_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">The announcement came without warning.

  One moment, the public information screens throughout Terminus were dispying the usual mix of production quotas, resource allocation updates, and corporate achievements. The next, they simultaneously switched to dispy the corporate council's emblem—seven interlocked symbols representing the mega-corporations that governed every aspect of life.

  In the Worker dormitories of the Central Production Zone, machinery ground to a halt as supervisors called for attention. In the Servicer apartments of the administrative districts, families gathered around private screens. In Privileged residences, neural interfaces pinged with priority notifications. Even in the unreguted settlements of the Unaligned territories, people crowded around salvaged dispys to witness what was clearly a major announcement.

  Only the Architects, in their secluded compounds, showed no surprise. They had known what was coming.

  Marcus Voss stood before the camera array, seven figures arranged behind him in a precise semi-circle. The leaders of the mega-corporations presented a unified front, each wearing their corporate colors, each bearing the same grave expression that suggested momentous news.

  "Citizens of Terminus," Marcus began, his voice simultaneously broadcast to every information terminal on the pnet. "Today marks a turning point in our shared journey on this world."

  He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. Marcus had always understood the power of silence in communication. A skill Helena had once admired, before she understood how effectively he weaponized it.

  "For nearly a century, we have built a stable society from the wilderness of Terminus. We have created security from chaos, prosperity from scarcity. Yet as our popution has grown to over ten billion, we must evolve. We must find new ways to identify and elevate those with the greatest potential to lead us forward."

  The camera panned across the faces of the corporate council. Victoria Aqua-Nova, regal in blue and silver. Imani TerraMin, imposing in earthen browns. Dominic Helix, thoughtful in forest green. Rond Zhang of FusionTech, severe in red and bck. General Darius Ward of ProtectoCorp, military-precise in grey and white. Eliza Chen of InfoSys, enigmatic in purple and gold.

  The camera returned to Marcus, resplendent in VitaCore's navy blue.

  "Today, we introduce a new path for advancement—a system that will identify, test, and reward those with exceptional abilities. We call it: The Tower of Ascension."

  Behind him, a holographic dispy activated, showing a massive tower structure extending upward through distinct colored zones.

  "The Tower will present challenges across one hundred floors of increasing difficulty. Pyers will face guardians, solve puzzles, and overcome obstacles that test every aspect of human potential—physical strength, mental acuity, technical innovation, and moral character."

  The dispy zoomed in, showing simplified renderings of various environments and challenges.

  "Upon reaching their eighteenth birthday, every citizen's neural interface will automatically connect them to the Tower. Their physical bodies will remain in life support pods while their minds navigate the challenges. Those who reach higher floors will receive corresponding rewards in real life—enhanced social status, resource allocations, and privileges."

  Marcus's voice took on an almost reverent quality.

  "And for those exceptional few who reach Floor 100... a transformation beyond imagination awaits. The resources of all seven corporations will be at their disposal. They will join the ranks of those who shape the destiny of Terminus."

  The camera pulled back to show all seven leaders, united in their presentation of this new system.

  "To demonstrate our unwavering belief in this system, we commit that our own children will participate alongside all others. No exceptions, no special treatment. The Tower of Ascension recognizes only merit, not birth."

  General Ward stepped forward. "Standard neural interfaces, mandatory for all citizens since birth, contain the activation protocols necessary for Tower participation. These protocols cannot be altered or removed without fatal neural damage."

  Marcus nodded and continued, "The Tower of Ascension begins in six months. Detailed information will be distributed through all official channels. Prepare your children. Prepare yourselves. The future of Terminus awaits those bold enough to ascend the Tower."

  The broadcast ended, corporate emblem holding for several seconds before regur programming resumed.

  Throughout Terminus, silence held for a heartbeat—then erupted into a cacophony of reactions.

  In the Northern Administrative District, Helena Voss switched off the dispy in her private boratory and turned to face Dominic Helix.

  "So it begins," she said quietly.

  Dominic nodded, his expression troubled. "Not as we designed it."

