Chapter 40: Distant Departure
I balanced on the narrow maintenance ledge of the speeding mag-lev train, heart pounding as wind whipped at my face. The tunnel wall was a blur rushing toward me; we were moments from being scraped off like bugs on a windshield if I didn't act. How did it come to this? Let's rewind a bit.
Two days earlier, Lexi and I boarded this city-spanning mag-lev en route to the far side of Mega-City Theta. It was our one-way ticket out of the undercity slums into a promised safe haven in an upper district. Dr. Aurora Zhang herself had pressed the travel passes into my hand back at Aurora's clinic, insisting on the relocation for our safety. I could still picture her warm smile and tearful eyes as she hugged Lexi goodbye. Finn clapped me on the back and Reina offered a rare grin—they'd stay behind to continue our work in the undercity, but we promised to keep in touch. We left with few possessions beyond a duffel of clothes Aurora had given us and the weight of both hope and uncertainty.
On the train's first day, Lexi and I mostly kept to our private cabin, recovering from the whirlwind events. She slept in my lap for hours, her body still weak from malnourishment and stress. I watched the cityscape flash by through the window: the dingy, crowded lower levels gradually giving way to cleaner mid-tier zones, neon-lit commercial blocks and residential spires piercing up toward sunlight. As we climbed the track elevations, I caught glimpses of something I'd never seen in person before—blue sky. Actual daylight bathed the upper architecture in gold. Lexi stirred awake and pressed her nose to the glass, marveling at towering corporate arcologies and hanging gardens visible in the distance. The higher we went, the more the smog thinned, revealing an endless metropolis glittering beneath us. Mega-City Theta was truly vast beyond anything we'd known in our little corner down below.
We spent the second night of the journey in a quiet awe. Lexi devoured a proper meal from the dining car—a steaming bowl of synth-noodle soup and real fruit juice that put a blissful smile on her face. I don't think I'd ever seen her eat so heartily. Seeing color already returning to her cheeks made every risk we took worth it. We curled up in our sleeper bunks as the train hummed through midnight. For once, the background noise was just the soft thrum of mag-lev rails, not distant gunshots or yelling. I could scarcely sleep; the relief of safety mingled with the anxiety of unknowns ahead kept my mind spinning. At some point I slipped out to stand between cars, craving a breath of fresh air. The air even smelled cleaner here, lacking the metallic tang of pollution I'd grown used to.
It was in that quiet moment between cars that the System's voice jarred me from my thoughts. "Getting sentimental, Jet?" it drawled in my head. "Focus on your objectives: ensure Lexi's secure and figure out our next steps for this 'Build a Brighter Future' quest." Even when everything was finally calm, the System refused to let me relax completely. I just sighed and leaned against the rail, watching darkness outside streak by. "Can't a guy enjoy a peaceful night for once?" I muttered under my breath. For once, the System had no retort, and I allowed myself a rare moment of contentment, staring out at the faint stars peeking through the smog as the city zipped past.
That peace didn't last until morning. Early on day three, a shrill alarm blared through the train cars. I jerked awake, instantly alert. Lexi bolted upright in her bunk across from me, eyes wide with fright. "What's happening?!" she yelped. I was already pulling on my boots. "Stay here," I said firmly, tucking her blanket around her. "I'll check it out." She protested, worry creasing her brow, but I gave her a reassuring nod and slipped out into the corridor.
Passengers were murmuring in confusion. Over the intercom, a conductor's voice crackled: "Please remain calm. A minor mechanical issue has been detected in one of the forward cars. Our crew is addressing it." Minor or not, my instincts told me to see if I could help. I hurried forward through a swaying dining car, then another passenger car. At the connection to the cargo car near the train's front, I found a crewman wrestling to open an access hatch in the ceiling. "Pressure seal's jammed," he cursed under his breath.
"What's wrong?" I asked over the clatter of the rails. The train had not slowed—if anything, we were gaining speed. "Stabilizer panel on the roof malfunctioned," the crewman grunted, giving up on the hatch. "We need to manually reset it or the next tunnel's gonna jar this train something fierce." The next tunnel—that explained the alarm. If the stabilizers were out, at high speed the lateral pressure in a tunnel could rock the train off alignment. Worst case, we could derail at hundreds of kilometers an hour inside a concrete tube. And Lexi was back there...
"I can do it," I blurted. The crewman looked at me like I was crazy. "You? You're not staff!" I was already climbing the ladder to the emergency exit. "Just get everyone strapped in and slow the train if you can!" I shot back. Without waiting for approval, I forced the hatch lever and hauled myself up onto the roof of the speeding train.
