The notification hovered in Kai's vision like a corporate debt collector who'd found his address.

  [SYSTEM REMINDER: Routine Physical Audit scheduled today at Integration Services. Report by 14:00. All contract uploads required to complete initial assessment. Failure to comply will result in contract penalties.]

  He flicked it away with a gesture that would've been obscene in the physical world. Three identical reminders in twelve hours. As if the digital guillotine hanging over his neck wasn't enough motivation.

  His housing unit compressed around him this morning, the institutional gray walls—rendered with fake scuff marks that never shifted position—pressing in like a closing fist. Even the simulated sunlight through his narrow window carried that distinctive quality of corporate afterthought, a minimum-viable-product approach to basic human comforts.

  He sat on the edge of his sleep pod, running calculations that all circled the same drain: he was screwed.

  His skates lay disassembled across the floor—boots separated from frames, power cores extracted and hidden in the wall rendering glitch he'd discovered last week. Cipher had walked him through the process yesterday, fingers moving with the steady speed of someone who’d stripped illegal tech under countdown clocks more times than he could count.

  "Scanner isn't looking specifically for unauthorized gear," Cipher had explained while separating delicate components. "It's checking for signature inconsistencies with your upload template."

  "Upload template?"

  "The corporate snapshot of what you're supposed to be." Cipher's mouth had twisted with grim amusement. "Right down to synthetic neurotransmitter levels and personality markers. Standard procedure for all debt contractors at the four-week mark—they establish your baseline to monitor for deviations."

  Perfect. Not only was he hiding illegal skates, black market data fragments, and an underground reputation—he was exhibiting personality markers that had accelerated far beyond the template for a standard upload. His digital nervous system had rewired itself around skating patterns that no debt contractor should possess.

  His credit balance: 212.

  Not terrible for two weeks of work, but most was already earmarked for his debt to Cipher. The audit wouldn't care about his finances anyway; debt contractors were expected to be broke.

  A message pinged in his interface, private channel. Proxy.

  [Good luck, runner boy. Remember what we practiced. Sync meditation before you go in. Slow your systems down.]

  He shot back a quick acknowledgment. Proxy had spent an hour walking him through techniques to temporarily lower his sync rate—metabolic slowdown exercises that would make him appear more like a standard three-week upload instead of whatever the hell he was becoming. Whether they'd work remained an open question with his neck on the chopping block.

  Time: 10:17. Hours before the audit, but his Nova Express shift started in twenty minutes.

  No rest for the digitally indentured.

  The mundane routine felt absurd given what he'd been doing at night. Delivering packages on foot during daylight, threading through restricted zones on skates after dark. Living between scanlines in Server Nova's code, finding the blind spots in corporate oversight.

  Outside, the transit hub cycled through morning protocols. Avatars bustled past—some clearly debt contractors in system-issued clothing with the same dead-eyed look he recognized from mirrors, others showing off elaborate customizations that screamed voluntary upload with credits to burn. The chasm between haves and have-nots ran just as deep in digital architecture as in the concrete world he'd left behind.

  Kai took a public transit platform to Nova Express, allowing himself the small luxury of the two-credit fare instead of walking. Even this simple ride felt different now. The flux lines hung in the air around him—faint luminous trails invisible to most users, pathways of least resistance through Server Nova's architecture that he could now see as clearly as subway maps.

  The dispatcher barely glanced up as he checked in. "Four packages. Financial District. Standard rates." She pushed the parcels across the counter with all the enthusiasm of corrupted code executing its daily loop.

  "Any specific routing requirements?" he asked, maintaining his cover as a dedicated but unremarkable courier.

  "Just don't be late." She finally looked up, her avatar's eyes narrowing slightly. "You've got that audit today, right? Integration Services sent the assessment notification."

  He kept his expression neutral while his pulse quickened. "Standard procedure for contract uploads. Nothing to worry about."

  "Mmm." Her noncommittal hum carried volumes of unspoken meaning. "Just deliver the packages first. IS can wait if there's a queue." She returned to her terminal, conversation terminated.

  The exchange left a sour taste as he headed out with his delivery bag. Every debt contractor went through this same routine audit—the system's way of establishing baseline parameters for future monitoring.

  For most, a forgettable bureaucratic exercise. For him, with his rapidly accelerating abilities and underground activities, a potential deletion sentence.

  He walked the first few blocks at a deliberately casual pace, fighting the urge to tap into the flux lines that would cut his travel time in half. No performance records worth setting today. No reason to give the system additional data points on his unusually efficient routes.

