A pale, skinny boy no older than fifteen sat groggily at the foot of his bed. A section of discolored, burn-scarred skin stretched from the left side of his chest, wrapped around his shoulder, and covered him down to the middle of his forearm. Under his burn scar, a smaller, thin, pale of slightly discolored line of skin marred his ribs. Lucian reached into his wooden nightstand and took out a tube of cream. He applied the cream over his burn, wincing every so often. Even after two years, it still bothered him. When he was done, his scared hands pushed his dark brown hair out of his hazel eyes as he stood. The light fixtures on the vast ceiling above his house had not yet come out of night mode, but on a day like today, Lucian couldn''t afford to take any chances. He opened his old wooden wardrobe and rummaged through it. He soon pulled out a wrinkled, dark blue, standard-issue long-sleeve dress shirt and pants, both with the number thirteen embroidered on the left shoulder and right pant leg.


    After getting dressed, Lucian opened his door and walked toward the kitchen. There, he made toast and eggs for three. Of course, they weren''t real eggs and toast, but he had bought the most accurate substitutes for today because it was his sister''s and mother''s birthday, who were still asleep in the room across from his. Lucian wrapped two plates in insulating foil before sitting down to eat his portion. When he was done, he grabbed a pen and paper from the counter and wrote a short message:


    "Happy birthday, both of you!"


    He slipped on his beat-up black sneakers, then grabbed his old, school-distributed phone and put it into his pocket. He tried to slip out of the front door as quietly as possible, but the metal door made a small creak when he closed it, but not loud enough to wake anyone.


    He turned and looked down his long street, where identical houses were copied and pasted on each side, green pavement in place of actual grass, stretching as far as he could see in the dim light. His gaze lingered on a house exactly like his three spaces down from his own. To his not-so-distant left, he saw lights of every color and tall buildings sprouting up, almost touching the ceiling. In front of him, however, he could see his destination towering over everything else. He looked up at the lights on the vast ceiling above that mimicked what he could only assume was the real sky. With a sigh, he began his long walk to the government citadel of his floor.


    Around an hour of walking later, zig-zagging through the mostly empty streets, he arrived. Looking up at the concrete, brutalist-styled building, Lucian took a deep breath and walked in. A woman sat behind a wooden desk in the middle of the room. She wore the same clothes as he did, but instead of numbers, her uniform displayed a house sigil; two black daggers pointing downward toward a golden wreath—the sigil of House Julius. The woman looked up from the paper-thin computer screen.


    "What are you here for?"


    "Pillar conscription."


    The woman raised an eyebrow, not just at the lofty response but also at the clear distaste in the young man''s voice.


    "Name and designation?"


    "Lucian Vitara, Designation 507893."


    The woman typed something on her computer, then gestured to a hallway to Lucian''s right.


    "Third door on the right," she said absently, looking back down.


    Closing the door behind him, Lucian looked around the small, bright white room. In the center was a cushioned black chair, connected to the ground by a metal pole. A thick-gray wire dangled from the ceiling, connecting to a white helmet with a dark visor. Next to the chair, a glowing panel protruded from the floor at about waist height. Next to the panel was a human sized pod that measured everything down to someones white blood cell count. In the right corner stood a white metal door. As Lucian noticed it, the door opened, and a tall blond man wearing a white lab coat entered the room. He smiled at Lucian.


    "Mr. Vitara, 507893?"


    "Yes, sir."


    "My name is Doctor Furgeson. I''m a doctor for the Pillar Conscription Agency, and I have been put in charge of pillar recruitment for your floor."


    The man spoke in a funny accent, one that Lucian had never heard before, somehow making him sound more articulate.


    The man walked over to the panel and typed on the screen for a few minutes while Lucian stood there awkwardly. When he was finished, the man looked up and noticed Lucian''s curious expression.


    "Before we begin, I just want to make sure your medical information and history are correct," the doctor said, opening the pod''s door.


    The man tapped on the panel screen for a few moments, then gestured to the pod. Lucian stepped up and in. As the door closed, the pod went dark. It whirred and beeped as it measured every inch of Lucian.


    After a minute or so, Lucian was let out.


    The man nodded to himself and typed his findings on the panel.


    "Five foot eleven and one hundred and thirty pounds," the doctor said, turning to Lucian. He taped a few more times on the panel.


    "Treated for third degree burns at Bellrow hospital at thirteen?"