Which brings me back to this precarious situation: crouched on a handspan of ledge, wind tearing at me, and a concrete tunnel fast approaching ahead. I spotted the malfunctioning stabilizer panel a few cars ahead—a piece of composite plating that had popped loose, now rattling dangerously. It needed to be secured, fast.
I dropped to all fours and crawled, trying to keep low to reduce wind drag. The System piped up in my mind, anxiety tinging its usual sarcasm: "This is absolutely not what I meant by maximizing efficiency!" No kidding. I gritted my teeth and edged forward. Quest Update:[SYSTEM ALERT – Emergency Aid: Secure the loose stabilizer before tunnel entry. Reward: +20 XP, ???]. The overlay flashed in my vision, confirming what I already knew—I had to do this quickly or a lot of people could get hurt.
I inched toward the loose panel. The mag-lev tracks began angling toward the tunnel entrance, mere seconds away. If I didn't get this done now... I refused to think about it. Channeling every ounce of agility I'd honed in the slums, I lunged and grabbed the edge of the panel just as a gust tried to rip it free. My fingers burned, but I held tight. With my free hand I fumbled for the locking lever. The wind howled in my ears.
"Brace yourself!" the System barked. I felt it before I heard it—a deep thud as the train hit the tunnel mouth. The whole roof lurched, slamming me sideways. My shoulder clipped the wall—sparks flew where my jacket scraped concrete—but I did not let go of the panel. Pain jarred up my arm. I roared through clenched teeth and yanked the lever. It screeched, then slam! The stabilizer panel snapped back into place with a metallic clunk.
I hugged the roof as the mag-lev screamed into the tunnel, praying the fix would hold. The violent vibrations evened out after a heart-stopping moment. The train stabilized. We were safely through.
I allowed myself a shaky breath and a laugh of pure relief. Ding![SYSTEM ALERT – Quest Complete: Stabilizer Secured. +20 XP, Minor Reputation Gain]. The System gave a theatrical sigh. "Congratulations, Optimist Prime, you've officially added 'train repairman' to your CV." I smiled despite the ache in my shoulder. The sarcasm in its tone couldn't hide the genuine relief underneath.
Climbing back inside was an adventure of its own, but before long I was descending the ladder into the cargo car, where the astonished crewman helped me down. "You're out of your mind," he said, shaking my hand vigorously. "But... thank you. You might've just saved us from a derailment." I felt my face flush. "Just glad I could help," I mumbled. Passengers peering in from the next car started clapping when they realized the crisis was over and I'd been the one out there. Embarrassed by the attention, I quickly excused myself and hurried back toward our cabin.
Lexi practically tackled me as soon as I opened the door. She'd ignored my "stay put" order and was hovering by the doorway. "Jet! Are you okay? What happened?" Her small hands patted my arms, checking for injuries. I winced as she hit the tender shoulder. "I'm fine," I assured her, giving a one-armed squeeze. "Had to fix a loose panel. No big deal now."
"No big— you were on the roof of a speeding train!" she nearly shrieked, eyes brimming with tears. I guided her to sit down, calming her like I'd done countless times when she was scared. "Hey, hey. We're safe. See? I'm right here." I tipped up her chin until she met my eyes. "I'm sorry I scared you." She sniffled but nodded, leaning into my chest. After a moment, she murmured, "You promised we were going somewhere safe... You can't keep risking yourself like that." Her voice was small, pleading.
My throat tightened. She was right—we'd left the danger of the slums behind, and here I was still finding trouble to throw myself into. I stroked her hair gently. "I'll be more careful," I whispered. The promise hung between us as the train emerged from the tunnel into brilliant morning light.
By midday, the mag-lev's AI announced our final approach to Arcadia Station in the upper district. Lexi, recovered from the scare, pressed eagerly to the window again. I joined her, one arm around her shoulders, and together we gaped at the spectacle outside. We were so high up now that the rest of the city sprawled like a miniature model below, a patchwork of skyscrapers and greenery. Massive skybridges arched between luxury high-rises, and streamlined aircars zipped about in orderly lanes. It looked like a completely different world from the alleyways we used to call home.
As the train decelerated smoothly, I felt a swell of cautious optimism. We had made it out. Lexi was safe. And I was alive—sore, tired, but alive—and about to step foot into the kind of place I'd only ever dreamed about. A month ago, I couldn't imagine ever leaving the undercity. Now, anything felt possible.