  The Financial District gleamed in the late morning light, its architectural impossibilities rendered in perfect detail. Buildings twisted into geometries that would shatter physics in the physical world, their surfaces reflecting data streams that flowed through the upper atmosphere like digital auroras.

  He made his deliveries without incident, taking exactly as long as the system expected for each one. No shortcuts. No performance bonuses. Just another debt contractor doing exactly what his template dictated.

  By 13:15, he stood outside Integration Services—a monolithic structure of perfect white surfaces and aggressive minimalism. The building seemed designed to intimidate, its entrance a stark mouth ready to swallow and digest the digital consciousness of anyone who entered.

  Other users moved in and out—primarily debt contractors reporting for various administrative procedures. Several appeared to be fellow four-week uploads, their expressions ranging from bored to anxious as they filed in for the same routine assessment he faced.

  He performed the sync meditation Proxy had taught him, focusing on slowing his digital processes. The effect hit immediately—colors dimmed slightly, sounds muted, reaction times lagged by microseconds.

  The world seemed to move a fraction faster while he moved a fraction slower. Like skating with electromagnetic brakes partially engaged.

  Despite Proxy's assurances, he couldn't tell if the technique would effectively mask his true capabilities. The meditation might slow his processes temporarily, but his neural pathways had already adapted too far to be completely disguised.

  "Just get it over with," he muttered, and walked through the entrance.

  Integration Services' interior matched its exterior—clinical efficiency taken to an extreme that bordered on hostility. White surfaces, featureless except for directional indicators and status displays. The ceiling soared to an unnecessary height, the architectural equivalent of looking down its nose at you.

  Kai approached a reception terminal where a standard corporate interface avatar monitored a complex array of floating displays. The avatar—female in appearance but with that distinct lack of individuality common to all basic system interfaces—barely registered his presence.

  "Kai Reeves," he stated. "Reporting for scheduled initial integration assessment."

  The interface avatar didn't look up from her screens. "Upload ID?"

  He extended his wrist, where his ID briefly illuminated beneath the skin when scanned. The receptionist's uniformly rendered eyes flicked to a data stream only she could see.

  "MidCorp Financial contract upload. Standard initial assessment." Her voice carried the practiced indifference of an automated system with minimal personality parameters. "Proceed to Assessment Chamber 17, Level 3."

  A navigation marker appeared in his vision—a glowing path leading toward a bank of elevators. As he walked, he noticed other debt contractors following similar paths, each assigned to different assessment chambers.

  The system processed them with assembly-line efficiency.

  The elevator ascended silently, its transparent walls offering a view of Server Nova's administrative sector—a sterile landscape of corporate structures and data processing facilities.

  From this height, the border between polished corporate zones and the decaying fringes of places like Lower Neon carved a stark line across the server. Digital manifestation of socioeconomic stratification, rendered in perfect detail down to the color values of the ambient lighting.

  As the elevator passed the second floor, it stuttered. The world around him flickered—sleek surfaces of administrative buildings briefly dissolving into wireframe structures.

  For a split second, he saw numerical coordinates floating at structural intersection points, and what looked like computational processing metrics hovering above different sectors of the city.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  [Administrative District: Resource Allocation 87%]

  [Financial Sector: Resource Allocation 76%]

  [Commercial Hub: Resource Allocation 62%]

  [Upper Residential Tier: Resource Allocation 58%]

  [Entertainment District: Resource Allocation 44%]

  [Industrial Sector: Resource Allocation 43%]

  [Transit Nexus: Resource Allocation 41%]

  [Mid Residential Tier: Resource Allocation 32%]

  [Lower Neon: Resource Allocation 23%]

  [Bitrot District: Resource Allocation 11%]

  [Boundary Zones: Monitoring Active - Unstable]

  [User Cognition Templates: Standard Rendering]

  Reality snapped back into place just as quickly, textures and colors flooding back as if nothing had happened.

  Kai blinked, glancing at the other occupants. They stared ahead, faces blank with resignation or anxiety about their own assessments. None had noticed the flicker in the system's rendering.

  Assessment Chamber 17 turned out to be a small, windowless room containing a single chair surrounded by scanning arrays. The chair itself resembled something between a medical examination table and an interrogation seat, complete with armrests that clearly doubled as restraints when needed.

  "Please be seated, Mr. Reeves." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, the room itself speaking in the same pleasant but firm tone used by all corporate interfaces. "Your standard initial assessment will commence momentarily."

  He sat, fighting the instinct to bolt. The scanning arrays oriented toward him with subtle mechanical movements, their lenses focusing with soft whirring sounds.