  "No." Helena's fingers tapped a complex pattern on her workstation, activating privacy protocols that went far beyond standard security measures. "The original concept was elegant. A genuine system for advancement based on merit rather than birth. What Marcus and the others have created is..."

  "Popution control," Dominic finished for her. "With a veneer of opportunity to make it patable."

  Helena's eyes narrowed slightly. "You stood with them in the announcement."

  "As did you, by your absence." He sighed, suddenly looking older than his years. "We all have our roles to py, Helena. Mine is to appear compliant while working from within. Yours is... more complex."

  She didn't respond directly, instead activating her personal library through a specialized neural interface terminal. Unlike most library systems that required direct neural connection, Helena preferred the security of an external device for her most sensitive research.

  "The neural interface activation is mandatory," she said, scanning through technical specifications. "The protocols have been embedded in standard interfaces for years, waiting for activation. Even I didn't know they had progressed this far."

  "And the real outcomes?" Dominic asked quietly.

  Helena's face hardened. "Not what they're telling the public. Marcus and the others have perverted the system. The Tower was meant to identify potential, not..." she stopped, unwilling to verbalize what they both knew.

  "The neural architecture is still based on your original designs?" Dominic asked, watching as complex schematics appeared on the screen.

  "Superficially," Helena replied. "They've modified it extensively for their purposes, but the fundamental structure remains mine." A tight smile appeared on her face. "Which means I understand its vulnerabilities better than anyone."

  Dominic moved closer, examining the technical specifications with the practiced eye of a pharmaceutical executive who had begun his career as a research scientist.

  "The neural interface systems concern me most," he said. "The long-term effects of sustained immersion are..."

  "Unknown," Helena finished. "And precisely why our work remains essential."

  She closed the schematics with a gesture and turned to face her colleague fully.

  "The Game they announced today is not the system we designed, Dominic. But it still presents an opportunity if we're patient. Very patient."

  In the Eastern Resource Region's worker dormitories, Tel's hands shook as she adjusted her makeshift signal booster. The corporate broadcast had reached even Sector 17, though the quality had been poor on their salvaged dispy.

  Around her, the community buzzed with nervous energy. The children, especially those approaching their teen years, spoke with mixed excitement and fear about the challenges described. The adults exchanged worried gnces, recognizing that beneath the promise of opportunity y other motivations.

  "They're creating a sorting system and calling it advancement," Old Miro muttered, his weathered face creased with fresh concern.

  Tel said nothing, her focus entirely on the signal booster. When it finally stabilized, she connected her personal data pad—a rare piece of technology she kept hidden from all but her closest associates. Her fingers moved across its surface with practiced precision, searching through information channels not meant for Unaligned access.

  Lyra appeared at her side, eyes wide with questions.

  "Is this what you've been warning me about?" she asked quietly. "The information on your hidden data crystal?"

  Tel gnced around to ensure no one was listening too closely. "Part of it. But what they announced publicly is just the surface." She indicated her data pad with a subtle nod. "I'm trying to access the technical specifications they're releasing to Privileged families for 'preparation purposes.'"

  Lyra leaned closer, her natural affinity for technology evident in how quickly she grasped what Tel was attempting.

  "The encryption is adaptive," she observed. "See how the pattern shifts? That's why your bypass keeps failing."

  Tel raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. "And what would you suggest?"

  Without waiting for permission, Lyra took the data pad and began to work. Her fingers danced across the surface with intuitive confidence, applying techniques Tel had only begun to teach her.

  "There," she said after several minutes, returning the device. "I created a request that mimics Privileged access protocols. It should give us about three minutes before the system recognizes the discrepancy."

  Tel stared at the suddenly accessible information, then at her young apprentice. "You shouldn't be able to do that yet."

  Lyra shrugged. "I've been studying the advanced manuals when you sleep."

  Rather than reprimand her, Tel quickly downloaded as much data as possible before the connection terminated. When it did, she had secured a treasure trove of restricted information—technical specifications, floor details, and most importantly, statistics on advancement rates that were notably absent from the public announcement.

