The tower swallowed them in stages.
First the transport plunged into its throat, traded protest smoke and chemical rain for concrete wet with its own recycled breath. Then the ramp lifted and Arden's view narrowed to a rectangle of receding riot—the crowd, the signs, the drones—shrinking to a postcard of a life he'd just decided, very stupidly, to care about.
Then nothing but steel.
The collars dimmed to a working glow. Ø7 rode in silence.
Silex stood braced at the front of the compartment, helmet still off, one hand hooked in a strap. He did not look back. Arden watched the line of his shoulders instead, thinking: This man gets to choose who hurts. The leash at his neck hummed agreement.
The transport docked with a hiss.
"Out," Silex said.
They filed into a private access corridor that looked grown from bone—white, curved, veins of light pulsing under the surface. No cameras visible, which just meant better ones. The air here smelled expensive: antiseptic, ozone, faint citrus they thought read as neutral.
"Debrief chamber twelve," Silex said. "Walk."
Darius's shoulder brushed Arden's as they moved.
"Breathe," Darius murmured.
"I am," Arden said.
"Try doing it without bleeding on the floor," Kai added, eyes flicking to the dried smear at Arden's lip. "It ruins the aesthetic."
Seraphine's mouth curved. "I don't know. The martyr look suits him. Very 'Span's favorite bad idea.'"
Lyra walked at the rear, gaze mostly down, fingers grazing the wall as if reading its pulse.
"He's running hot," she said quietly. "If you push him now, something will break loose."
Silex didn't slow.
"That's the point," he said.
The debrief chamber was a glass coffin overlooking nothing.
Rectangular, too bright. A single metal table bolted to the floor. Five chairs on one side for Ø7. On the other, a lone seat for Silex; a Veil-slab on the wall behind him filled with frozen footage from the First Run. Above, the vague dark bulge of a one-way observatory window. Someone up there was already eating their performance.
"Sit," Silex said.
They sat.
Arden chose the center seat and hated that some part of him had checked whether that was allowed. The collar gave no objection; the system liked symmetry.
The Veil-slab flashed.
Angle one: the riot as the public would see it. Helios banners, chanting workers, Span Security holding the line. Ø7 descending like deliverance: collared silhouettes framed heroic in blue-white flare.
Angle two: Darius and Seraphine taking Red-1 down—baton, shots, blood; the pack confiscated before it could sing. Graphics stamped SAFE over the scene.
Angle three: Kai's override code racing down Helios conduits, shutting the cascade. Rendered as clean lines of light, no sweat, no panic.
Angle four: Arden hauling Red-2 off the crate. Their words lost under the narration already layered in: "Chain Dog Unit Ø7 successfully de-escalates radical agitator."
The render cut before he shoved them free.
The real feed did not.
On Silex's private slab, the raw footage did what reality always did—it kept going.
They watched Arden lean in, jaw tight. Watched him say "Run." Watched Red-2 vanish in the confusion. Heard the correction scream through him, body jerking, teeth cutting his tongue.
Silex froze the frame on Arden mid-spasm. Zoomed lazily.
"Public won't see that," Silex said. "They'll see a disciplined unit and a satisfied Helios. They'll see mercy with a muzzle."
"Then why are we watching it," Arden said, "if the edit's already written?"
"Because we're not the public," Silex said. "We're the part that makes the lie true enough to sell."
He walked around the table, slow. Predatory without needing to posture.
"First Run: meltdown prevented. Zero civilian deaths. Primary threats neutralized or contained. Optics: exemplary," he recited. "On paper, Ø7 performs as designed."
He stopped behind Arden's chair.
"Except for one variable," Silex said. "Asset Ø7-∆-AR."
Arden felt the others' attention slide to him. Not hostile. Not yet.
Silex's fingers touched the back of Arden's collar like a man considering a lamp switch.
"You defied a direct instruction," Silex said. "You released a tagged agitator. You undermined the simplicity of the story we were generous enough to give you."
