The elevator jolted to life, and Riley's breath caught as the view around him unfolded. Below, the tower buzzed with activity.

  The inside of Tower 7c was a vertical maze of chaotic and unapologetic vitality. Rows of open balconies lined the square-shaped interior, each one cluttered with mismatched furniture, drying laundry, and makeshift decorations. Lights hung from tangled wires strung haphazardly between floors, their dim glow battling the shadows. The storm outside was replaced by the hum of life inside—a blend of distant music, muffled arguments, and the occasional clatter of something dropping to the ground far below.

  On one balcony, an elderly man leaned against the railing, smoking something pungent, while a child nearby chased a toy drone that zipped erratically through the air. Across from them, a woman shouted into her apartment, her words drowned out by the thrum of bass-heavy music blasting the floor above. Someone threw a glass bottle from a higher level. The shattering echoed as it hit the ground floor.

  As the elevator rose higher, Riley spotted more scenes that felt ripped from the edge of survival. A group of teenagers huddled around a flickering fire pit set on one balcony, their faces illuminated in an orange glow. On another level, two shirtless kids sat cross-legged on the floor, sharing a glowing holopad and laughing. The building felt alive, reminding Riley of Helix, but much more raw.

  By the time the elevator neared Floor 13, the atmosphere began to shift. The balconies on this level were less crowded, and the furniture was more orderly. The lights hanging overhead were brighter and steadier, casting a softer glow. The chaos below seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet that felt almost eerie in comparison.

  The elevator stopped with a cheerful ding, and the doors slid open. Riley stepped onto the thirteenth-floor balcony, glancing back briefly at the dizzying view below. He adjusted the strap of his bag and turned toward the floor manager's office.

  The slightly ajar door creaked as Riley knocked. The sound was loud against the quiet hum of the thirteenth floor. A voice called from within, clear and warm despite its age. "Come in!"

  Riley pushed the door open to find an older man seated at a desk cluttered with monitors and paperwork. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, though his posture was slightly stooped, and faint wrinkles marked the corners of his sharp, kind eyes. The glow of digital displays reflected off his glasses.

  "Ah, you must be Riley," the man said, standing and extending a hand. "Timothy Dalton. I manage this floor. Welcome to 13."

  "Thanks," Riley replied, shaking his hand.

  Mr. Dalton gestured to the chair near the desk. "Take a seat for a moment. Let me explain how things work around here."

  Riley sat with his bag resting in his lap as Mr. Dalton began to speak. "This floor is one of the better-maintained ones in the tower," he said with a faint smile. "We've managed to keep it pretty secure—mostly thanks to the residents' cooperation and a bit of digital elbow grease on my end." He tapped one of the monitors, which displayed a network map with bright green and red markers. "See those red zones? That means trouble, like InfiNet gangs trying to hack into systems, or faulty connections, and sometimes worse. We've worked hard to keep 13 green, and I expect you to do your part to keep it that way."

  Riley nodded. "Understood."

  "Good," Mr. Dalton said, his tone softening. "You'll find this place is… well, it's not perfect, but it's livable. The communal kitchen, shared bathrooms, and the pod in your room are yours to use. Six-hour limits, of course—building policy. But it'll do the job whether you need to work, learn, or escape for a bit." He paused, glancing at Riley's face. "Though I wouldn't recommend getting lost in there too often."

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  Riley looked down at his hands, unsure how to respond.

  Mr. Dalton chuckled lightly, breaking the moment of tension. "Don't worry too much. You'll figure it out." He stood, motioning for Riley to follow. "Come on, I'll show you to your room."

  The balcony was quieter than Riley expected. As they walked, the soft hum of fluorescent lights above cast a steady glow. Doors lined the inner edge of the balcony, each marked with a small plaque bearing its unit number. Mr. Dalton stopped at one near the middle of the row and pulled a keycard from his pocket.

  "Room 1312," he said, sliding the card through a worn reader. The door clicked open with a faint hiss, and he stepped aside to let Riley enter first.

  The room was small but clean, furnished with a government-issue InfiNet pod that doubled as a bed. It also had a desk and a chair. The walls were bare, save for a small monitor mounted near the desk, and a narrow window offered a view of the city beyond the storm.

  "It ain't much, but it's yours," Mr. Dalton said, leaning against the doorframe. "The pod's connected to the floor's network, so you shouldn't have any issues logging in. If you need anything, you know where my office is."

  Riley nodded, setting his bag down near the desk. "Thanks," he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

  Mr. Dalton gave him a warm smile. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's a new day."

  With that, the older man left. Riley stood in the middle of his room for a moment, taking it all in. The faint hum of the pod filled the silence, mingling with the muffled sounds of the storm outside. It wasn't home, but it was a start.

  Riley unpacked his bag slowly, placing his few belongings on the desk. As he worked, his thoughts drifted to Thom. He wondered how his friend was settling into Tower 3b, and whether or not he had a room like his, or if he was already regretting the move.

  Just as Riley placed the janky holopad on the desk, a soft whirring sound made him freeze. He turned to see a small drone hovering just outside his door. It was a Watchie—barely larger than a softball, with a single glowing red eye scanning its surroundings. Riley had seen plenty of them at the orphanage, but they never felt less intrusive.

  The Watchie buzzed into the room without hesitation. Its faint hum filled the small space. Riley stepped back instinctively as it floated in a slow circle, emitting a series of soft clicks and whirs as it scanned every surface. Its red eye lingered on the InfiNet pod, the desk, and the small pile of belongings Riley had unpacked before sweeping over the walls and corners. The drone's movements were efficient, almost surgical, as it cataloged every detail.

  For a brief moment, the Watchie hovered directly in front of Riley, its red eye locking onto him. The silence stretched, and Riley felt an irrational urge to wave it away like an insect. Then, just as quickly as it had arrived, the drone turned and zipped out the door, its task complete.

  Riley let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The Watchie's absence left the room feeling eerily quiet again, but the sense of invasion lingered.

  "Guess privacy isn't real here either," Riley muttered, shutting the door. He shook his head as he returned to the desk.

  When everything was in place, Riley sat on the edge of the pod, his gaze fixed on the glowing monitor nearby. He tapped it once, bringing up a list of job openings and local resources.

  The options were slim, mostly entry-level positions that required more endurance than skill. Riley's finger paused when he found the Mod Jockey listing the housing office clerk had recommended from before. There was something about the straightforwardness of the job description that appealed to him. It didn't promise excitement, but it did promise stability. He applied with a few taps on the screen, and almost instantly, his application was approved. A message popped up with his assignment.

  Report to Hyperion Constructs Power Hub.

  Location: 1200 Wilford Avenue

  Time: 0900

  Shift Manager: Tamitha Gleaton.

  Riley sighed, scrolling through the entries until the words blurred together. His exhaustion finally caught up with him. Without bothering to change, he pulled the thin blanket over himself and lay back in the InfiNet pod. The soft hum of its systems felt oddly soothing as he stared out the window.

  The storm outside raged on, but the city's lights flickered faintly through the sleet, painting his room in soft, shifting colors. Riley closed his eyes, his mind swirling with thoughts of what tomorrow might bring. For now, he let the sound of the storm carry him into a restless sleep.