The Contract Monitoring Office smelled like old circuit boards and failure. Kai wrinkled his nose stepping through sliding glass doors into a waiting area designed by someone with a twisted sense of humor—a perfect digital replica of a physical-world DMV, complete with all the misery and none of the necessity.

  The entire operation could have run through network interfaces, but that would have defeated the true purpose.

  MidCorp Financial's quarterly in-person check-ins had nothing to do with monitoring and everything to do with reminding debtors of their place in Server Nova's social hierarchy.

  One week since upload and already trapped in bureaucratic hell. These check-ins operated on strict calendar time, missing one meant consequences, so here he was—teeth gritted, body cramped between other uploads still adjusting to their virtual existence.

  Thirty contractors filled the room, faces displaying resignation's varied stages. Some chatted quietly about jobs or system events. Others stared into middle distance, lost in digital limbo.

  A few newer arrivals radiated anger through rigid postures and clenched jaws—a phase he recognized from his own first days.

  He joined the queue, a holographic number materializing above his head: 47. The service counter currently showed 23.

  "First visit?" A voice from his left. A woman with a pixelated green bob cut and dark under-eye circles flipped through a digital magazine without actually reading it.

  "That obvious?"

  "You're still standing. Veterans know to grab a seat."

  He dropped into the chair beside her. The cheap padding compressed with an electronic wheeze perfectly simulating budget furniture.

  "I'm Eliza." Small smile. "Third year, seven months, sixteen days."

  "Kai. One week."

  Her eyes widened. "Oof. Still in that 'what have I done?' phase?"

  "Something like that." His gaze drifted to the corporate logo pulsing on the far wall—a cartoonish avatar triumphantly standing atop data packets, MidCorp Financial's slogan "Your future is secure" circling her head like a mocking halo.

  Eliza nodded knowingly. "Fresh meat. What'd they get you for?"

  "Family medical debt. Sister's immunomodification therapy."

  "Noble. I just had shitty financial luck. Wrong investments, wrong timing, wrong friends, wrong everything." She shrugged. "MidCorp vultures swooped when my net worth crashed, offered to wipe the slate for a five-year upload. Seemed better than physical-world bankruptcy."

  "Was it?"

  Eliza's smile turned sardonic. "Ask me again in two years when I'm finally out of this digital purgatory."

  The numerical displays above service counters advanced with glacial deliberation. Kai studied the staff behind counters—permanent digital citizens with pristinely rendered avatars sporting premium skins that contractors couldn't access. One woman's hair shimmered with embedded light patterns that would have cost three months of his courier salary.

  "Might as well get comfortable with waiting," Eliza said, closing her magazine. "The quarterly ritual always eats half a day. Want the contractor culture tour while we're stuck?"

  He glanced at the counter. Number 24. "Sure, not like I'm going anywhere fast."

  Eliza stood, gesturing toward a wall-length window overlooking the commercial sector below.

  From this height, Server Nova stretched in digital splendor—towering commercial structures with flowing high-resolution advertisements, exclusive residential zones featuring customizable environmental rendering, transportation networks where authorized vehicles zipped along predefined routes.

  "See that gray section?" She pointed to a distant cluster of uniform rectangular buildings. "Contractor housing. They pack us in like digital sardines. Minimal customization allowances, basic rendering priority, intermittent network access."

  "I'm in Block 14."

  "Block 22 here. It doesn't get better as you go up." Her finger traced across the cityscape. "Red-lined districts are limited access zones. Contractors need special clearance or citizen sponsorship. Most entertainment hubs, premium commercial sectors, creative districts—all restricted."

  "But that's half the city."

  "Welcome to the caste system. In physical reality, we'd wear color-coded uniforms. Here, they just tag our network signatures. Try walking into the Platinum District—proximity sensors hit you with violation warnings before you cross the boundary."

  Below, contractors in transit uniforms shuffled through a checkpoint, movements heavy with ten-hour shift exhaustion. Citizens breezed through a separate entrance, access confirmed with barely a pause.