Arden's throat was raw. "He was just talking."
"So are you," Silex said. "Should I kill you for that?"
"Depends who's listening," Arden said.
The collar flared. Tier One, sharp, threatening Tier Two.
Darius's hand closed into a fist on the table.
"Handler," he said.
Silex glanced at him. "You have an insight, Kell?"
"He made a call," Darius said. "Didn't cost the mission."
"Not yet," Silex said. "When Red-2's words light a different street, we'll see the cost."
Kai snorted. "You're giving them a lot of credit for someone whose encryption was basically cardboard."
"Faith scales fast," Lyra said softly. "Especially when the system gives it a pretty enemy."
Her eyes were on Arden.
Seraphine leaned forward on her elbows, bracelets chiming against steel.
"If you're gonna punish him, just say it," she said. "This slow striptease is boring."
Silex's smile twitched—humorless, there and gone.
"Punishment is easy," he said. "Correction, shock, meat on the floor. Anyone with a collar key can do it. I am more interested in calibration."
He stepped back to his seat, sat, steepled his hands.
"This is the debrief," Silex said. "You speak, I decide what parts of you are worth keeping."
He nodded at Darius. "Assessment."
Darius's voice came rough but steady.
"Helios security was late and useless," he said. "Crowd was scared, not suicidal. Red-1 had commitment, bad wiring. Red-3 hid behind a badge. Red-2 was a match, not a bomb. Unit moved. We contained. Reik disobeyed but read the field right. That's what you hire Dogs for."
"You're not hired," Silex said. "You're owned."
"Owned stock can still spoil," Darius said.
Silex checked something on his wrist-slate. "Noted. Vega."
Seraphine smiled with too much teeth.
"Fine, let's play," she said. "We walked in as your pet monsters, did the dance, didn't slaughter the audience. Darius and I clipped Red-1 clean, no haloed martyr on the evening Veil. Kai saved your Helios friends from reenacting a reactor incident, so they owe us. Lyra saw the fracture points before they broke."
She tapped Arden's shoulder.
"And the new boy?" she went on. "He ate a Tier Two for choosing not to disappear a loudmouth on camera. That's a better commercial than whatever script you had, if you're smart enough to use it."
"You assume I'm in marketing," Silex said.
She shrugged. "Everyone up-chain is."
Silex turned to Kai. "Drayven."
Kai rolled his shoulders, eyes flickering.
"Melt sequence was elegant in a 'kill us all' way," he said. "Whoever coded it knows their theology. I tore it apart. Your Chain Dog initiative looks necessary instead of ornamental; congratulations. Also I recorded your little overcorrection on Arden. Consider that my investment hedge."
"Is that a threat," Silex asked mildly.
"It's a checksum," Kai said. "You fuck with my processors, ugly truths leak. We both like systems that run clean."
Lyra's laugh was a low glitch. "That's his way of saying he's on your side until you're not useful."
Silex's gaze landed on Lyra.
"Halden," he said.
She folded her hands.
"The crowd's fear tasted old," Lyra said. "They were ready to believe in monsters. We obliged, but we also gave them restraint. That contrast will breed questions. Reik let Red-2 go. The Leash punished him in public. Anyone paying attention will see the crack."
"Is that good or bad," Silex said.
Lyra tilted her head.
"Cracks let air in," she said. "Or rot."
"Helpful," Silex murmured.
Finally, his eyes cut to Arden.
"Asset Ø7-∆-AR," Silex said. "Justify yourself."
Silence pooled.
Arden stared at his own hands where they rested on the table. Scabbed knuckles. A faint tremor from residual shock.
"He gave them something true," Arden said. "Red-2. I've heard worse lies from your side of the glass. You wanted control, not justice. Taking him would've made your narrative tidy. Letting him go made it honest enough that some kid watching might not switch off."
Natural voice, flat. Then something sharper.