  "This procedure establishes baseline parameters for your ongoing integration monitoring," the room explained. "This is non-invasive and typically causes no discomfort. Remain still until the procedure is complete."

  A holographic interface appeared before him, displaying his official contract information, upload date, and integration metrics. The data was surprisingly sparse—MidCorp Financial apparently maintained only the minimum required records for their debt contractors.

  The first scanner activated, bathing him in soft blue light. He felt it mapping his avatar's external parameters, comparing them to his original upload specifications. So far, so good—he hadn't modified his appearance beyond the subtle circuit patterns that had developed naturally on his face and neck.

  "Initial scan shows minimal avatar customization," the system noted. "Within acceptable parameters for your contract level."

  He maintained his calm exterior, but braced himself internally. The external scan was the easy part. What came next would dig much deeper.

  A second scanner hummed to life, its beam narrower and more focused. This one penetrated beyond surface appearance, analyzing his internal code structure, neural pathways, and system integration metrics.

  "Neural pathway assessment in progress," the system announced. "Please refrain from active computation."

  He deliberately emptied his mind, focusing on nothing but his slow, measured breathing—an unnecessary but soothing simulation maintained by the system. The less active his thought processes, the less chance of revealing the significant neural adaptations he'd developed through skating.

  A notification flickered at the edge of his awareness:

  [ANOMALY DETECTED: Neural response latency below expected parameters]

  His pulse quickened, but he maintained his meditative state. The system paused, then continued scanning, moving deeper into his code architecture.

  [SECONDARY ANOMALY: Sync rate 26% - Expected parameter: 9-15%]

  [CONSCIOUSNESS COHERENCE RATING: 97.3%]

  [SUBJECT CLASSIFICATION: ALPHA-N-7729]

  The last notification vanished so quickly he wasn't sure he'd seen it correctly.

  Alpha-N-7729? That classification didn't match his standard user ID or any category Cipher had mentioned.

  The scanning beam intensified, focusing on his neural interface structures. He felt it probing the pathways that connected his consciousness to his avatar's movement systems—the same pathways that had adapted to high-speed skating over the past two weeks.

  The room's voice changed subtly, a fraction cooler. "System detecting accelerated neural adaptation for upload duration. Initiating secondary verification protocol."

  A third scanner descended from the ceiling, this one glowing with ominous red light.

  He recognized the hardware from Cipher's descriptions—a deep-pattern recognition system designed to identify unauthorized code modifications and integration anomalies.

  "Mr. Reeves," the room said, "your neural parameters show significant deviation from expected integration timelines. Please explain the accelerated adaptation."

  Kai had prepared for this question, rehearsing the answer with Proxy. "I was a physical courier before upload," he replied, voice steady despite his racing thoughts. "Bicycle messenger in the metro grid. My spatial mapping and route optimization were already highly developed."

  The scanning beam pulsed, analyzing his response for stress indicators. "Pre-upload physical aptitude does not typically translate to accelerated digital integration at this magnitude."

  "I push myself," he said, sticking to partial truths. "Nova Express deliveries use similar skill sets. I've been running grid routes since my first day."

  The system processed this information, scanners continuing their invasive assessment. He felt them mapping his memory structures now, though thankfully they couldn't access specific memories—only their organizational patterns.

  Another anomaly notification flickered:

  [TERTIARY ANOMALY: Memory structure optimization inconsistent with integration timeline]

  The room fell silent for several long seconds—an eternity in digital processing time. Then a door opened, and he tensed.

  A woman entered—forties, sharp features, severe dark bob, crisp white lab coat. Behind rectangular glasses, her piercing blue eyes locked onto him with the cold focus of someone used to dissecting problems—and people—with equal detachment. Corporate insignias adorned her lapel, marking her as senior within Integration Services.

  "Mr. Reeves," she said, her voice carrying natural human inflections entirely unlike the room's automated tones. "I'm Administrator Chen, Integration Compliance Division. What began as your routine assessment has flagged several inconsistencies that require human evaluation."

  Kai nodded, maintaining his calm exterior while internally mapping escape routes. The door remained open behind her—the closest exit. But running would confirm guilt and trigger immediate contract penalties.

  "Your neural adaptation rate is among the highest I've seen for a debt contractor," she continued, studying a data interface only she could see. "Particularly interesting given MidCorp's basic integration package. They typically use the minimum-cost upload process for debt transfers."

  She approached, circling his chair with methodical steps. "Tell me about your work with Nova Express."

  "Standard courier duties," he replied, keeping his voice neutral. "Package delivery throughout Central and Financial sectors. Nothing specialized."

