8:00 AM
The hills and mountains of northern New York glowed like flames—a fiery display of seasonal splendor. There amid the craggy granite and colorful trees ran US Route 87.
The highway, dubbed "the Northway" by locals and vacationers alike, wound its way north from Albany, following the same system of valleys that the mighty Hudson used to reach New York Harbor. The sun, already partway toward its peak in the heavens, caused the foliage to pop with extra color, contrasting with the black of the newly repaved asphalt. The road was quiet, with plenty of room for the northbound silver Corolla. The Toyota crested a rise, giving it one last glimpse of Schroon Lake to the east. A remnant of the last ice age, the lake was carved deep and narrow by the crushing pressure of glacial weight.
It had been fifteen years. The last time Allison had seen the lake, the air was thick with gunpowder smoke. A lot had changed since then. Her parents' divorce had put an end to their Independence Day tradition of camping in the picturesque Adirondack mountain town. Back then, Chris had been barely old enough to hold a marshmallow stick without falling into the fire. Now, he was a senior in High School. Probably wondering why his big sis came back now, without stopping in to say hi.
A phone chimed, bringing Allison Myles back to reality. It vibrated, buzzing like an angry hornet trapped between her back pocket and the leather seat. She tried to ignore it, just like she had nine times before. Each notification raised her anxiety. She wasn't ready to read the texts, or even know the sender. She needed more time to think, and to decompress.
Allison took a swig from a nearly empty disposable cup. At this rate she'd need to stop in Keene for more coffee.
It'd been a long flight.
She'd bought the ticket before her autocab arrived at her apartment. After a whirlwind packing, she'd hailed another ride to LAX to catch the plane.
The good news was that she found a seat on a direct flight from LAX to Albany. The bad news? The pro-rated seat wedged her between a snoring grandmother and a sleeping Samoan built like two bouncers with portion control issues. It seemed like the passengers had agreed en masse to take elephantine doses of melatonin. They could afford to—she'd bought her ticket at the last possible moment, and at the highest possible price. The Tetherly salary had been very generous. But LA has a way of keeping pockets and checking accounts dry. And with Tetherly squarely in her rearview mirror, sans two weeks' notice, it wasn't likely to get filled back up all too quickly.
She spent the flight lost in thought, regretting the last six months. She had been headhunted straight out of college. It seemed like the perfect fit, graduating second in her class from Skidmore with a degree in robotics and an emphasis in prosthetics.
She remembered the email from the Tetherly recruitment team, remembered how her left hand had trembled.
The email congratulated Allison on her degree, inviting her to LA for a tour of the Tetherly campus.
Tetherly.
A million-to-one success story. They came out of nowhere, another hopeful startup in a sea of social media choices. But Tetherly was different. Their platform listened to its users and evolved to meet their needs. It soon dominated the internet and the headlines.
Why? Two reasons.
The company branched out, moving from software to hardware. They made phones, tablets, televisions, and more. Tetherly cut deals with appliance companies, bringing household appliances onto the internet of things. And the user experience? Fair pricing. Seamless integration. Zero latency issues. Robust privacy protections. If it hummed with electricity, Tetherly was there to make it better.
The other factor? Thomas Newton, the barefoot billionaire. A two-time Person of the Year, Time magazine described Newton as "A contradiction for our times. The philanthropy of Rockefeller, the innovation of Musk, and the calm demeanor of Marcus Aurelius." While others blew their billions on yachts and extravagant weddings, Newton extolled the virtues of a quiet life and the use of technology to achieve personal peace. And his biggest innovation? Leveraging the Tetherly brand to produce high-end assistive technology at a fraction of the traditional price.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Allison read the email twice. She glanced at her right hand, saw the Tetherly logo beneath its thumb, and accepted the offer.
She never got a chance to meet him—but she got a job offer. Prosthetic Interface Consultant. They wanted her to help design the next generation of AT.
Her mother had been ecstatic. A chance for her daughter to make a big splash in the world of exciting new technology.
Her father had been more guarded. She could tell through the phone that he was happy for her, but audibly crushed by the thought of his daughter moving across the country. When she pointed out how rarely she saw him when they lived a few hours apart, his silence fell like a hammer.