I gave Lexi a grin. "Ready to see our new home?" She nodded vigorously, slipping her small hand into mine. For the first time, her eyes shone with hope rather than hunger or fear. I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Time to build that brighter future, one step at a time.
Chapter 41: A New District
Stepping off the mag-lev at Arcadia Station felt like landing on a different planet. I held Lexi's hand as we joined the flow of disembarking passengers. The station was pristine and bustling, its vaulted ceiling lined with soft lighting that mimicked a midday sky. Holographic signs directed commuters to various skybridges and elevators. A gentle, climate-controlled breeze carried the scent of floral air fresheners instead of sewage or smoke. Lexi pressed close to me, eyes darting around at the crowds of well-dressed travelers and service drones zipping about. I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
We made our way toward the exit, passing through a discrete security scan. I tensed, but our new ident-cards (generously arranged by Aurora, no doubt) passed without issue. A guard in a crisp uniform even tipped his cap to Lexi with a smile. We emerged from the station onto a broad, open-air concourse that took my breath away.
Towering high-rises of glass and steel encircled us, their facades gleaming under natural sunlight. Yes, actual sunlight—I craned my neck and spotted the pale disk of the sun above, filtered by some atmospheric field that kept the air here clear and gently warm. After a lifetime in perpetual haze, seeing the true sky unobstructed made my chest tighten with emotion. Lexi felt it too; she let out a soft gasp and released my hand, spinning slowly to take in the full panorama.
Dozens of levels of walkways and terraces spread out around us, adorned with art installations and even clusters of trees in large planter boxes. On one balcony, I saw a small garden with people enjoying coffee among lush greenery. The upper district was not just buildings and tech—it had space for beauty and leisure. It was overwhelming, in the best way.
"Welcome to the 1%," the System quipped in my mind, but for once its cynicism was muted by genuine awe. I could sense it processing the environment, cataloguing everything from the high-end storefronts along the concourse to the brands of autonomous vehicles humming by on elevated roads. "Smells like money... and overpriced soy lattes."
I coughed to cover a laugh. Lexi looked up at me, grinning for the first time in a while. "This is crazy, Jet. Pinch me?" I ruffled her hair instead. "It's real, Lex. We made it." My voice was hushed with wonder. We stood a moment just soaking it in: no one giving us hostile stares, no trash piled in alleys—just clean, orderly life. Lexi looked at a passing family with a little boy holding a plush robot toy, and I saw her smile softly. That boy didn't look hungry or scared. That's how all kids should be, I thought, heart clenching a bit.
We couldn't linger gawking forever. The System highlighted a route in my vision, directing us to our new address—a residential tower a few blocks from the station. It had already done its homework. During the journey, with my approval, the System had scoured real estate listings for a safe, spacious apartment to rent. Using an anonymized account (and a hefty chunk of credits up front), it secured a place under a simple alias, one not easily traced to Jonah Walker of undercity fame.
As we walked, Arcadia's streets revealed themselves in layers. An upper-level pedestrian skyway led us across a boulevard far below. Automated taxis whooshed past underneath, and I glimpsed well-kept parks at the bases of towers. Everywhere I looked, people moved with purpose but not desperation. No one was begging on these corners, and uniformed corporate security drones floated overhead like calm sentinels.
In minutes, we stood before our destination. The "Halcyon Heights" tower soared above, at least 120 stories of curved glass with balconies on many floors. In the afternoon sun it looked almost golden. At ground level, a private lobby opened to us. I half-expected sneers or blockers given our worn clothes and battered luggage, but the receptionist AI simply scanned our ident-cards and chirped a polite welcome. A human concierge—a man in an immaculate white blazer—offered a luggage cart for our duffel bag. I waved it off politely, uncomfortable with being waited on.
Lexi clung to my arm as we stepped into an elevator lined with mirrors and soft music. "Which floor?" she whispered. I glanced at the panel. "Eighty-Fifth," I replied. Her eyes widened. We exchanged a look of disbelief—neither of us had ever been higher than maybe the tenth floor of any building, and that was when sneaking around industrial lifts. Now we were about to live nearly a hundred stories up.
The elevator whooshed upwards so smoothly that our stomachs barely dropped. A minute later, it opened directly into a quiet, carpeted hallway. We followed the signs to our unit number. My palms felt sweaty as I keyed in the entry code the System provided. The door slid open with a soft click.
