The silence in the lobby was absolute.
In the year 2099, silence was a luxury bought with high-tier credits, but this wasn't the peaceful kind. This was the heavy, suffocating weight that happened right before a building collapsed.
I stood paralyzed. My fingers were buried deep in a mound of fine, black silt—all that remained of ten thousand credits' worth of polished obsidian. A stray, golden spark flickered within the dust, dancing for a second before winking out.
"Oh, god," I whispered, my voice cracking. "There goes my paycheck. There goes my next ten paychecks. I'm going to be paying for this desk until the next century."
In Minato City, a 0.01 rating didn't just mean you were poor; it meant you were invisible. No safety net. No second chances. If I lost even a week's pay, my air-filtration tax wouldn't be settled. Within forty-eight hours, the Aether-smog would start melting my lungs from the inside out.
Looking at the ruins of the hotel's most expensive fixture, I didn't just feel broke. I felt erased.
Around me, the lobby began to wake up, but the atmosphere had curdled. The "Aether-Snobs"—guests with ratings in the thirties and forties—were backing away in a slow, synchronized wave. They didn't point. They didn't shout. They just shifted, their murmurs growing into a low, buzzing static.
I could hear them whispering about "illegal modifications" and "system errors." Their faces were twisted with that instinctive, primal fear high-levels felt when the world stopped making sense.
To them, a Zero doing damage wasn't just a crime; it was a violation of the laws of physics.
A sudden, sharp chime rang out in the center of my brain. It was a clean, digital sound, identical to a low-battery notification on an old-gen comm-link.
[ INITIALIZATION COMPLETE ]
[ HARVEST DATA SYNCHRONIZED: 6.4 UNITS ]
"Okay, so I'm having a stroke," I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut. My heart was pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Great. A stroke and a bill for a desk. This is peak Tuesday."
"Diagnostic analysis: Negative," a voice replied.
I jumped, nearly knocking over the mound of silt. The voice didn't come from the lobby. It was feminine, crisp, and possessed a cool, measured tone that sounded like a high-end operating system.
"You are not experiencing a stroke, Arata. Though your elevated heart rate is making my initial data-entry difficult."
My eyes snapped open. I looked left, then right. No one was near me.
"Who... who are you?" I hissed under my breath, trying to look like I was just talking to the dust.
"I am Eos, the Harvest System," she replied. A small, golden icon flickered in my peripheral vision—a vertical line through a circle, like a stylized eye. "Or 'The Auditor,' if you require a title. Personally, I am currently more concerned with the man in the beige suit approaching you with the intent to fire you."
The dry, rhythmic click-clack of Italian leather heels on marble echoed through the lobby. My spine stiffened.
I knew that walk. It was the walk of a man who measured his life in spreadsheets and quarterly losses.
Manager Vance marched toward the wreckage, his sharp, beige suit looking like it had been ironed with a laser. He stopped five feet from the pile of black dust, his eyes darting from the silt to my soot-stained vest.
Above Vance's head, his 15.5 rating pulsed with a dull, bureaucratic blue.
"Arata," Vance said, his voice a low, dangerous rasp. "Where is the desk?"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Vance," I said.
I tried to keep my voice steady, but it came out with a strange, metallic resonance. I could feel the Solar heat I'd taken from Sato pushing against my skin, looking for an exit. I felt like a steam pipe about to burst.
"The desk has... reached its resonance saturation point," I lied.
Vance's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer. I could smell his expensive, synthetic cologne mixing with the sharp scent of ozone still clinging to my skin.
"Saturation point? It's volcanic glass, you idiot, not a sponge." He looked at the dust, then at my vest. "I leave the lobby for four minutes to handle a booking error, and I come back to find our most expensive fixture liquidated. Tell me why I shouldn't dock your entire uniform allowance for the next three years."
"Inform the manager of the Sato confrontation," Eos suggested, her tone clinical. "Logic dictates he will prioritize his hatred for Solar-Tier liability over your personal incompetence."
A sharp, searing pain shot up my arm. I needed to ground myself. Now.
I reached into my inner pocket, my fingers searching for the only thing that felt real. I pulled out my vintage erotic card—the woman draped in deep red silk.
As I gripped the paper, a yellow screen in my mind flickered with a soothing chime. The heavy, electric pressure in my chest settled, pulled down by the simple, physical reality of the card in my hand.
No ratings. No Aether. Just ink.