"You put a leash on my spine, I get it," he went on. "You want an attack dog, not a debate club. But you picked me because I bite the right throats. You start making me chew every ankle you point at, I'm just another fucking drone with a pulse."
The collar surged: Tier One screaming back toward Two. He bit a grunt down.
Silex watched him ride it.
"Here is the problem, Reik," Silex said. "You think 'right throat' is your call."
Arden met his gaze. "Maybe it is as long as I'm the one in it."
The air in the chamber tightened. Above them, someone shifted behind glass.
Darius's jaw flexed; Seraphine's fingers closed and opened like she wanted a throat of her own. Kai stared fixedly at the table as if rehearsing contingencies. Lyra whispered something only the machines could hear.
Silex exhaled.
"There are three acceptable outcomes to insubordination on a first run," he said. "One: Finalize the asset. Wasteful, but clear. Two: Break him so thoroughly he never blinks out of sync again. That ruins the qualities we collared. Three: Teach him exactly how small his room to move really is, and watch if he's clever enough to use it."
He tapped a command into his slate.
Arden's collar detonated.
White pain crashed through him, pure Tier Two: muscle seizure, nerves lit like fusewire. His vision went out. He felt his body go sideways, chair skidding. Jaw slammed; he tasted copper and ceramic.
He dimly heard Seraphine shout his name. Darius rising, his chair grinding. Kai swearing in binary and blasphemy. Lyra gasping like the shock had jumped to her through some phantom empathy.
It didn't.
This was for Arden alone.
The burning lasted an eternity stuffed into three heartbeats. Then it cut.
He lay on the floor, panting, one cheek against cold tile. The collar throbbed at the edge of killing.
Silex's boots came into view.
"This," Silex said quietly, "is your margin."
He crouched, fingers tight in Arden's hair, lifting his head enough that their eyes locked.
"You are alive after defying me twice," Silex said. "Once because the feeds love a demon with a conscience. Once because your unit thinks you're worth breaking rules for, and I am curious what that costs them."
He let go. Arden's head hit tile again.
"Stand up, Reik," Silex said. "If you can't stand after that, you're not worth the electricity."
Arden's limbs jerked, refused. He thought of the rope, of his mother's hands, of Forty-One buried in ash, of Red-2's eyes, of the crowd calling him monster.
He got one knee under him.
Darius moved to help.
"Sit," Silex snapped.
Darius froze.
Arden forced the other foot down. His muscles screamed; his spine felt like a chewed cable. He rose inch by inch until he was vertical again, swaying, hand on the back of his chair.
Seraphine's eyes shone with something hot and furious; it wasn't pity. Kai looked a little sick. Lyra's lips moved soundlessly, like she was syncing a prayer to a machine that didn't speak her language.
"Good," Silex said. "Ø7 requires Dogs that get up."
He turned his back to them, facing the Veil-slab.
"Official assessment," he said. "Division Ø7: passes First Run. Conditional retention of all assets. Arden Reik: designated High-Variance Operative under direct handler oversight. Any further unauthorized deviations will trigger shared disciplinary response."
Arden's stomach went cold.
"Shared," he said.
Silex looked over his shoulder.
"You thought the unit-link was just a sentimental feature?" he asked. "No. Next time you decide mercy matters more than protocol, your leash won't be the only one singing. Consider that before you play saint again."
"That's bullshit," Seraphine snapped. "We didn't—"
"Vega," Silex said. One word, full of warning.
She shut her mouth, jaw tight enough to crack enamel.
Darius's voice came low. "You tie our nerves together and then hand him the guilt."
"Yes," Silex said simply. "It's efficient."
Lyra shivered. "Collective punishment breeds revolt."
"Or discipline," Silex said. "We'll see."
He killed the feed on the wall. The riot vanished. Only their reflections remained in the dead glass: five collared silhouettes, one unchained man smiling without pleasure.
"Debrief complete," Silex said. "You'll be paged for the next run. Rest, patch, pretend you still dream. You're dismissed."
He left without looking back.