    "Yes, sir. It was my first day at the community service factory."


    The man nodded again. He asked a few more questions about Lucian''s dental history, whether he had ever been prescribed pills, and other routine topics. After the man finished correcting the information, he asked,


    "Do you know anything about how pillars are tested and measured?"


    Lucian scratched the back of his head.


    "Not really. My father was a pillar, but he died when I was young, so I never really got to ask him questions."


    The man gave Lucian a confused look.


    "He was?"


    He swiped around on the panel for a few moments, then looked up.


    "There is no record of your father being a pillar. It says here that he died in a work-related accident at Factory Seventeen." The man scrolled down a little farther. Lucian was a bit confused; he had never heard of Factory Seventeen.


    "According to the records, he died shortly after you were born." The man gave Lucian a hard look.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "You really shouldn''t lie during a government test, no matter how insignificant you think the lie is, it will ultimately show on your behavioral chart."


    Lucian blinked. He had no idea what a behavioral chart was, plus he really didn''t want to argue with someone so early in the morning, but something about the way the guy said what he said rubbed Lucian the wrong way.


    "I don''t want to argue with you, but I remember my father and his occupation. Maybe your records are wrong."


    The man gave him a sad look.


    "Ah. I understand."


    Lucian gave him a strange look. Then his eyebrow twitched as he understood what the man meant. This idiot thought he was embarrassed about his father not being around. Lucian opened his mouth to defend himself, but the man raised his hands in a placating gesture.


    "I don''t want to argue with you. Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. Please take a seat."


    Doctor Furgeson smiled and gestured to the machine.


    Lucian sat down on the chair and sank into the big cushions. His burn twinged slightly. Even the armrest cushions felt like they were trying eat him.


    "Why is it so... squishy?" Lucian asked, failing to find a better word for it.


    Doctor Furgeson snorted.


    "Well, sometimes people thrash around during the test, so it''s completely for your safety."


    Lucian paled a little. Doctor Furgeson saw his face and hastily added,


    "Oh, don''t worry. This test is completely fabricated."


    Doctor Furgeson gestured to the helmet suspended by the wires above Lucian.


    "All this does is scan for a core, and if it finds one, it uses your dormant core''s essence to put you into a hallucination of sorts. We measure the length and strength of the hallucination to somewhat accurately predict how strong you would be if you were selected to become a pillar. So, this chair is only really needed for the strongest bloodlines and a few occasional outliers, so you should be fine."


    Lucian relaxed a bit.


    "What kind of hallucination? And what do you mean dormant core?"


    The doctor put on a thoughtful expression.


    "Anyone who has the correct gene to become a pillar manifests a core around ten to twelve years old, but they can''t tap into their essence until they recover a shard from outside the tower. As for your other question, it''s kind of hard to answer. I guess the best way to explain it is that the hallucination depends solely on your subconscious. So basically, it''s kind of like a dream, but a little more real."


    "Whats a shard?" Lucian asked, confused.


    The doctor shrugged in response.


    "That''s a question for your teacher. If you have a core, you''ll be assigned a teacher when you wake up. Now lean back so I can strap you in."


    "Strap me in?" Lucian paled again.


    "Yeah, don''t worry, it''s standard procedure." The doctor raised his hands in a placating gesture. "It''s just to make sure you don''t flail around and hurt yourself."


    The doctor pressed a button on the panel. Worn leather straps dropped out of a hidden compartment in the chair''s armrests, and another two from the bottom of where Lucian''s feet rested. What little comfort Lucian had left was expunged from him. The doctor walked around the chair, strapping him in—first his wrists, then his ankles, and finally a strap around his torso that came from the back of the chair. Then the doctor reached up and started lowering the helmet.


    "Don''t be nervous; I''ve been testing people all night, and I haven''t seen more than a twitch from any of them. Again, this is all a precaution. That''s even if you have the capacity to become a Pillar. It''s more than likely that I''ll put the helmet on you and nothing will happen. The formation of a core, especially in someone from outside a bloodline, is rare."


    The doctor stopped the descent of the helmet. Then, with a hesitant look on his face, he said,


    "If you are strong, there is something you should know. The hallucination you generate will... not be pleasant."


    "You''re mentioning this now?" Lucian asked, a little annoyance creeping into his voice. He didn''t much care for pillars. All he really wanted was to go about his daily life. He wasn''t exactly happy with his current circumstances, but he wasn''t sad either. He certainly was not willing to run around killing abominations out and inside the tower while having to listen to floor lords moan and goan about something or other like his father had told him about, but if he did have the capacity to become a powerful pillar, this was very important information.


