Terminus City Central Pza had been transformed overnight. What was typically a bustling business hub now featured massive viewing screens that dominated the open space. The corporate logos of all seven mega-corporations ringed the dispys, united for once in promoting the same message: Today marked the dawn of a new era for Terminus.

  The Game was officially beginning.

  Crowds gathered below the screens, faces upturned as the countdown timer ticked toward zero. The atmosphere was a strange mixture of celebration and tension. Parents with eighteen-year-old children clung to each other, pride and fear battling in their expressions. Younger teenagers watched with fascination, already imagining their own future entry. Corporate employees in their color-coded uniforms stood in disciplined formations, representing their companies at this historic moment.

  When the clock struck zero, the screens fshed in unison before dispying the Tower of Ascension logo—a stylized spire rising through colored bands representing the ten realms.

  Eliza Chen, InfoSys CEO and official announcer for the event, appeared on screen. Her precisely styled appearance and measured voice projected authority and calm reassurance.

  "Citizens of Terminus, today we witness the beginning of humanity's greatest advancement opportunity," she began. "The Tower of Ascension opens its doors to the first generation of pioneers—our brightest young minds who will chart the path forward for our society."

  The cameras cut to footage of gleaming white facilities where the first pyers were being processed. Young men and women in identical white preparation garments moved through orderly intake stations. Their expressions ranged from excitement to solemn determination.

  "Each participant will face challenges designed to test their unique potential," Chen continued. "Those with the capacity to elevate themselves will advance to higher floors, unlocking abilities and knowledge beyond our current limitations."

  What the broadcast didn't show were the stark differences in preparation between social csses. In a private viewing suite above the pza, Marcus Voss watched different footage on a secondary screen—the unedited intake processing that would never be made public.

  The segregated preparation rooms told the real story. Architect-css entrants received personalized briefings from specialists, detailed strategy guides, and premium equipment. Their neural interfaces—sleek, custom-designed A-CNS models—were being calibrated with precision by teams of technicians.

  In contrast, the Worker-css processing facility resembled a factory line. Batches of fifty were processed simultaneously, given standardized W-SNL interfaces with minimal calibration. The tutorial they received sted under five minutes—just enough to expin basic movement controls and the quota system. Their questions went rgely unanswered as they were efficiently moved through the system.

  "Initial data is promising," reported Dr. Thaddeus Voss, Marcus's brother and Director of Game Operations. "We're seeing clean neural connections across all interface csses. Popution distribution is proceeding according to projections."

  Marcus nodded without taking his eyes from the screens. "And the special monitoring protocols for the Architect entrants?"

  "Active and invisible to system diagnostics," Thaddeus confirmed. "Their advancement paths are being subtly optimized as designed."

  On the main pza screens, the broadcast had shifted to follow selected pyers as they awakened within the Game. The footage showed Michael Zhang, son of FusionTech's CEO, as he masterfully navigated his initial environment, quickly gathering resources and establishing a defensive position. His movements were confident, clearly the result of extensive pre-Game training.

  The crowd cheered as he dispatched his first monster with textbook precision. The camera lingered on his triumphant expression, the perfect image of the Game's promise—advancement through merit and skill.

  What the public didn't see was the Worker-css section of Floor 1, where Tomas Reeve had spawned in a dangerous zone with immediate predator presence—a starting location that would never be assigned to an Architect or Privileged pyer. The cameras didn't follow as he struggled against basic controls, his undercalibrated neural interface causing a slight g in response time. When the forest predator attacked, his desperate defensive attempts were clumsy and ineffective.

  Tomas Reeve became the Game's first casualty seventeen minutes after entry. In the monitoring center, his life support pod registered the neural extraction process with a simple status change: CONSCIOUSNESS PRESERVED.

  His physical body remained in stasis, breathing but empty, as technicians made notes about interface response improvements for the next batch of Worker entrants.

  On the main screens, the broadcast continued with no mention of this first death. Instead, viewers were treated to carefully edited highlights from various Architect and selected Privileged pyers, all showing remarkable success against initial challenges.

  In her private office at Helix Pharmaceuticals headquarters, Helena Voss watched the same public broadcast as everyone else, her expression carefully neutral despite the turmoil within. On her desk sat reports from the neural preservation system—the technology she had developed and that was now being used in ways she had officially protested but secretly anticipated.