  "You'd think in a digital world they could just..."

  "Make enough space for everyone? Create equal access? They could. This isn't about resource limitations—it's social engineering. Keep the debtors in their place."

  "Doesn't seem very equitable."

  Eliza laughed without humor. "My grandmother used to say, 'it's not about equality, it's about equity.' If you start behind, equal opportunity doesn't cut it."

  "Guessing your grandmother wasn't a corporate accountant."

  "If only. Could've used some tax evasion skills in the family." She flashed a grin. "If she could see me now, she'd quote revolutionary lines from the physical world. Instead, I'm paying dues in a faux-prison of their design."

  She sighed, head resting against the glass. "But hey, at least there's no bad weather. Digital sunshine always a pleasant 73 degrees."

  His gaze drifted outside, scanning the cityscape. "For a city this big, there aren't many cars. I've seen self-driving buses, metro rail, but mostly everyone walks, bikes, or... skates."

  Eliza turned, eyebrows raised.

  "What's that look for? Fair question, isn't it?"

  "An innocent one, at least. Two answers. Short version: cars don't exactly 'pollute' here, but you can't imagine the network load havoc. That's why there's limited self-driving taxis, company vans, and bigger transports like trams and freight... that's it."

  "And the long answer?"

  "A little more... political." A grin tugged at her lips. "Another way they keep tabs on us. Controlling transportation means eyes everywhere. Harder to break rules when you're always on foot, out in the open."

  His brow furrowed as he looked streetward. He'd spotted at least a dozen different surveillance measures in his short time here.

  A commotion erupted at a service counter. A red-faced contractor slammed his fist against the transparent barrier separating him from the MidCorp representative.

  "I've got rights! You can't add months for a missed check-in!" His voice cracked desperately. "The transit system went down! I couldn't get here!"

  Two security guards materialized beside him, avatars bulked with intimidation modifications unavailable to general users. They gripped his arms, fingers sinking slightly into sleeve texture—pain compliance algorithms at work.

  "Section 4.7.3 of your contract clearly states that failure to meet scheduled monitoring appointments constitutes a terms violation," the representative recited impassively. "Standard penalty is three-month extension."

  "But it wasn't my fault!" the man shouted as they dragged him toward the exit. "The system was down! I couldn't get here! Someone tell them it wasn't my fault!"

  Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

  Other contractors suddenly found the floor, their interfaces, or the ceiling fascinating. Eliza pulled Kai back from the window.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Rule one of contractor survival: invisible problems stay invisible," she whispered. "The moment you identify with someone in trouble, you risk becoming the next target."

  The man's protests faded as security removed him. The service counter illuminated with the next number. Business resumed as though nothing had happened.

  "That's insane," Kai muttered.

  "That's three more months of his life." Eliza's voice flattened. "And if he keeps fighting, they'll find more reasons to extend. I've seen five-year contracts stretch to eight."

  Across the room, a small group gathered around a young man with patchy beard and quick, animated gestures. Unlike the dour expressions dominating the room, he smiled as he spoke, occasionally laughing and clapping someone's shoulder.

  "Who's that?"

  "Javier. What you might call an optimist. Two years in, still thinks the contract is just a temporary setback rather than a digital prison sentence."

  Curiosity piqued, Kai wandered over.

  Javier was mid-story, describing some mishap involving a delivery drone and rendering glitch that had left him dangling from a skyscraper. Others listened with genuine smiles—rare sight in the CMO waiting room.

  "...so I told them, 'You want your package? Come and get it!' But they couldn't send another drone into the glitch zone without risking the same problem." Javier spotted Kai hovering at the group's edge and waved him closer. "New face! Welcome to quarterly purgatory, friend. I'm Javier."

  "Kai."

  "First time at CMO? You've still got that 'what the hell am I doing here' look most of us lost months ago."

  "That obvious, huh?"

  "Like neon sign." His accent colored the words—South American, maybe Colombian or Venezuelan. "You picked good day though. They're moving people through faster than usual."