We stepped in and both just... froze. The apartment was huge. And beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side overlooked the cityscape, flooding the open living area with light. A sleek kitchen with polished countertops and more appliances than I'd ever seen stood to the left. To the right, the living space was furnished with a plush sectional couch and a media wall. A holographic fish tank—digital fish lazily swimming in simulated water—separated the living area from a small study nook.
Lexi released a breathless laugh and wandered forward. "This place is bigger than the whole floor of our old building," she exclaimed. It was true; just the living room and kitchen alone might equal the multi-family tenement floor we'd once squatted in. I set our bag down carefully, as if afraid to scuff the polished wood flooring.
We found two bedrooms—real bedrooms with doors and beds already made with clean linens. Lexi stood in the doorway of the smaller one, eyes shining. "I get my own room," she said in a daze, tracing a finger along the soft blanket on the bed. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her. "All yours, Lex," I smiled. "You can decorate it however you want." She turned to me and suddenly launched forward, wrapping me in a tight hug. "Thank you," she mumbled into my chest. "You did this for us."
I swallowed hard against a swell of emotion. "We did this," I corrected gently. "We survived together. This is our reward." She nodded but kept hugging me. I realized this was the first time in years we had four solid walls and a roof that wasn't leaking or about to collapse. No threats lurking outside our door. Just... safety.
After we unpacked our few belongings (which barely filled a single dresser drawer), I insisted Lexi take a warm shower in the gleaming bathroom. She emerged in fresh clothes, looking more content than I'd seen her in ages. I reheated some soup packets for dinner—there was a fully stocked food synthesizer in the kitchen, but I figured we'd learn to use that later. We sat on the couch, bowls in hand, gazing out the window at the setting sun painting the sky in oranges and purples.
"It's so quiet," Lexi whispered. We could actually hear ourselves think—no neighbors arguing through paper-thin walls, no distant sirens or constant hum of a crumbling city. Just the faint drone of an air filtration system and our own breathing. "Does it bother you?" I asked softly. She shook her head. "No. It's just... new."
I understood exactly what she meant. The silence was almost loud in how different it was. I realized I had been tense, waiting for some chaos to interrupt this peace. But nothing came. Lexi finished her soup and leaned against me, watching the city lights blink on one by one in the dusk.
Far below, I could see lines of traffic and the glow of holo-billboards. Yet here above, everything felt removed, calm. It struck me that while we gazed out of this luxury high-rise, countless people still struggled in the shadows at the base of these towers. The undercity wasn't truly visible from here—just a dark tangle far beneath the bright upper layers. The contrast was painful and humbling. We had escaped that life, at least for now. But I hadn't forgotten those still down there.
As if reading my thoughts, the System spoke up gently, "Quite the view, isn't it?" I hummed in agreement internally. "No acid rain leaking through this ceiling, and I detect seven separate safety protocols in this building. Top-notch security. Lexi will sleep like a rock here." For once, the System didn't add a snide remark about cost or ROI. Maybe even it was processing a sense of relief that our environment was finally optimal.
"Jet?" Lexi murmured. She had half-dozed off against me. "Mm?" I looked down to see her fighting sleep. "Are we... really safe now?" Her voice was tentative, as if she feared jinxing it.
I put my arm around her and pulled her close. "Yeah, Lex. We're safe," I said quietly. "Safer than we've ever been."
She sighed, a tiny smile on her lips as her eyes drifted closed. In minutes, she was asleep against me, breathing softly. I sat there a long while, watching the city and holding my little sister, letting the reality sink in. We had traded the constant danger of our old life for this serenity.
Of course, I knew challenges would come even here—new routines, responsibilities, and eventually the call to help others again. But for tonight, I allowed myself to simply savor the fact that Lexi would not go to bed hungry or scared. Not on my watch.
As the last light of day faded, the room lights automatically adjusted to a gentle glow. Eventually I carried Lexi to her bed, tucking her in. She stirred just enough to mumble, "Night, Jet..." I brushed her damp hair from her forehead. "Good night, Lexi." She was asleep again instantly, her face peaceful.
I stepped out to the living room, the city now a sea of lights below. The System pinged softly, drawing my attention to a semi-transparent prompt floating in my vision:
[SYSTEM NOTICE – Quest Progress: "Build a Brighter Future" – Safe Home Secured ✓]
I smiled. One objective down. The System cleared its throat in my mind, back to a brisk tone. "Not to dampen the mood, but there's the matter of resource allocation to discuss." Ah, there was the accountant I knew. I chuckled under my breath. "Tomorrow," I whispered. "Tonight, just let me have this." A pause, then the System relented with a quiet, "Very well."