  A subtle chime from her terminal indicated a private message from a secure internal network.

  First extraction successful. Preservation quality at 98.7%—significantly higher than they expect. The patterns are intact, not just computational resources. Phase One proceeding as we theorized.

  Helena deleted the message immediately after reading it. The message confirmed what she had hoped—that her consciousness preservation technology was working exactly as designed, capturing complete neural patterns rather than the simplified versions the corporate leaders believed they were getting.

  She gnced at a small holographic frame on her desk, dispying an image of her twin sister Era. Years ago, Era had sacrificed herself in an experimental neural patterning procedure, allowing Helena to use her neural architecture as the foundation for Project Chrysalis and Subject L7—the child now growing up in Sector 17 as Lyra. It was a sacrifice that few understood, but one that might ultimately save billions.

  She turned her attention to another screen showing her sons, Alexander and Elijah, watching the broadcast in their private study room. They were still years away from their own Game entry, but already being groomed for it. Alexander was studying the combat techniques of the featured pyers with intense focus, while Elijah appeared more interested in the environmental details of the Game world.

  "Neural interface calibration looks inadequate for the Worker pyers," Elijah observed, his perception already showing the analytical mind Helena had carefully nurtured. "Their response tency is creating a significant disadvantage."

  Alexander nodded. "And their spawn locations are tactically inferior. Look at the density of resources in the Architect zones compared to what we're seeing in those background shots of the general areas."

  Helena felt a mixture of pride and concern at their astute observations. They were learning to see the system's inequities already, though they had been born at the very top of it. It was a promising sign for her pns.

  She switched her dispy to the development projections for the Personal Library System—her most subtle but potentially most powerful addition to the Game architecture. On the surface, it appeared to be a simple knowledge repository providing pyers with information relevant to their current challenges. Its official design included clear stratification of access based on social css.

  But buried within this system were the seeds of its own subversion. Helena had ensured that exceptional pyers could unlock access levels beyond their assigned limits through specific achievements. More importantly, she had hidden entire knowledge categories that would only become visible to pyers who demonstrated particur patterns of inquiry—patterns she was carefully cultivating in her sons, and that she hoped would emerge in Subject L7, the special prototype currently growing up in Sector 17.

  The Library System would py a crucial role in Operation Genesis. While the corporate leadership saw it merely as another tool for maintaining css distinctions in knowledge access, Helena had designed it as a pathway to the hidden Fourth Option that she and Soren Vale had concealed within the Game's architecture.

  In Sector 17, a community meeting had been organized to watch the Game broadcast on a salvaged dispy screen. The image quality was poor, frequently disrupted by static, but the gathered residents watched with solemn attention. For them, the Game represented both threat and opportunity.

  Lyra sat at the front, her unusual amber eyes fixed on the screen with an intensity beyond her years. When technical details of the neural interfaces briefly appeared in an InfoSys promotional segment, she leaned forward, absorbing every detail with remarkable focus.

  "Why are the different colors of badges on their robes?" she asked Tel, pointing to the pyers being processed.

  The older woman's mouth tightened slightly. "That's how they mark what kind of person you are. The gold badges are for the rich ones from the big buildings. Blue for their helpers. Green for those who work in factories and fields. People from pces like ours... we get gray."

  "And do they all get the same chance in the Game?" Lyra asked.

  Several adults exchanged knowing gnces. It was Reis, one of the community elders, who answered.

  "They say everyone has the same opportunity to reach Floor 100," he said carefully. "But we know better than to believe everything they say, don't we, little spark?"

  Lyra nodded solemnly. Even at her young age, she understood that the system wasn't designed for people from Sector 17. But rather than discourage her, this knowledge seemed to strengthen her resolve. She turned back to the screen, watching the featured pyers navigate their first challenges, her mind already breaking down their techniques into patterns she could someday use.

  Tel watched the child with a mixture of concern and pride. There was something different about Lyra—a natural understanding of systems and technology that couldn't be expined by her environment alone. The community had already begun setting aside resources for her future Game entry, though it was still twelve years away. They recognized something special in her, a potential that might represent hope not just for Lyra but for all of them.