  Eliza appeared at Kai's side. "Don't give him false hope, Javier. We've been here two hours and they've processed twenty-four people."

  "Ah, Eliza! Still spreading sunshine wherever you go." Javier grinned. "You should come to my networking event next week. Citizen from the design district looking for contract talent."

  She rolled her eyes. "Another 'career advancement' scheme? Last time it was that finance guy who just wanted cheap data processors."

  "This is different. Creative work, proper compensation, resume building for post-contract life. You have to think beyond the contract term." Javier turned to Kai. "What did you do before upload?"

  "Urban logistics management. Package routing, basically."

  "Perfect! I know people in Nova Express who need that exact background."

  Kai hesitated. "Already got a job there. Started last week."

  Javier's eyebrows shot up. "Already? Look at you, fast tracker! Most new uploads take months to find anything beyond basic task work." He leaned closer. "Keep building connections. The right network is the difference between serving your term as a drone and using it as a stepping stone."

  "Is that what you're doing? Building for after your contract?"

  "Five years is nothing in the long game." Javier glanced around and lowered his voice. "Plus, the right connections get you information outside standard feeds. You'd be surprised what's really happening in Server Nova behind corporate headlines."

  Eliza snorted. "Here we go with the conspiracy theories."

  "Not theories. System architecture." Javier tapped his temple. "Once you understand how it's built, you see the cracks. Things they don't tell new uploads."

  Something in his tone made Kai lean in. "What kind of things?"

  Javier opened his mouth to answer, cut off by a blaring alarm echoing through the waiting area. Red light flooded the space. Service counters slammed shut behind security barriers.

  "SECURITY ALERT. ALL CONTRACTORS REMAIN IN PLACE."

  Near the far wall, a man frantically worked at a terminal normally reserved for staff. Security guards charged toward him, but he kept typing, fingers flying across the interface.

  "What's happening?" Kai asked.

  Eliza grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward the chairs. "Shut up and sit down. Don't look. Don't react."

  The guards reached the man, yanking him from the terminal. Rather than resisting, he laughed—a sound bordering on hysteria.

  "I found it!" he shouted, voice carrying across the suddenly silent room. "I found the edge of the system! It's all fake—the boundaries aren't real!"

  The guards wrestled him toward the exit, but he twisted in their grip to face the stunned contractors.

  "They're lying about the architecture! There's something beyond the—"

  A security guard clamped his hand over the man's mouth. The door slid open and they dragged him through, muffled protests fading as the door sealed shut.

  The alarm silenced. Red lights faded. After a moment's pause, service counters reopened. A pleasant chime announced the next queue number.

  No one spoke.

  Contractors who had been sitting near the incident moved to other areas, distancing themselves physically as if proximity might imply association. Within moments, the waiting room returned to its previous rhythm as if nothing had happened.

  But Kai noticed something different now—fear. It rode beneath every downcast face, every rigid posture. Not the frustration of people enduring bureaucratic tedium, but quiet terror from those who had witnessed consequences they desperately wanted to avoid.

  Eliza's hand still gripped his arm. "You see now? Rule one."

  "What was he trying to access?" Kai whispered.

  "Don't ask." Her fingers dug into his sleeve. "Seriously. Don't even think the question."

  Javier had retreated to a corner. When their eyes met, he gave an almost imperceptible head shake.

  The next hour passed in tense silence. When Kai's number finally appeared, he approached the counter with well-practiced deference.

  The representative didn't look up from her screen. "Contractor ID?"

  "KR-7723-M."

  "Current residence?"

  "Block 14, Unit 709."

  "Employment status?"

  "Nova Express. Junior courier."

  Her fingers tapped across her interface. "Contract status: Four years, fifty-one weeks, three days remaining. Financial obligation: 32% of principal paid through system integration labor. Accrued citizen merit points: 84." She finally looked up, eyes scanning him with the warmth of a procurement algorithm. "Do you understand your continuing obligations under the terms of your contract?"

  "Yes."

  "Any questions or concerns regarding your contract status?"

