The corridor after the margin-call dissolved like wet ink—walls bleeding ticker-tape, floor a slow conveyor of black glass that counted heartbeats and charged for each one. Dylan walked, micro-thunder nipping at his palm, micro-betrayal whispering secrets he hadn't invented yet.
Behind him the lecture hall sealed with a click—global interest frozen, micro-assets distributed, debts diversified. Ahead, the path narrowed into a single archway of brass and bone, gears the size of wagon wheels turning inside the walls, each tooth ticking like an overdue invoice.
A plaque flickered above the arch:
Clockwork Heartbeat – Mandatory Tune-Up
Late fee: one gear per second overdue
He stepped through.
The world shifted.
Not a room—a workshop inside a heart. Gears the size of boulders pumped viscous gold through copper veins. Pistons hammered in 4/4 time, each beat deducting 0.5 % mana from the air. The floor was a grille of iron ribs that flexed under his boots, breathing.
In the center stood a clock taller than a tower, face a perfect mirror, hands made of lightning that ticked backward. Beneath it, a single workbench of black glass, tools laid out like surgical instruments: hammer of mercury, chisel of frozen thunder, oil-can of liquid regret.
A figure waited—Clockwork-nun #031, but upgraded. Her left arm was gone, replaced by a gear-assembly that meshed with the floor, each tick driving the entire workshop. Her right hand held a key the size of a forearm, teeth shaped like interest rates. When she spoke, the sound arrived inside his ribs, ticking in 3/4 time.
"Welcome to the Clockwork Heartbeat. I am the Mechanic. I tune futures until they tick correctly."
She inserted the key into the tower-clock's chest. The mirror-face rippled, revealing his own heartbeat – opalescent, ticking, already indebted.
> [Course: Clockwork Heartbeat – tune-up mandatory]
[Objective: synchronize your heartbeat with global interest]
[Tool: your strongest ticking memory]
The Mechanic turned the key one notch. Click. Dylan's heartbeat skipped, then sped up – 0.5 % faster, 0.5 % more expensive.
"Lesson one: tune the tick. Lesson two: oil the debt. Lesson three: survive the tock."
She turned the key again. Click. His heartbeat slowed – 0.5 % slower, 0.5 % more compoundable.
"Student Thirteen, heartbeat variable – risky – approved."
---
The Tune-Up
The tower-clock opened like a ribcage, revealing a workbench inside – gears, springs, memories laid out like spare parts. The Mechanic selected a gear shaped like his first storm, oiled it with liquid regret, inserted it into the clockwork of his heartbeat.
Click. The gear meshed, ticked, compound.
She selected a spring shaped like his first betrayal, wound it until taut, inserted it into the mainspring of his heartbeat.
Click. The spring coiled, tocked, compound.
She selected a memory shaped like his first victory, filed it until sharp, inserted it into the escapement of his heartbeat.
Click. The memory locked, tick-tocked, compound.
The tower-clock closed, mirror-face reflecting a new heartbeat – geared, sprung, memoried, already indebted.
> [Heartbeat tuned – compound rate: +0.01 %/beat]
[Debt synchronized with global interest]
[Survival rate: 52 % (and ticking)]
The Mechanic bowed, gear-assembly meshing with the floor, ticking louder than before.
"Class dismissed until the tock calls again."
The workshop dissolved into ticker-tape, gears evaporating into silent numbers. Students walked away, heartbeats geared, debts tuned, memories compound.
Dylan walked away, heartbeat ticking in 3/4 time, geared, sprung, memoried, smiling the way lightning smiles – brief, bright, already counting the interest on tomorrow's tock.
Interest never sleeps.
But for now, he walks – heartbeat geared, debt tuned, victory bookmarked for later.