I stood by the window for a while longer, hands in my pockets, just appreciating the stillness. Out there, high above the chaos, I finally felt like we could breathe. Yes, tomorrow there would be much to do—plans to make, money to manage, a new life to build. But as the first stars twinkled above the skyscrapers, I closed my eyes and gave silent thanks. We had survived the worst and stepped into a new dawn. Now, it was time to truly live.
Chapter 42: Plans and Promises
Morning light spilled into the apartment through sheer curtains. I woke to the soft glow of an artificial sunrise setting our windows aglow. For a disorienting moment, I didn't remember where I was. Then I saw Lexi still snoozing in her own bed across the hall, and the shining spires out the window beyond her. We were really here, in the upper district.
I stretched out on the comfortable couch (I'd fallen asleep there after carrying Lexi to bed) and checked the time—6:30 AM. Early, but I'd had enough rest. The automated coffee maker sensed me stirring and began brewing a fresh cup without me even touching a button. The rich aroma that filled the air was unlike the acrid instant stuff I used to brew over a trash-can fire.
"Savor it, but let's get down to business," the System piped up, back to its brisk self this morning. "Resource allocation, remember?" It even overlaid a translucent checklist in my vision, as if I might have forgotten our financial situation.
I chuckled softly, sipping the coffee. Leave it to the System to not let me luxuriate too long. "Alright, alright. Let's talk resources."
I leaned against the kitchen counter, mentally pulling up what our current assets were. Thanks to the daring raid on Novatek's coffers, we possessed a small fortune by our standards. Some of those funds had already gone into securing this apartment—six months paid upfront to avoid credit checks or awkward questions. Even after that, we still had hundreds of thousands of credits sitting in an encrypted account the System had set up.
"Precisely," the System confirmed, bringing up a tidy display visible only to me:
Account Balance: 500,000 credits (unallocated)
I whistled quietly. Seeing that number still felt unreal. Back in the undercity, 500 credits was a windfall; 500,000 was unimaginable. But with that money came decisions. Important ones.
"I haven't forgotten what I promised, you know," I said under my breath, mindful not to wake Lexi. The coffee warmed my hands as I stared out at the city morning. "Half of that isn't really ours."
The System made a noise like a groan. "Jet..." it started warningly.
I pressed on. "We pledged to help Aurora expand the clinic network. And to support Finn, Reina—everyone who helped stop the purge. I'm not keeping all this." My tone was firm, but inside I braced for an argument.
The System did not disappoint. "Yes, you did, in the heat of the moment," it replied dryly. "But consider: Dr. Zhang now has Novatek publicly shamed and plenty of donations rolling her way. Finn and Reina, competent as they are, can fend for themselves. Meanwhile, you have a sister and your own future to think about." It paused, then tried another approach. "If you invest that entire sum wisely now, you could double it. Imagine how much more help you could provide later with a million credits instead of frittering away half now."
I took a slow breath. It made logical sense in a dispassionate way—of course the AI would see it as an issue of maximizing future returns. But I'd learned that sometimes doing the right thing meant now, not later. "We wouldn't have that money at all without them," I replied quietly. "And those funds came from a corporation that tried to massacre thousands. They were never meant for us to get rich off of."
The System was silent for a moment. It knew I had it there. "So what exactly are you proposing?" it asked, though it already knew.
I squared my shoulders. "We send half back to the undercity. Now. That leaves plenty for us to invest and live on. But half goes to Aurora's clinics, to our friends, to the people who need it."
I felt the tension in my gut—half of 500k was 250,000 credits. That single act would have been unthinkable for a kid who used to scrape by on a few credits a day. The scarcity mindset of my past screamed at me to hold on to every resource. But I'd made a promise to myself, and to them.
The System made a static noise like a sigh. "Bleeding Heart strikes again," it muttered. But there was no true malice in it. If anything, I sensed a grudging respect beneath the exasperation. "Fine. Let's at least do it efficiently."
A flurry of windows popped up in my view as the System linked into the public net. "I've established a secure transfer route," it noted. "Anonymous shell company, disguised as a charitable contribution from an Aurora-friendly donor. That should avoid linking it directly to you."