Already, Tetherly felt like a bad dream. Five months in sunny California, a productive member of a vibrant company with a boundless future. That's what the brochure said. The reality? Great pay and benefits, but a pace of life out of sync with her own. The sunny Californians in the office would greet her with smiles that slipped like blue masks with broken ear loops the second their attention drifted.
She drove in silence as the Albany metro stations faded away, leaving only staticky religious broadcasts and the even-toned drone of local public radio.
She was a token hire. She hated to think of it that way, but it was true. The more she tried to accomplish something at Tetherly, the more she felt useless. Not imposter syndrome—not a feeling of inability to do the work, but a realization that she was only there as a prop. Something to be brought out for videos and promotional materials. It frustrated her to no end.
Tetherly meant good in the world. Obviously. Her own prosthetics cost a fraction of what she'd used previously, triple the quality. There was a lot of good here, but she wasn't directing it. She was still using it, just like a regular consumer, only this time she got to be paraded in front of crowds as a sort of trophy of intersectionality. It made her wonder if they would drop her if they could find someone that hit more points on the checklist.
Now, none of it mattered. At least she'd left of her own free will. Well, that and the final push from the suggestion of Hadley Caine. The thought of his perfect face suggesting the most depraved actions over appetizers and drinks. He was an avatar of the worst parts of LA—beautiful, smiling, dead inside.
The early morning sunlight through the tall pines strobed across her windshield like a zoetrope.
She saw a brown road sign—yellow border on brown background with yellow text, the typical road sign of the Adirondack Park. Next exit, North Hudson. Another yawn. She was an hour from Sanguine Springs, not counting the stop for coffee.
For whatever reason her mind flashed back a few hours, to the baggage carousel at Albany International. She remembered how the janitor, an older, Slavic-looking man, had stopped to help her with her bags, before returning to his mop bucket. He refused the tip. She wasn't surprised.
Here in New York, people were rougher, but more genuine. She felt the feedback of her prosthetic and realized she was clenching a fist again. Luckily nothing was in her grasp at the moment. She broke more phones that way, and no one wanted to arm-wrestle her.
Allison's phone buzzed again. This time, she looked.
She leaned to the passenger side, and pulled the iPhone free with her left hand. Warm, with a mostly full battery. Only two bars of service. It didn't surprise her. The Adirondacks were one of the few places with low cellphone coverage left in the state. At six million acres, with stiff regulations regarding the installation of new antennas, it left the region pocketed with weak or dead spots.
The road was clear. Allison read the notifications. Ten text messages, not counting the three missed calls. All from her mother. She read the last two, then tossed the phone into the passenger seat with a sigh. Mom was mad that her Allie was "acting irrational." Hurt that she wasn't stopping by.
Too bad. Fultonville was close to Albany, true, but in the wrong direction. It felt wrong to take a step back west after last night. That's why she was headed north. After Los Angeles, she needed distance.
Distance, and a chance to say goodbye to her father, to finally see his last home, and begin the process of settling his estate.
The phone chimed again—a call this time. Its screen lit up a second before her mom's ringtone—"Ride of the Valkyrie"—abruptly stopped. Something red flickered in her peripheral vision, a half-second flash near the steering wheel that barely registered. Allison glanced down at the phone, to see the "Signal lost" notification. A reprieve, however short. She sighed again, willed her shoulders to relax, and forgot the red light.
Allison gazed at the brightly clad forests as she continued north. Her silver Corolla weaving in and out of shadows like a needle, stitching the road together one mile at a time. The mountains rose around her. Almost there now. She drained her coffee and wondered if Uncle Betty knew she was coming.
Meanwhile, Los Angeles
Three floors below the Tetherly campus lobby, a screen lit up red.
ASSET ID: AM-2847
-PROSTHETIC ASSET OFFLINE -
SIGNAL LOST
LAST KNOWN LOCATION: NORTHERN NEW YORK
The technician on call frowned at the readout and sent a quick email up the chain.
Probablty just a glitch.
Glitches happened.
And actual red flag events?
Those were above his pay grade.