  Two weeks after the Game's unch, the first official pyer statistics were released to the public. The carefully curated report highlighted impressive advancement rates and skill development. According to the data, 78% of all entrants had successfully established themselves on Floor 1, with 23% already advancing to Floor 2.

  The report featured stories of exceptional pyers like Michael Zhang, now at the vanguard of progression on Floor 3, and Cara Ward, daughter of ProtectoCorp's CEO, who had developed unique combat techniques that were being studied by Game analysts.

  What the report didn't mention was that nearly 30% of Worker-css entrants had already been "preserved," their consciousness extracted after failing to meet weekly quota requirements or falling to environmental hazards. Their physical bodies remained in life support facilities, officially listed as "active pyers" despite their real status as computational resources.

  Families received standardized updates ciming their children were progressing well but were currently in areas with limited communication capability. The updates included generic footage that could apply to any pyer, carefully edited to prevent identification questions. For most Worker and Unaligned families, with limited access to information and no means to verify what they were told, these updates were accepted with hopeful relief.

  The true mortality statistics were cssified at the highest level, avaible only to the seven corporate leaders and select Game operations personnel. The data showed exactly what they had projected: a system functioning perfectly as a popution control mechanism disguised as opportunity.

  A separate report, prepared exclusively for Marcus Voss, tracked the development of the Game's Personal Library System. This seemingly innocuous feature—providing pyers with information resources as they progressed—was showing interesting patterns of usage. As expected, Architect pyers were accessing strategic and advanced materials far beyond what was avaible to lower csses. But the system was also identifying exceptional individuals in lower tiers who were finding ways to exceed their designated access limits.

  These outliers were being fgged for special monitoring. Some showed potential for extraction and recruitment into Privileged status. Others, whose inquiry patterns suggested potentially problematic independent thinking, were being subtly guided toward higher-risk scenarios.

  Marcus Voss studied these reports with satisfaction. The Game was already proving to be even more effective than anticipated—not just reducing popution but identifying and sorting individuals based on their usefulness to the corporate system. It was the perfect mechanism for maintaining control while creating the illusion of opportunity.

  At VitaCore's weekly executive briefing, Marcus Voss presented the first month's Game performance metrics to his leadership team.

  "Pyer distribution is proceeding according to projections," he noted, dispying a holographic representation of the Tower with color-coded dots showing pyer positions. "Advancement rates for priority individuals are excellent, and resource recovery from preserved consciousness is exceeding initial estimates."

  "What about resistance?" asked his operations director. "Any signs of pyers recognizing the system's true nature?"

  Marcus shook his head. "Minimal. The narrative has been fully accepted. Even families of preserved pyers believe their children are still active, just in communication-restricted areas."

  "And the remaining designers?" This question came from his security chief, who had been responsible for monitoring the Original Seven since Soren Vale's "reassignment."

  "No concerning activity," Marcus replied. "Dr. Reed has retreated into academic research. Dr. Chen accepted a position at the Eastern Education Center. Dr. Kapoor and Dr. Wright continue their work under close supervision. And Dr. Kess..." He paused briefly. "Dr. Kess appears to have abandoned her previous concerns and is fully cooperating with neural interface refinements."

  He didn't mention his own wife's role, nor his lingering doubts about her true position. Helena had outwardly accepted the Game's implementation after Soren's removal, focusing her work on neural interface improvements. But Marcus knew his wife well enough to suspect she hadn't simply surrendered her ethical concerns. She was too strategic for that.

  Still, whatever private reservations she might harbor, she couldn't affect the system now. The Game was operational, the public had embraced it, and the first generation of pyers was already being efficiently sorted into advancement or preservation. The mechanism for maintaining corporate control while addressing popution concerns was firmly established.

  "The Game," Marcus concluded with satisfaction, "is proceeding exactly as designed."

  What he couldn't know was that it was indeed proceeding exactly as designed—but not according to his design. The seeds of subversion that Helena, Soren, and the others had pnted deep within the system's architecture remained dormant but viable, waiting for the right pyers to discover them.

  And in years, when a particur trio of pyers entered the Game—an Architect's son who would reject his father's values, a healer with unique connection to the preservation system, and an Unaligned technical genius with specially modified neural architecture—those seeds would finally begin to sprout.

  The Game was just beginning, but so too was the long, patient revolution against it.