  "They're pnning for less than one percent to reach Floor 50," she said quietly, scanning the data. "And only one in a million to reach Floor 100."

  "They're not expecting people to win," Lyra concluded.

  "No. They're expecting most to fail." Tel's expression hardened. "But knowledge is power, Lyra. And we now have knowledge they don't expect us to have."

  She scrolled through more technical specifications, her face growing increasingly grim. "The neural interface activation is mandatory. There's no way to avoid entry when you turn eighteen." She looked up at Lyra, eyes intense. "We have time to prepare, but not much. Your neural configuration techniques will be crucial."

  "My neural what?" Lyra asked, confused.

  Tel hesitated, then spoke quietly. "The techniques in those advanced manuals I've been saving. Neural interface modifications aren't just for better scavenging tech. They could be the difference between advancing through the Tower or..." She didn't finish the sentence.

  In the Central Production Zone, Marcus Tullian stood at rigid attention as his military unit was briefed on security protocols for the Tower of Ascension implementation. As a rising officer in ProtectoCorp's security forces, he had been selected for specialized training reted to the new system.

  "Your role will be vital," the commander emphasized. "As pyers advance or fall back in the Tower, real-world security implications will arise. Particurly from the Unaligned territories, where we anticipate resistance."

  Marcus absorbed the information with the disciplined focus that had marked him for early advancement. Unlike most Worker-css citizens who remained on the manufacturing lines, he had been identified for military service due to his physical capabilities and unwavering loyalty.

  "Sir," he ventured during a pause in the briefing. "Will security forces be exempt from participation?" The question had been weighing on him since the announcement.

  The commander's face hardened. "No exceptions, Tullian. The corporate council was explicit. Every citizen at eighteen enters the Tower. This includes my children, your fellow officers, and even the Architect heirs." His expression softened slightly. "Though between us, I suspect some will enter with significant advantages."

  Marcus nodded, processing this information. He had trained his entire life for military service, not for whatever challenges this Tower might contain. Yet there was no avoiding the neural interface activation. The impnt he'd received as an infant, like every other citizen of Terminus, would connect him to the Tower when his time came.

  "Will our military training be an advantage?" another officer asked.

  "Almost certainly," the commander replied. "Which is why your combat preparation will intensify effective immediately. When each of you enters the Tower, you will represent ProtectoCorp. Your success will demonstrate the superiority of our training methods." He paused, surveying the young officers. "And select individuals who demonstrate exceptional potential may receive... additional preparation."

  Marcus straightened imperceptibly. Additional preparation. The implication was clear—certain privileged individuals would receive special training beyond standard protocols. He resolved to ensure he would be among them.

  In the VitaCore leadership compound, Alexander Voss watched the announcement repy on his personal terminal, analyzing his father's performance with the practiced eye of someone raised to notice the subtlest details of public presentation.

  "Fwless delivery," he muttered to himself, making notes in his personal library interface. Unlike most citizens who could only access information approved for their social level, Alexander's Architect-css neural interface gave him vast library privileges. He had been building a carefully organized database on leadership techniques since childhood.

  A light knock at his door interrupted his study. His twin brother Elijah entered without waiting for a response, their familiar bond making formalities unnecessary.

  "So," Elijah said, sitting on the edge of Alexander's desk. "The Tower of Ascension." He shook his head slightly. "Father's been preparing us for this our entire lives without ever mentioning it."

  Alexander nodded. "Combat training since age five. Strategy lessons. Physical conditioning beyond any standard curriculum." His eyes narrowed slightly. "While you got the scientific education with Mother."

  "Different preparations for different roles," Elijah replied, a familiar exchange between them. "But for the same purpose, apparently." He gnced at Alexander's notes. "What do you think is really going on?"

  Alexander closed his annotation program. "Something more than what they're telling the public. Father's been pushing my combat training to new extremes in the past year. That suggests whatever this Tower contains, it's more dangerous than a simple advancement test."