    "Yeah, sorry," the doctor replied, scratching his head sheepishly.


    "Actually, I feel kind of silly for telling you this. Statistically, only one in every hundred thousand of the one in every ten thousand people with a core coming from outside an established bloodline are born with a powerful enough core to invoke that kind of hallucination, but if you are that one in a hundred thousand, the hallucination will pick out a place for you to reach or a task for you to complete before you can leave. But don''t worry, they don''t usually last very long. Even if they do, a day in the hallucination is around a hour in the real world."


    Lucian was starting to suspect that this wasn''t just a hallucination. Maybe this is the real test—to see if the people who could become Pillars should become them. Like a twisted personality test. Maybe Doctor Furgeson would be watching whatever Lucianexperienced on that panel.


    "How will I know what I have to do?"


    Doctor Furgeson shrugged.


    "Honestly, I have no idea. I''ve never presided over someone who went through a hallucination of that caliber. But it doesn''t matter; the chances of you being that powerful are slim to none."


    The doctor smiled.


    "Now relax. Once I put on the helmet, the hallucination will start instantly, or it won''t start at all, meaning that you have no chance of becoming a pillar."


    Lucian nodded and prayed for the latter.


    As the helmet''s visor covered his face, Lucian closed his eyes.


    Lucian was no longer sitting; he was rocking back and forth, the wind cutting deep into him despite his olive green jacket. His feet sloshed as he stumbled on the rocking floor. There was water in his boots from the last wave that had crested the small, tightly packed metal ship. Lucian clutched himself, the wind biting even deeper.


    In between his arms was a long, sleek rifle. Its body was wooden, but the barrel was stainless steel. There was no Ion battery protruding out of the bottom like there would be if he were still in the tower. There was a metal cover on the top of the gun right above the trigger. On the right hand side, next to the metal cover, was a small bolt. Lucian pulled back the bolt and exposed the bullets underneath.


    Closing the metal cover and pulling his eyes from the very old-fashioned gun, Lucian looked around at what he suspected were his crewmates. He counted about thirty of them, all shifting and looking around nervously. One of them threw up over the side. They all had on the same outfit as he did: a green steel helmet, olive jacket, pants and boots, a pack slung over their shoulders, a belt filled with what looked to be grenades, along with a tan bag, and a pistol holster on their hip.


    Lucian looked up at the gloomy sky imitation over his head. His eyes went wide. The clouds he saw were not still images like what might be shown on the roof of his floor. They moved, rolling across the sky as faint blue lights crackled inside them. As Lucian was distracted, a fat drop of water hit him right in the eye. He blinked it away, then stared slack-jawed up again. This was not a projection; this was real. Lucian was staring at real clouds.


    Lucian hurriedly looked around, trying to soak up every little detail. He grabbed the chest-high side of the ship and stared out to sea. There were more boats like theirs, cutting through the water. Lucian lost count around eighty, each filled with people dressed in the same uniform as Lucian. He had never seen a ship before but had heard about them from his sister, who loved to learn about the world before the tower. He smiled at the thought of being able to brag to her about seeing some in person. Well, as close to in-person as someone could get. Lucian tried to look in front of the ship, but his line of sight was blocked by the taller front side. He could only see if he craned his neck out over the water, which, despite his excitement, he was not willing to do.


    A man at the front of the ship turned and faced the others on the small boat.


    "Remember, you can''t dig in on the shore. You have to advance! Get up to the beachhead. Stay low and don''t bunch up! We have three minutes."


    Just then, a loud whistling came from the sky. It got louder and louder as whatever was making that noise approached their ship from above. A fountain of water shot up directly to the right of the ship, water spraying high into the air. The boat rocked, and Lucian tumbled to the ground. His helmet prevented him from slamming his head into the metal side of the ship. Lucian forgot about this just being a hallucination, he forgot about his family, he forgot about his job, he forgot about everything. Because right now, Lucian had a small scratch on his cheek. He touched it gingerly, wiping away a little bit of blood. It stung. Lucian had been cut before, and it wasn''t the sight of blood that shocked him—he had seen enough of it for any queasiness to have long since disappeared. It was the fact that he felt the pain of the cut.


    A pit dropped in his stomach. Because he could now hear more whistling in the air.