  "Yet your route optimization shows remarkable efficiency for your experience level." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Your performance metrics are in the top percentile among all Nova Express contractors, not just recent uploads."

  He met her gaze, seeing an opportunity to redirect. "I take pride in my work. My family's debt won't pay itself."

  Administrator Chen studied him for a long moment. "Admirable. But unusual. Most debt contractors do the minimum required to maintain their contract status." She gestured, and a new interface appeared showing his performance statistics from Nova Express. "Your acceleration curve is... noteworthy."

  The moment stretched between them, taut with unspoken questions. His carefully constructed cover story frayed at the edges.

  Then something unexpected happened. The interface before Administrator Chen pulsed with a notification, and her expression shifted to one of mild surprise.

  "It seems you have a corporate interest flag," she said, her tone changing slightly. "Unusual for a recent upload."

  He kept his expression neutral, though internally his mind raced. Corporate interest flag? Nothing in Cipher or Proxy's preparation had mentioned this possibility.

  Administrator Chen studied the notification with professional curiosity. "Performance monitoring request from... interesting. Executive level." She closed the interface with a gesture. "Well, Mr. Reeves, it seems your efficiency has caught someone's attention."

  She turned to the scanning arrays, making adjustments to their parameters. "I'm going to complete your assessment with a standard integration protocol rather than the deep scan that was automatically triggered. Your neural adaptation is accelerated but appears to be following natural development pathways. No evidence of unauthorized modification."

  Relief flooded his system, though he kept it from his face. Whatever this corporate interest flag was, it had just saved him from the detailed scrutiny that would have certainly detected his unauthorized activities.

  The remaining scans proceeded quickly, the invasive red beam replaced by the standard blue light of routine assessment. Administrator Chen monitored the process with occasional glances at him, her expression unreadable.

  "There," she said finally as the scanners retracted into the ceiling. "Assessment complete. Your integration is proceeding at an accelerated but acceptable rate. No contract violations detected."

  She made a final notation in her interface before dismissing it. "You're free to go, Mr. Reeves. Though I would advise moderating your performance curve slightly. Exceptional metrics often attract... attention."

  There was something in the way she said "attention" that sent static through his neural pathways. A warning wrapped in bureaucratic neutrality.

  "I understand," he said, rising from the chair. "Thank you, Administrator."

  She nodded, already moving toward the door. "Your next scheduled audit will be at the six-month mark. Maintain compliance with your contract parameters until then."

  He exited Assessment Chamber 17 with a mixture of relief and unease coiling through his code. He had passed the audit—barely—but at what cost? This "corporate interest flag" was an unknown variable, a system glitch in his carefully calculated risk assessment.

  As he rode the elevator back to the lobby, the tension he'd been holding finally began to ebb, replaced by cascading questions.

  Who had flagged him for monitoring? MidCorp Financial wouldn't bother—debt contractors were commodities to them, not individuals worth tracking. Nova Express seemed unlikely as well; their corporate structure was too rigid to take special interest in a single high-performing courier.

  Which left... what? The Slipstreams' corporate backers? Some unknown entity that had noticed his circuit race performance?

  The Integration Services lobby seemed less intimidating on his way out, the white sterility merely annoying rather than threatening. He moved quickly toward the exit, eager to put distance between himself and the scanning arrays that had nearly uncovered his secret life.

  The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and he stepped out into the bustle of Server Nova's midday traffic. Only then, enveloped by the anonymity of the crowd, did he finally exhale a long breath of relief.

  For now, at least, he remained one of them—officially compliant, his deviations undetected. But the corporate interest flag changed things. Someone was watching him now, someone with enough authority to influence even Integration Services' protocols.

  He had passed the audit, but the real test was just beginning.

  A notification appeared in his vision as he headed toward the transit hub:

  [PHYSICAL AUDIT: COMPLETED]

  [Integration Status: Satisfactory]

  [Next Assessment: 6 Months]

  [Notes: Accelerated adaptation within acceptable parameters]

  Beneath it, barely visible and flickering at the edge of perception, a secondary notification appeared and vanished before he could fully process it:

  [MONITORING PROTOCOL: INITIATED]

  [Authorization Level: Executive]

  [Subject: KAI REEVES]

  [Status: ACTIVE]

  He pretended not to see it, maintaining his casual pace as he joined the flow of users heading home after their bureaucratic encounters. But his mind was already racing, analyzing this new threat from every angle.

  Someone was watching. Someone with power.

  But for now, all he could do was keep skating, keep balancing his double life.

  And hope his reflexes were fast enough to stay one step ahead of whoever was tracking him in the shadows.