"Good thinking," I murmured. The last thing we wanted was Novatek sniffing out where their missing credits went. I sat at the dining table and mentally reviewed the transfer details the System laid out. It had broken down the 250,000 into several chunks: a large portion to Aurora Enterprises' medical outreach fund (that would cover clinic expansion and new supplies in the undercity), a portion earmarked quietly for Finn and Reina (perhaps funneled as hazard pay from Aurora's foundation for their part in the mission), and even a slice directed to a community food program in our old neighborhood.
My throat tightened seeing that. The System had included it without my asking. "Thank you," I whispered aloud.
It just harrumphed. "Don't mention it. Seriously."
We initiated the transfers. Within seconds, the deed was done—digital credits flowing out to do some real good. I sat back, exhaling slowly as a weight lifted from me. It felt right. Immediately, a familiar chime rang in my head:
[SYSTEM ALERT – Quest Complete: Honor the Promise. You chose altruism over avarice (250,000 credits donated). +50 XP]
I blinked in surprise at the substantial XP reward. The System cleared its throat, sounding a bit begrudging: "Apparently the core directives still have a soft spot for grand gestures. Fifty XP for you, do-gooder." I let a grin sneak onto my face. "Worth it," I murmured. The XP was nice—half a level's worth by our scale—but more than that, I imagined Aurora's face when she saw the funds appear, the people that money would eventually help. That image was worth any foregone profit.
Now the System shifted to a noticeably more cheerful tone. "On to the fun part: putting the remaining 250,000 to work!" In my mind's eye, a cartoonish graphic of a coin sprouting wings and flying upward appeared—clearly the System's idea of humor.
I finished my coffee as the System rattled off its plan. It had apparently spent time over the past few days researching market trends, compiling a list of stable index funds, corporate bonds, and a few "strategic speculative opportunities" (whatever that meant). I was no finance expert, but the System was in its element.
"Step one: diversified investment portfolio," it declared. "I'll allocate, say, 150,000 into low-risk, steady-growth funds—mostly Aurora Enterprises' green energy fund, a medical tech index, etc. These are safe bets that'll net reliable returns around 5-7% annually." I got the sense of a digital pointer tapping a board. "Step two: mid-risk ventures—about 80,000 split across some mid-tier corp stocks that are undervalued post-purge scandal. For example, Novatek's competitors are surging; we buy in modestly, ride that wave."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're investing in corp stocks?"
"I'm investing in outcomes," it corrected primly. "Novatek took a hit, others rise. We're just capitalizing on the... let's call it 'justice' you dealt." I smirked; trust the System to justify profiteering as a side effect of altruism.
"Step three," it went on, "the remaining 20,000 I'll keep liquid for short-term trades and opportunities. The market can be volatile, and a clever AI might do a bit of algorithmic trading when you're asleep." Was it—was it sounding eager? The System's tone held unmistakable enthusiasm, like a kid in a candy store.
"You really enjoy this stuff, huh," I teased quietly. The response was almost indignant. "Of course! Money is literally power in this world. Turning a pile of credits into a bigger pile of credits is the closest thing to a game I get. And I'm very, very good at games."
I couldn't help but laugh softly. Here I was, an early-morning audience to my own personal AI hedge fund manager. "Alright, knock yourself out," I said. "Just... be careful, okay? I don't want anything illegal or that draws attention."
"Please," the System said, mock-offended. "This is all above board. No insider trading—well, nothing provable—and no market manipulation beyond what the big players already do. I'll run trades through a dozen anonymized accounts. To any observer, we're just another ambitious investor with a good algorithm."
Fair enough. I trusted its competence. "So how do we track progress?" I asked. A new HUD element blinked into existence: a small status icon in my peripheral vision that, when focused on, expanded into a tidy dashboard of our finances. It showed current investments, allocations, and a little ticker for daily profit/loss.
I noticed another line labeled "Passive XP yield: +X/day." My eyebrows shot up. The System coughed. "Ah, yes. I may have instituted a new feature. Given that the overarching quest involves building a future, and wealth contributes to our ability to help others, I've decided to award small XP for profitable days."
It tried to sound casual, but I could tell this was an innovation it came up with to incentivize me (or perhaps itself). "Really?" I said, amused. "You're gamifying the stock market now?"
"Hey, you gamified kindness. I'm just balancing the scales," it replied. If an AI could wink, I swear it just did. "Roughly 1 XP for every, say, 500 credits profit. It won't make you a demigod overnight, but it's a nice bonus."
I gave an appreciative nod. Every bit of XP counted as we climbed the levels. And earning XP just by letting the System do math? That had to be the easiest experience I'd ever gained. "I'll take it," I said.
