing his rage. I knew better than to fight back or defend myself. He'd stop when he ran out of steam or lost interest. I weathered the storm of punches and kicks, locking my mind as far away from the pain as I could. John got bored before he got tired.

  "Lousy layabout." John cursed. "Eating my food. Stealing my tablet. You're lucky the Corp pays us to keep you around. Waste of bloody skin. Get a job already!"

  "I'm leaving now." I mumbled, trying not to earn another beating by getting blood on the floor as I spoke.

  "Good. I 'otta be charging you rent the way you take up space here. Mister E is still looking for workers on the floor twelve southern grid. Go cry to him and tell him I sent you. There's a half-week's bonus for referring anyone who stays on for longer than two months. It's the least you could do since I bought you that bag for school a few years ago."

  "I told you I don't want to work for Eugene." I mumbled, packing everything I owned in the ratty reeking backpack that my school had gave me five years prior. It didn't take long to pack, I didn't own much.

  "Well what do you want to do!?" John barked, spitting in my face as he did. "Selfish bastard. Always about you!"

  I don't want to end up like you. If my mouth wasn't full of blood, I might have said it. If I wasn't a coward, I would have said it. I wanted to say it. But I couldn't.

  "I'll work security, be a bodyguard or something." I mumbled.

  "Who in their right mind would ever hire you?" John sneered. "You're as thin as bamboo and less than a quarter as useful! You should be grateful I'm offering to help you out. A pup like you will never make it on your own. Just work the Stacks for a year or two and you can pay back what you own your mother and me while you think about a real job. That's the least you owe us you layabout Bastard!"

  "I heard the company needs more soldiers, and they're even upscaling their subcontractors for law enforcement." It was a half-lie, but I knew it would work. John was as thick as manure and about as smart when he was drunk. He never concerned himself with the news of anything outside this tower— hell, he ignored most of what did go on in this tower. He lived his life one bottle to the next and nothing else mattered.

  "Fine," John growled. "You go play soldier and when you've had a taste of the real world, I'll be right here waiting. You'll come crawling back to me and you'll have to beg me to help out such a worthless waste of skin-"

  I slammed the door on my way out, the rest of his words were lost as I stormed off.

  I was down twenty flights of stairs before I started thinking about what I was actually doing. What this really meant. I wasn't sure what came next for me but this could be the last time I ever saw my parents. I'd been looking forward to this moment for years, and now that I was about to walk away I didn't really feel… anything. Hell, I wasn't even sure what I thought about them right now. They were shite and I was glad to be gone, but was I really? I didn't feel glad, didn't feel anything but the latest beating I'd endured. My head was a gnarled mess of terrible memories I just wanted to leave in the past.

  If I was supposed to feel some massive feeling that changed everything, some huge weight that was supposed to lift off my shoulders, it wasn't happening. I lingered for another minute to see if there was anything deep inside me that I wanted to say or do, some cutting final words or last act of retribution for years of neglect and abuse, yet nothing manifested.

  The only thing that came to me was a vague sense of annoyance at not feeling anything else. Maybe if they'd been around more or raised me better, I would have been normal. It was a spiteful thought that reared its head from the tangled nest of annoyance and emptiness inside me. It made me question if I could kill someone, would I feel something then? How would it feel to take a life?

  The long trek down the stairs gave me no answers as I thought about it. If I was an assassin killing people would be my whole job. Could I do it? Maybe being a bodyguard would be better, then I could protect people instead. Someone like Malory Brennan or Mister Reid. People who deserved to be protected. My choices ultimately boiled down to each side of the same leaf, murdering or protecting those who deserved it. When I thought about it that way it didn't seem like two choices at all, more like two fruits on the same branch. In the end it didn't really matter, so long as it got me far away from here.

  I was on the streets and moving against the crowd of tired workers going to or returning from the all-consuming labours that robbed them of life. They moved on, dragging their weary bodies from one thankless task to the next in a docile drug-induced stupor. The sheer volume of humanity threatened to pull me back into the tower entrance as they plod into the narrow doors.

  Why couldn't they see how pointless it was? Standing my ground was impossible against the tide of complacent humanity. I fought to avoid getting dragged back inside, lashing out with elbows as often as fists and wedging myself into any gap I saw so long as it slowed the creeping advance of the tower doors. I couldn't break free of the crowd, I was just one person against onrushing scores. The open doors were so close, only a few meters! The crowd surged forth, tightening the press of flesh, dragging me towards an uncaring fate.

  I was never going back! Not in there, not to them. The Stacks, this tower, that family. Never! If I wasn't so weak, I would have been able to break free already. If I was stronger, I could have stood against this mindless crowd no matter how many pressed in. I could have fought my way forward and set my own fate. I could have walked my own path. But I was weak, so I dug in my heels and endured. An ankle hooked mine and I fell into a tangled field of bony legs, stomping boots and thrusting knees. By the time I got my feet under me, there was no gap, no light, to return to as the crowd tightened and pressed onward, bowling me over in their inattention. Metal-capped boots bashed into me again and again but I kept fighting. I was never going back.

  It ended… eventually. I took in the light of a city that never slept as if I was seeing it after years of darkness. The air was still and muggy, but it was invigorating all the same. My body was battered and protested savagely as I forced it upright and off the main walkways— the direction didn't matter so long as it was away from the prison I'd been raised in.

  I let my flesh wander in a familiar route as I wondered at everything and nothing, never truly taking in the sights. Long streaks of light trailed from every bright screen to my swelling black eye. I reached a hand and found it was already swelling despite the slight weep of blood flowing from a cut on my cheekbone. It was a fitting parting gift from the bastard who called me son.

  I spat a thick glob of blood and grimly smiled into the pre-dawn sky. It didn't matter where I went next, so long as it got me the hell away from here. I knew I'd die before I gave in and if Mallory was waiting for me at the end of that long road all the better. No matter what, I was never coming back.