Morning pulled thin gold bars through the blinds and pinned them across Kaiden’s bed. He lay there long enough to test a theory he kept losing: if he held his breath, would the hum fade?
It didn’t. It was as steady as a metronome that refused to stop now.
His phone buzzed against the nightstand. He dragged it to him and squinted.
An Email from St. Elias Hospital:
Good morning, Kaiden Summers. Orientation confirmed for 9:30 a.m. Please bring a photo ID and direct deposit information. Report to the main lobby.
- HR Desk
He breathed out a sigh of relief. He showered fast, pulled on a black hoodie and clean jeans, then stood there with his wallet and keys and a folded copy of his bank info, letting the house’s quiet settle. He quickly texted his parents that he was headed to work.
He pocketed the phone and left through the door.
9:32 a.m. St. Elias Hospital
The lobby smelled like sanitizer and coffee, and the ghost of last night’s rain tracked in on shoes.
He received a plastic rectangular work ID after he finished filling out hospital forms:
SUMMERS, KAIDEN — TECH SUPPORT
A woman from HR clipped it to a lanyard. “You’ll follow Cam for the morning,” she said, and pointed him toward a hallway where a wiry guy with half-dyed hair and a faded band tee was waiting with two coffees and an apologetic grin.
“Name’s Cam,” the guy said. “Welcome to the future of rehab. We are not nearly as cool as that sounds.”
Kaiden snorted.
They badged through two sets of glass doors stamped with RESTRICTED ACCESS AUTHORIZED STAFF ONLY. The lock made a soft magnet sound and a hiss of cooler air rolled over them.
The Neurological Rehab Wing looked like a normal hospital wing, a server rack tucked behind smoked glass; a tablet dock flashing idle icons. Blue status lights blinked rhythmically as breath.
One monitor rolled through a diagnostic and printed a line that snagged him on the way past:
[System Diagnostic: Neural-Assist Pod #04 — Sync Check PASS]
Cam flicked the message away with his thumb. “We run base checks every morning. You’ll get bored of the word ‘sync’ by Thursday.”
Kaiden made a soft grunt of understanding.
“Sanitizer wipes here,” Cam said, “face shields here, coolant line there. If a light goes red, I panic first and call the nurse second, which is the wrong order, so please do the opposite.” He tossed a soft pack of wipes. “You’ll shadow until lunch. Then we see if you run away screaming.”
“Plan sounds workable,” Kaiden said. “I'll keep in sync with things.”
Cam paired eyes with him and smirked. “Funny guy. I like you, yeah, you’ll fit in fine, or not, guess that depends on you.”
It was busy without being too loud. A tech clicked through a calibration screen. They stopped at the first station. “You handle these?” Cam asked, nodding at a stack of visors.
“On it.”
He wiped the visors in slow circles, let them air dry, and nested them in their rack. He checked the coolant reservoir and recorded the level on a clipboard with boxes that didn't line up. On the next bay, a progress bar crept across a screen with the patience of a tide.
Stolen story; please report.
[Headset #07 — Baseline Latency Calibration: 82%]
“Little high,” Cam said, mostly to himself. He popped a panel, adjusted a cable, and tapped the screen twice. The number reeled down:
[Baseline Latency: 47%]
He nodded, satisfied. “There we go. You see it a lot: the building’s power spikes after a rain and runs hot at noon. You learn the moods.”
“Like an MMO server,” Kaiden said, before he could stop it.
Cam laughed. “Exactly! I knew we were right to hire you.”
They rolled a cart to the next room. A teenager with a scar on his forearm sat playing the game with a VR rig on as he moved his fingers in the air.
“Jace,” the nurse said, smiling, “this is Kaiden. He’s going to help Cam today.”
Jace nodded. “S’up.”
“Music sim?” Cam asked.
“Yeah,” Jace said, like he was daring the world not to give it to him.
“We’ll start slow.”