The door sealed. The lock thudded like a sentence.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Arden slid back into his chair. His hands were shaking so hard he had to lace them together.
"Okay," he said hoarsely. "That was fun."
Seraphine rounded on him first.
"What the fuck were you thinking," she said. No tease now; her voice was all sharp edges and smoke. "You don't throw yourself at Tier Two twice in a day and then poke the man with the kill switch."
"He was just talking," Arden said. "Red-2. We've all done worse for less."
"This isn't about him," she said. "It's about us. They rigged our leashes to your spine. Next time you play savior, I fry with you. I don't like sharing men that much."
His laugh came out broken. "Noted."
Darius's big hand settled on his shoulder, steady.
"He's not wrong," Darius said. "About the principle."
"Principle won't keep my nerves intact," Seraphine shot back.
"No," Darius said. "But nothing will. You know that."
Kai scrubbed a hand over his face.
"For what it's worth," Kai said, "I've locked a shadow packet in the system. If Silex tries a group burn keyed to Arden's file, some inconvenient footage of Helios' meltdown almost happening might surface in all the wrong places. It's not a kill switch. More like…sunscreen."
"You threatening blackmail for us?" Seraphine asked.
Kai scowled. "I'm protecting my own investment. Some of you are just adjacent code."
Lyra moved to stand in front of Arden. Her eyes searched his face with unsettling calm.
"How bad?" she asked.
"Like being roasted from the spine out," he said. "With audience participation."
She nodded once. "If they chain our pain, we learn to move as one. Or we break together. Either way, they can't pretend we're just tools."
"Lyra," Darius said. "That's not as comforting as you think."
She gave him a faint, sad smile. "I wasn't trying to be."
Seraphine blew out a breath, some of the fury slipping into something tired.
"Look," she said to Arden. "I'm not saying you were wrong to let him go. I'm saying if you're going to keep doing that shit, warn me so I can brace."
He met her eyes.
"I'll try," he said. "To warn you. Not to stop."
She studied him, then snorted.
"Of course you won't," she said. "That's why they're scared of you."
She brushed past him on her way to the door, letting her fingers drag along the back of his neck, just under the collar—light, intimate, deliberate.
"Don't make me burn for nothing, Reik," she murmured.
The touch sent a different kind of heat through him, tangled with pain and something uglier: need, fear, the awareness of how the leash might someday bite where her hand had been.
Darius headed for the door next.
"You did good, kid," he said. "Just…measure your martyrdom. We're all tied to it now."
"That supposed to make me feel better?" Arden asked.
"No," Darius said. "It's supposed to make you feel less alone."
Kai lingered, tapping invisible keys only he could see.
"If you ever want to weaponize that conscience of yours properly," he said, "talk to me first. I can route a sermon better than some Tier-47 poet."
Arden huffed. "I'll send you a draft."
Lyra was last.
"Red-2 will matter," she said softly. "Maybe not how you hoped. But ripples don't ask permission."
"Good," Arden said. "I'm tired of their water being still."
She reached out, hesitated, then let her fingertips brush his wrist—a tiny, cold static kiss.
"I'll monitor the link," Lyra said. "If they try to hurt you through us, I'll see it coming faster than they think."
"Then what?" he asked.
She tilted her head.
"Then we decide whose code breaks first," she said.
They left him alone with the dead Veil-slab and the fading echo of Silex's laugh.
The collar rested like a verdict at his spine.
He leaned back in the chair, shut his eyes.
The tower hummed.
Above, somewhere beyond concrete and doctrine, thunder walked the dome as if amused.
"They call it debrief," Arden whispered.
In the quiet, the Leash warmed, listening.
"It's just maintenance," he said. "But now you're leaking."
No pain came.
He sat there until the tower lights dimmed a fraction, the building's great lungs settling into another cycle of exhaust and intake.
After action: survived.
Next action: inevitable.
Between them: a leash stretched across five throats and one very small, very sharp idea of right and wrong.
For now, that would have to be enough.