Six months.
Reed stood in the common area of Building 7 at 7 AM on a Tuesday and tried to process what he was seeing.
People were laughing.
Not the exhausted, bitter laughter of shared misery. Not the manic edge of someone running on four hours of sleep and Leveler. Just... normal laughter. Yuki Tanaka was showing Marcus Ibrahim something on their tablet, and Marcus was chuckling, actually chuckling, and Yuki's smile looked real.
When had Reed last seen a real smile in Sector 12?
The common area had changed. Someone had fixed the broken furniture. Someone else had brought in plants—actual plants, growing in recycled containers, green and alive. The water dispenser that had been "under maintenance" for eight months was working, and there was a hand-lettered sign next to it: "Fixed by Marcus. You're welcome."
The building felt different. Felt... lived in. Like people had energy for something other than survival.
Reed sat in his usual corner, tablet open, documenting. He'd been documenting everything for six months. A journal of the experiment, data collection, notes on who had quit which jobs, who was spending money on what, how people's health was changing.
He told himself it was scientific interest. Told himself he was just curious about the data.
But really, he was watching a miracle happen, and he needed to remember every moment of it before it inevitably collapsed.
The numbers were undeniable.
Reed pulled up his spreadsheet—compiled from public records, gossip, and careful observation. Building 7, six months into the experiment:
83% of residents had quit at least one job
47% had quit all their jobs
31% were still working but had reduced hours or changed to better positions
22% had started new projects: education, art, community organizing, small businesses
Crime in Building 7: down 67% from six-month-ago baseline. Mostly because people weren't desperate enough to steal from each other anymore.
Healthcare usage: down for emergency visits (people could afford preventive care now), up for routine checkups (people could afford to maintain health instead of waiting for crisis).
Leveler sales in Building 7: down 40%.
That last one hurt in a complicated way. Reed's income had dropped significantly. Good for the residents, bad for him. Except he had 500 million credits, so it didn't actually matter, and the fact that people needed less chemical help to get through their days was...
He didn't have a word for what it was.
Good, maybe. If he still believed in good.
Yuki found him in his corner around noon.
"Reed! There you are." They dropped into the chair across from him, moving with an ease that still startled him. Six months ago, Yuki had been a bundle of nervous energy, all trembling hands and rapid speech. Now they looked... calm. Still energetic, but purposeful instead of frantic.
"Here I am," Reed agreed. "What's up?"
"I wanted to show you something." Yuki pulled out their tablet, pulled up an image. It was a painting—digital, but good. Really good. Abstract shapes in colors that shouldn't have worked together but somehow did, creating something that felt like... Reed didn't know. Movement. Hope. Possibility.
"You made this?" Reed asked.
"Yeah! I've been taking classes. Online ones, the free kind, but also I joined this art collective in Sector 15 and they've been teaching me technique and—" Yuki stopped, laughed. "Sorry. I'm talking too much. I just... I never knew I could do this. Never had time to find out."
Reed looked at the painting, then at Yuki. Six months ago, they'd been working three jobs, running on anxiety and Leveler, one missed shift away from complete collapse. Now they were an artist. Had joined a collective. Were learning technique.
"It's good," Reed said, meaning it.
"It's weird, right?" Yuki's voice dropped, became more serious. "Like, I spent twenty-seven years thinking my value was in how much labor I could produce. How many jobs I could juggle. How little sleep I could survive on. And then the money came and I could just... stop. And I was terrified I'd discover I was worthless."
"But you didn't," Reed said.
"But I didn't," Yuki agreed. "I discovered I'm an artist. I discovered I like teaching kids in the building how to paint. I discovered I'm actually really organized when I'm not having constant panic attacks, so I've been helping coordinate the community garden project. I discovered..." They trailed off, eyes getting bright. "I discovered I'm a person. Not just a productivity unit."
Reed's chest felt tight. "Yeah," he managed. "That's... yeah."
"Whoever's doing this," Yuki said quietly, "whoever Future Forward Solutions is, whoever decided to just... give us money... they gave me my life. Like, my actual life. The one I'm supposed to have."
They left before Reed could figure out how to respond.
He sat there, staring at his tablet, at his data, at his careful documentation of the experiment.
It was working.
It was actually working.
And he had no idea what to do with that information.
Marcus found him an hour later.
"You're documenting this, aren't you?" Marcus said without preamble, settling into the chair Yuki had vacated. He moved better now—still had the chronic pain, still had the missing fingers, but six months of being able to afford proper medication and physical therapy had made a visible difference.
Reed considered lying, decided against it. "Yeah."
"Thought so. You watch people. Take notes on your tablet. Act like you're just sitting here, but you're collecting data." Marcus smiled, not unkindly. "I used to do union organizing, back before the corporations crushed the unions. I recognize research when I see it."
"I'm just curious," Reed said.
"Sure you are." Marcus pulled out his own tablet. "Want some data for your research? My kids. Jenna and David. Six months ago, Jenna was failing school because she was too tired to study—she was working part-time to help with expenses. David was getting in fights because he was angry all the time about being poor. I was... I was not a good father. I was in too much pain, too exhausted, too broke to be present."
Marcus turned the tablet to show Reed a photo: two teenagers, smiling, holding up certificates. Academic achievement awards.
"Jenna made honor roll. First time ever. David joined the engineering club and he's building robots now—actual robots, the kind that might get him into advanced training. And me?" Marcus's voice got rough. "I get to have dinner with them. Real dinner, cooked food, sitting down together. I get to help with homework. I get to be their father instead of just... a broken body that shares their space."