They fitted the visor, checked the strap tension, and set the harness. Cam fired a gentle motor-assist program that created a virtual fretboard in Jace’s visual field and mapped haptic cues to finger lifts.
The server rack’s fan ticked a hair louder. Kaiden felt his own pulse match the cadence for a beat.
They worked until the clock remembered lunch.
12:40 p.m. Cafeteria
He texted the family thread:
Kaiden: Orientation went fine. They want me on nights 6 p.m.-6 a.m. starting tonight.
His dad responded before the typing dots even finished dancing:
Dad: Proud of you. Keep your head clear. Study on breaks. You can do this.
His mom followed with three hearts and:
Mom: Kiss Mina goodnight if you get time. She’ll love that.
He let the warmth of that sit for a second. Then the phone buzzed again to an unknown number.
???: It’s Francesca. Emir gave me your number. Don't get mad at him, I told him you’re fine with it. Let’s stay in touch.
He stared at the screen until his reflection came back on. He still remembered their conversation about RTS's involvement, whether it was a coincidence or not. He wasn't sure what he thought about her, but right now, she was the only one who believed Alex’s death was no accident.
It had something to do with RTS and possibly the Photosphere. He just had to find out why, and maybe she knew where Crow was.
He locked the phone and let the hum be the only thing that answered.
???°?°???
Dr. Yin met him at the wing doors with a clipboard tucked under her arm and the kind of calm that comes from a long relationship with things that beep. “You did fine,” she said, like the evaluation had been ongoing since he arrived. “If you’re comfortable starting, we’ll put you on night rotation tonight.”
“Understood.”
5:29 p.m. St. Elias Hospital
Kaiden swiped his new badge at the reader and stepped into the ward. Six people were already in the room, patients, some his age, some older. They sat reclined in chairs, each wearing a slim VR headset tethered to the workstation at their side. On the monitors above each seat, colorful movement flickered, gameplay windows that didn’t look like medical therapy at all.
Cam noticed Kaiden’s double-take and smirked. “Weird, right? Welcome to the night shift. The Wellness VR Program doesn’t exactly sleep.”
Kaiden crossed to the desk. “They’re all… playing Revolt the Sun, right?”
“Yep. I mean, I assumed that’s why you signed up, but if we just put that, people would think it’s just for goofing off.”
Cam leaned forward and whispered, “I mean, it kind of is, but don’t say that too loud. Anyway, yeah, Revolt the Sun, St. Elias partnered with the devs last month. They’re using it as a cognitive and stress therapy kind of like virtual PT.” Cam leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Our job’s to make sure the servers stay stable and patients are content.”
Kaiden stared at the row of players. One of the monitors flashed a kill feed; another showed a lush forest biome. “So you just… watch them?”
“Mostly.” Cam shrugged. “It’s chill. Everyone’s on preloaded sessions, and if something desyncs, we reset the client. But the fun part…” he nodded toward an empty chair on the end “….staff have open access too. Helps ‘familiarize us with the interface,’ according to admin. They’ll pay you to keep the servers calibrated.’”
“You mean I can actually log in?”
“Full access.” Cam’s grin widened. “Maintenance server mirrors the real thing. Most of us hop on during downtime. Better than pretending to read reports.”
Kaiden looked back at the monitors. One of the patients laughed softly under the headset. “And that’s fine with… HR?”
“They encourage it. The more uptime, the better their data.” Cam raised his coffee. “To science. But like I said, don’t say it too loud so they don’t think we’re having too much fun.”
Kaiden half-smiled. He took the login card, Cam slid across the desk. The laminated surface caught the overhead light, glowing blue. “Which station’s open?”
“Headset Twelve. Everything’s pretty good so you’re free to do it.”
Kaiden walked over. The chair’s vinyl was still warm from the day shift. He lowered the visor over his eyes. The world dimmed, then bloomed into light.
[Access Granted to Revolt the Sun: Maintenance Server Connected]
