The climb was a nightmare of endurance.
There were no ladders in the Spine. Noah had to climb using bundles of thick, black cables that pulsed with electricity, or by jamming his boots into the rivets of the metal walls.
The heat was oppressive. Sweat poured down Noah's back, soaking his grey jumpsuit until it clung to him like a second skin. His hands were raw and blistered.
"Keep moving!" Mittens hissed from above. The cat moved with annoying ease, digging his claws into the insulation. "The heat surge is coming! You don't want to be in this section when the heaters turn on!"
Noah gritted his teeth and pulled. Every muscle in his body screamed. He was thirty-four years old, tired, and malnourished from a diet of kibble. But he had the Stone. And he had the Bow.
They passed vents that looked out into the city.
Through one grate, Noah saw the "Luxury Suites." He saw Persian cats lying on silk pillows, being fed shrimp by humans who wore collars and walked on all fours. The humans looked vacant, happy, lost.
"Look at them," Noah whispered, anger fueling his grip. "They don't even know they're prisoners."
"They aren't prisoners," Mittens said, pausing to look down. "They're pets. They're safe. They don't have to worry about taxes or death or grief. Is that so bad?"
"Yes," Noah snapped, swinging up to the next ledge. "Because it's not real."
"Reality is overrated," Mittens muttered, but he kept climbing.
They reached the halfway point—Level 50. The air grew thinner, colder. The thrum of the machinery changed pitch, becoming a high-pitched whine.
"Wait," Noah said, freezing. "Do you hear that?"
It wasn't the machinery. It was a voice. Or... voices.
"You're a bad father... You let her go... You weren't strong enough..."
The sound was coming from a tangled mass of shadows directly above them.
"Static," Mittens warned, his fur puffing up. "Don't listen to it, Noah. It's the interference. It plays back your own brainwaves."
"It sounds like me," Noah whispered.
"That's why it's dangerous."