"Mr. Sato," I said, my voice finally flat and professional. "He had a disagreement with the room-purge timer. As a Solar-Tier Executive—one of those walking power plants the city loves so much—his resonance spiked during the argument. The desk was in the direct path of his discharge. I barely managed to move before the surface collapsed."
I paused, meeting Vance's eyes.
"I assume the hotel will be sending him an invoice?"
Vance looked at the dust, then back at the elevator where Sato had disappeared. He knew Sato. Everyone knew Sato—a man whose ego was only slightly larger than his gold-rimmed 64.2 rating.
"Sato," Vance muttered, his anger shifting toward a weary, corporate annoyance. "That man is a walking insurance claim. He thinks because his family owns the northern grid, he can treat my lobby like a training ground."
Vance looked at me again. His eyes lingered on the 0.01 hovering over my head.
"And you? You're still in one piece? Usually, when a desk liquefies, the person standing next to it ends up in the hospital."
"I was very lucky, sir," I said, bowing my head to hide the yellow sparks still dancing in my pupils. "I believe his frustration was directed at the hotel's policy, not at me personally."
"Luck. A Zero like you shouldn't have luck," Vance scoffed. "But fine. You're covered in soot and you're making the guests nervous. Get to the breakroom. Stay out of the guests' sight until the janitorial droids have cleared this mess. And don't think you're off the hook for that tie—that's coming out of your paycheck."
"Yes, sir," I said, bowing slightly.
I turned and walked toward the heavy service door. I could feel the wave of whispers following me like a trail of smoke. I felt their judgment, their confusion, but mostly, I just felt the frantic, pounding terror in my own ears.
As the heavy door clicked shut, the silence of the hallway hit me like a physical blow. I leaned my back against the cold concrete and let out a shuddering breath.
"Eos? Is that really your name?" I whispered, clutching my chest. "I don't understand. What do you mean 'Harvest System'? I'm a hotel supervisor. I don't harvest anything but dirty towels and complaints."
"You harvested ten percent of a Solar-Tier's essence, Arata," Eos replied, her voice echoing in the hollow space of the hallway. "And right now, that essence is looking for a way out. Your 0.01 vessel is about to burst."
A new window of data slid across my sight. Red. Pulsing.
[ WARNING: SOUL-VESSEL OVERFLOW ]
[ STABILITY: 12% AND DROPPING ]
[ DISCHARGE REQUIRED IN: 2 HOURS AND 58 MINUTES ]
"Two hours and fifty-eight minutes?" My eyes widened. "To do what? I don't know how to 'discharge' anything! I need a doctor. Or a technician!"
"A technician would only find a power source they don't have the tools to measure," Eos warned. "The Aether Police scanners are already searching for the 'glitch' that happened in the lobby. If you stay here, you will be caught."
I wiped sweat from my forehead. My mind was spiraling. I couldn't just run. If I vanished, I'd lose the job. If I lost the job, I'd lose my room in the District. I'd be on the streets without a bio-filter by Friday.
"I have to secure my spot here," I hissed. "I can't just leave."
"Then I suggest you create an excuse," Eos said. "Your biometric signature is fluctuating so wildly that you could easily pass for someone in the middle of a cardiac event. Use it."
I took a shaky breath. I had to play the part. I pushed the lobby door back open just a crack, catching Vance's eye as he was directing a janitorial droid toward the black soot.
"Mr. Vance?" I called out. My voice was weak, genuinely strained by the heat in my blood.
Vance looked up, his brow furrowing. "What now, Arata? I told you to go to the breakroom."
"I... I think I have a personal emergency, sir," I said, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "I'm feeling extremely lightheaded. I think the resonance from that discharge hit me harder than I realized. I need to head home for the day."
Vance sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "First the desk, then the tie, and now you're going to faint on me? Fine. Go. I'll get a night-shifter to cover the desk. Just don't expect to be paid for the missing hours."
"Thank you, sir," I mumbled.
I pulled back into the hallway and let the door close. Relief washed over me—the job was safe for now—but the ticking clock in my head was louder than ever.
[ DISCHARGE REQUIRED IN: 2 HOURS AND 56 MINUTES ]
I fumbled with my locker, pulling out my heavy black trench coat to hide the faint yellow glow beginning to seep through my shirt. I shoved my vintage cards deep into my vest pocket, my only anchor in a world that had suddenly gone insane.
"Okay, Eos," I whispered, pushing open the rear exit into the cold, oily rain of Minato City. "I'm out. Now tell me how I survive the next three hours without exploding."