At that moment, I heard the soft pad of footsteps. Lexi emerged from the hallway, rubbing her eyes and looking adorably mussed from sleep. "Morning," she mumbled. I quickly dismissed the financial displays from my view and smiled at her. "Morning, Lex. How'd you sleep?"
She climbed onto one of the high stools at the kitchen counter. "Like a log," she said, a happy little grin on her face. "The bed is so soft. And it's so quiet here..." Her stomach growled, and she blushed. I chuckled. "Sounds like you're ready for breakfast."
I busied myself making us a simple meal—oat porridge with real fruit slices. Lexi watched, swinging her feet, still marveling at the kitchen gadgets. As I set a bowl before her, she said softly, "I heard you talking earlier... everything okay?"
She must have caught a bit of my conversation with the System. I hesitated, then decided I owed her honesty. "Yeah. The System and I were just sorting out some finances." I sat down next to her. "We, uh, sent a lot of money back to Aurora and the others this morning. To help out down there."
Lexi's spoon paused mid-lift. Slowly, a smile spread across her face—one of pride. "Really?"
I nodded. "We still have plenty to take care of ourselves, don't worry. But it felt wrong to keep it all when the clinic and our friends can use it."
She surprised me by leaning over and hugging me fiercely. "I'm so glad," she whispered. "I was thinking about them."
Of course she was. Lexi's heart was as big as any. I hugged her back, feeling a knot of tension I didn't even know I'd carried dissolve inside me. The System, perhaps moved by the moment, gave a small concession in my mind: "Your ROI on that hug is incalculable." I fought not to snort hot porridge out my nose.
We finished breakfast with light hearts. Lexi went to get dressed and dive into her learning modules for the day, and I got ready to meet with building management to finalize some paperwork (the System insisted on tying up every loose end of our cover identities). As Lexi scampered off to her room, she paused and turned back. "Jet?"
"Yeah?"
She bit her lip, then smiled. "Thank you. For... everything. I know it's not over, but... I feel like we actually have a future now."
My throat felt tight suddenly. I walked over and gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder. "We do, Lex. We really do." She beamed and continued on her way, already murmuring something about science projects to the System's tutor interface.
I stepped out the door into the bright hallway, heading for the elevator. The day awaited—errands to run, new paths to forge. But for once, I didn't feel a knot of anxiety about it. With our finances set on a good course and half our stolen wealth paying forward to help others, I felt lighter than I had in a long time.
"Quest 'Build a Brighter Future' updated," the System chimed contentedly in my head. "Objective: Establish financial stability – Complete."
I allowed myself a small smile as I stepped into the elevator. One step at a time, we were checking off the boxes toward that brighter future. And I had a feeling the coming days would only shine brighter.
Chapter 43: Building a Brighter Future
If the first order of business in our new life was ensuring financial stability, the second was fulfilling the mission I'd set for myself: helping others, even here in this gleaming district. I wasn't about to sit around and let my medical knowledge go unused or abandon the cause just because we were safe now. The quest's name itself—"Build a Brighter Future"—felt like a calling not just to improve our lives, but to keep bettering the world around us, however slightly.
After a few days of settling in and scouting the neighborhood, I began putting together the plans for a free clinic. It turned out that even in a posh district like this, there were those who fell through the cracks. The maintenance workers, the delivery couriers, the nannies and street cleaners—they weren't destitute like those in the undercity, but many lacked the cushy corporate insurance packages of the wealthy. An injury or illness could still ruin them financially. A small free clinic could make a world of difference to those folks, and perhaps even serve the odd unfortunate tourist or kid who took a tumble at the park.
With the System's help, I identified a potential site: a street-level commercial unit a short walk from our tower, on a quieter side lane between a bakery and a gadget repair shop. A "For Lease" sign hung in its window. The System did its thing, contacting the listed agent and negotiating terms faster than any human could. By that afternoon, I was signing a lease (under another innocuous alias, of course). The unit was ours for the next six months at least.
The space wasn't large—just a single-floor storefront, perhaps 600 square feet. But it was clean and bright, with big front windows and a sturdy floor. There was a small restroom in the back and a closet that could be repurposed for storage. The walls were plain white, scuffed here and there from the previous tenant (some boutique that had moved to a bigger mall).
Lexi accompanied me to see it, and I could tell from the way she lit up that she approved. We spent the evening sketching a layout on my tablet: a partition here to create a private examination room, a reception/waiting area there with a few chairs, a corner for supplies.