  The man they'd dragged out screaming about system boundaries flashed through his mind. "No."

  "Compliance noted. Your next scheduled monitoring appointment is in ninety days. Failure to appear will result in contract extension. Do you understand?"

  "Yes."

  "Monitoring complete. Next contractor."

  Outside the CMO building, Server Nova's afternoon simulation painted the digital sky in programmed perfection—volumetric clouds drifting across artificial blue at exactly the right speed to appear natural without obscuring simulated sunlight.

  Kai stood on the wide steps, watching contractors disperse, shoulders hunched beneath invisible weights.

  "Not the most uplifting experience, is it?"

  He turned to find Javier beside him, gazing at the commercial district spread below.

  "What was that guy talking about? The edge of the system?"

  Javier's casual demeanor vanished, replaced by cautious intensity. "Careful with those questions, friend."

  "I'm just trying to understand what happened."

  "Some things are better not understood while you're trapped in a contract." Javier glanced around before continuing. "But if you really want to learn about Server Nova's architecture, there are safer sources than restricted terminals at the CMO."

  "Like what?"

  "Maintenance crews see things regular users don't. Sector transitions, rendering boundaries, backend infrastructure." He smiled faintly. "Find yourself a veteran maintenance worker with loose lips. Just don't let anyone hear you asking."

  Kai spotted a familiar figure across the plaza—Marlow, the maintenance worker he'd met during his first days after upload. The older man stood near a service entrance, ostensibly checking a wall panel, his gaze drifting toward contractor housing blocks visible in the distance.

  "I should get going," Javier said, noticing Kai's distraction. "Remember what I said about networking. It's not just about better jobs—it's about survival."

  As Javier left, Kai crossed the plaza toward Marlow. The maintenance worker closed the panel as he approached, eyes narrowing in recognition.

  "Courier now, huh?" Marlow nodded toward Nova Express colors peeking from beneath Kai's jacket. "Moving up fast."

  "Just started. Still figuring it out." Kai glanced back at the CMO building. "Quarterly check-in."

  "Ah." Marlow's face hardened. "Keep your head down in there. They're looking for any excuse to extend contracts these days."

  "I noticed. Some guy tried accessing a restricted terminal. Security dragged him out."

  Marlow's expression didn't change, but his tools stopped moving. "That right?"

  "He said something about finding the edge of the system. That the boundaries aren't real."

  "Sounds like corrupted code talking. Rendering glitches mess with perception."

  "Is that what happens at the edges? Rendering glitches?"

  Marlow studied him for a long moment. "Word of advice, kid. Keep your head down, but your eyes open. There's surviving your contract, and there's understanding the system you're in. Most contractors who try for both end up with neither."

  A chill ran through Kai that had nothing to do with environmental settings. "The way they reacted to him—like he'd committed some horrible crime, not just accessed the wrong terminal."

  "Information boundaries matter more than physical ones in here." Marlow checked over both shoulders before adding, "Don't go looking for edges until you know how to step back from them."

  Before Kai could respond, Marlow's comm interface pinged. The maintenance worker checked it and grimaced.

  "Duty calls. Rendering glitch in Sector 4. Stay safe, courier." He paused, then added, "And stick to authorized routes for a while."

  Kai watched him disappear into the maintenance access tunnel, mind racing with new questions. The detained contractor's words echoed: The boundaries aren't real.

  He glanced at his interface display: 4 YEARS, 51 WEEKS, 3 DAYS REMAINING.

  The path back to his housing block took him past gray, uniform structures Eliza had identified—a digital ghetto for those paying debts with years of their lives. As he walked, he couldn't shake the image of the man being dragged away, or how quickly everyone else pretended not to see.

  Whatever Server Nova's true architecture might be, one thing seemed clear: understanding it could be dangerous. But after today, ignorance felt equally threatening.

  He pulled his courier jacket tighter and quickened his pace.

  Four years, fifty-one weeks, and three days stretched before him like a digital eternity. The path through suddenly looked a lot more complicated than delivering packages.