"That's good," Reed said. Throat tight again.
"It's more than good." Marcus leaned forward. "Reed, whoever's behind this experiment—and it is an experiment, I'm not stupid—they need to know it's working. Not just economically. People aren't being lazy. We're being human."
Reed nodded, not trusting his voice.
"You make sure that gets documented," Marcus said. "You make sure whoever's doing this knows it matters."
He left.
Reed added the notes to his file, hands shaking slightly.
It mattered.
By evening, Reed was back in his apartment, compiling the day's observations, when his tablet pinged with a news alert.
CORPORATE MEDIA NETWORK: "Sector 12's Troubling Productivity Decline"
Reed's stomach dropped. He opened the article.
Reports from Sector 12 indicate a concerning trend in labor participation rates. Over the past six months, Building 7 has seen a 40% decrease in multi-job employment, with dozens of residents reducing work hours or leaving positions entirely.
"We're experiencing significant staffing challenges," reports Danielle Chen, Supervisor at Nova Prosperity Cargo Processing. "Workers who were reliable for years are suddenly quitting without notice. It's creating serious operational issues."
Economic analysts suggest this trend indicates a broader problem with work culture in lower sectors. "When people aren't motivated to maximize their productivity, the entire station suffers," notes Dr. Evan Harris, Economic Policy Advisor to the Prosperity Collective Board. "We're seeing a troubling shift toward entitlement rather than dedication."
The source of this labor disruption remains unclear, though some residents report receiving unexplained credits from an unknown entity. Corporate investigations are ongoing.
Sector 12 building managers have been advised to monitor resident prosperity scores and encourage re-engagement with productive employment.
Reed read it twice. Then a third time.
There it was. The narrative. Not "people are healthier and happier," but "troubling productivity decline." Not "workers finally have choice," but "entitlement rather than dedication."
And the final paragraph—corporate investigations are ongoing.
They'd noticed.
Of course they'd noticed. You don't pull 83% of a building's residents out of the labor pool without someone noticing. Reed had been hoping for more time, more invisibility, more... something.
But the experiment was working too well to stay hidden.
He pulled up the anonymous boards, scrolled through the discussions.
> Did you see the corporate media piece about Sector 12?
> Yeah. 'Troubling productivity decline' lmao they're so mad people aren't killing themselves for poverty wages
> They interviewed managers, not residents. Notice that?
> Because if they interviewed residents they'd have to admit people are happier
> My cousin lives in Building 7. Says it's completely transformed. People actually talk to each other now. Community garden. Children playing.
> Corporate hates that
> Whatever Future Forward Solutions is, corporate's going to shut it down
> Can't shut down what you can't find
> They'll find it. They always do.
Reed closed the thread.
They would find it. Eventually. Corporate had resources, surveillance, forensic accountants. Reed had been careful, but no system was perfect. If they decided Building 7 was enough of a threat, they'd trace the money. Find the shell companies. Follow the trail.
Find him.
He should be terrified. Should be planning his exit strategy. Should be shutting the whole thing down while he still could.
Instead, he opened his documentation file and added a new entry.
Day 180. Corporate media has noticed. First hit piece published. Narrative: labor shortage is a problem, not a liberation. Workers are entitled, not empowered. No resident interviews, only management complaints.
Key observation: They're scared. The article isn't reporting facts, it's attempting damage control. They see what's happening in Building 7 and they're terrified it will spread.
Because it's working.
People aren't lazy. They're not collapsing into degeneracy. They're painting. They're parenting. They're building community gardens and teaching each other skills and being fucking human for the first time in their lives.
Marco died believing the system was right. That if he just worked hard enough, if he just pushed through, if he just didn't give up, he'd make it. He died at twenty-five with a destroyed body and nothing to show for it except a corporate memorial plaque that called him "productive."
But he was wrong. The system was wrong.
People don't need to be ground down to have value. They don't need to be exhausted to matter. They just need... enough. Enough money to say no to terrible jobs. Enough security to sleep eight hours. Enough space to discover who they are when they're not just survival machines.
It's working.
And I have no idea what happens next.
Reed saved the file. Sat in the dark of his apartment. Listened to the building around him—voices talking, laughter, someone playing music.
Life.
This was what life sounded like when people weren't being slowly killed by the system.
His tablet pinged again. Another news alert.
"Is Free Money Creating a Sector 12 Crisis? Experts Weigh In"
Here we go, Reed thought.
The experiment had worked.
Which meant corporate was going to try to destroy it.
Which meant Reed had a choice: shut it down and stay safe, or keep it running and fight.
He thought about Yuki's painting. Marcus's kids. Chen sleeping eight hours. The plants in the common area. The community garden. The laughter.
He thought about his brother's memorial plaque: Exceeded Productivity Targets.
"Fuck it," Reed said to his empty apartment.
Let them come.
He executed next month's transfers, watched the numbers flow through his shell accounts, watched 2000 credits land in 200 accounts, watched the system he'd built keep running.
Six months down. 119 months to go.
If he was lucky.
If he wasn't, well. He'd been dead inside for five years anyway. At least now he was dying for something that mattered.
Reed took his evening Leveler, lay down, and fell asleep to the sound of Building 7 being alive.
Tomorrow, corporate would escalate.
But tonight, people were laughing.
That was enough.