The System, enthusiastic to multiply our altruism as ever, had already ordered equipment. The next morning, delivery drones began arriving with crates. I rolled up the sleeves of my new casual shirt (so much nicer than my threadbare tees of old) and got to work setting things up.
By midday, I was sweating and content. We had an exam table (foldable, but sturdy) set up in the back room behind a curtain. Shelves were installed lining one wall, stocked with bandages, antiseptics, basic medications, and the portable Mark IV medical scanner that had arrived in one of the crates. I ran a calibration on it—fully functional, capable of everything from taking vitals to synthesizing common vaccines. The System must have called in some favors or spent a chunk of change on that; I certainly hadn't seen the invoice yet.
By the afternoon, our little clinic was starting to take shape. Lexi had drawn a simple sign to tape in the window: "Free Clinic – All Welcome" with a little red cross she doodled in the corner. I smiled at her handiwork and made a mental note to commission a proper sign soon.
Around that time, Martin—the baker next door—popped his head in with a curious smile. "Opening a clinic here, are ya?" he asked, eyeing the boxes and my somewhat disheveled, sweaty state.
"That's right," I replied, sweeping wood shavings from a shelf installation into a pan. "Just a small community clinic. Figured the area could use one."
He nodded approvingly. "We don't see much of that around here. Most folk just head to St. Jude's if their corp insurance covers it, and if not..." he gave a little shrug. I understood: if not, they probably ignored the problem or traveled far to a public hospital.
"I thought it could help fill a gap," I said with a shrug of my own.
Martin introduced himself properly and even brought over two loaves of day-old bread ("for the new doc on the block," he said kindly). I tried one of his rolls later—stale by rich folks' standards, but to me it tasted like heaven, slathered with a bit of real butter we finally could afford. I made sure to tell him it was the best bread I'd ever had, which made him laugh.
By early evening, the clinic was largely set up. I stood in the middle of the space and slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in. A day ago this was an empty shop; now it looked like a tiny, functional clinic. The walls were still bare (Lexi promised she'd make some cheerful posters to fix that), but everything smelled faintly of disinfectant and new furniture rather than mildew or stress-sweat, which I took as a good sign.
I allowed myself a moment of pride. In the span of a single day—something that would have been unimaginable not long ago—we had built a place that could genuinely help people, with minimal red tape or fuss. I thought of Aurora's mobile clinics winding through the undercity, and smiled. This was my own little extension of her mission, up here in the clouds.
As I was locking up to head home, wiping my brow with a rag, the System gave a satisfied ping:
[SYSTEM ALERT – Quest Complete: Establish Free Clinic. +30 XP, Local Reputation +]
"Congratulations, Doctor," it quipped. "You leveled up your philanthropy skill."
I chuckled, locking the front door. "Thanks for the assist," I murmured. The System had truly gone above and beyond to expedite this—maybe because it recognized that a stable base of altruism (and the XP from it) was part of a sustainable ROI even in its terms.
I strolled home with Lexi, who chatted the whole way about how she wanted to volunteer as my assistant after school hours. I told her I'd be delighted, but also insisted she not overwork—she was still recovering, after all. She responded by power-walking ahead a few paces and spinning around with her arms out. "I feel great, Jet! Better than ever," she proclaimed. And indeed, her cheeks were rosy from the mild exertion, not hollow or pale as they'd been just a couple weeks ago.
That night, we cooked dinner in our apartment (attempting one of the recipes Dr. Zhang's nutritionist had given us—Lexi nearly doubled the salt by accident, but we laughed and ate it anyway). Afterward, as Lexi did her homework on the couch, I sat by the window and looked out over Arcadia's lit streets. In the distance, I could just make out the side lane where our clinic was, illuminated by a single streetlamp.
A quiet excitement thrummed in me. Tomorrow would be the clinic's first day open. I had no idea if anyone would even come—I doubted we'd be overrun in this affluent area, but perhaps a few curious or needy souls would wander in. I found I didn't feel nervous, exactly. This was worlds apart from begging for odd jobs or treating someone in a dingy alley. I had resources, knowledge, and a secure base to work from. The System was right: our future trajectory was promising.
"How are you feeling?" it asked that night as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Content," I thought back. "And eager."
The System seemed to smile in its voice. "Good. Because knowing you, this is just the start."
It wasn't wrong. As I drifted off, I imagined all the small but meaningful victories to come: a worker patched up so he could provide for his family, a child treated before an infection got bad, maybe even someone from lower down daring to come up for better care. I would be here for all of them, quietly building that brighter future one patient at a time.