At twenty-two years old, Joseph Marsol already knew that climbing was more than a hobby: it was his way of breathing when the world became unbreathable. Standing before the most challenging cliff in Roraima Park, he felt adrenaline surge through his body.
Joseph stretched at the base of a colossal rock wall. The afternoon sun licked the stone, and the fresh, invigorating wind carried the scent of pine and damp earth from the surrounding park. The adrenaline from the near collision had already faded, replaced by the anticipation of the ascent.
He grabbed the chalk bag, white powder coating his hands, while the result of the final evaluation echoed faintly in the background. The conversation with Anton… and that mysterious call… lingered at the back of his mind. Unconsciously, he glanced down to gauge the distance he had already climbed.
Here, in the vastness of nature, the world simplified itself to the next hold, the next breath. His eyes scanned the intricate route, precisely searching for the perfect line in the rock. Each ascent was a way to purge frustration, to transform tension into the methodical control of his muscles. Climbing was his escape, where every problem was reduced to the challenge of stone beneath his fingers.
After an hour of climbing, his earpiece emitted a soft alert tone. Someone was calling. A small button unfolded from the device, projecting a holographic panel that hovered a few centimeters from the rock face. It read: "Incoming call from Grandfather."
Joseph couldn't help a faint smile at the name, but it was almost immediately followed by a lowered gaze, tinged with something like guilt… or fear.
"Answer," he said, directing the command to the device.
A female robotic voice emerged from the communicator:
"Connecting call."
"Bless me, Grandpa. How are you?"
"May God bless you, my boy! I'm well, well. How did the final evaluation go?" his grandfather replied, his voice cheerful yet rough and worn, like two stones scraping together.
In Sarac culture, asking elders for their blessing is a way of seeking approval, respect, and goodwill—a deeply rooted custom believed to bring luck and protection.
"It went great, Grandpa, though they still haven't given me the results. I'm sure it'll be any moment now." Joseph took a deep breath, a sigh barely noticeable. "And you? You sound a bit tired."
"I know it'll work out, don't worry. There are many things you're good at; don't be discouraged if something doesn't go your way. Life is long, and you'll have thousands of opportunities," his grandfather reassured him, his voice calm and gentle.
Joseph drew in a lungful of fresh air and looked upward, catching sight of the end of the cliff.
"Thank you, Grandpa. But I know I'll make it. It's my purpose. And it's a good project. But hey—you didn't tell me why you're tired," he said as he continued climbing slowly.
"Right," his grandfather replied with a soft laugh. "I'm doing maintenance on my old Jaguar E-Type. Gotta keep from getting rusty, you know. You never know when I'll have to fix cars again."
"Grandpa… you know you don't need to work. My brother and I take care of you."
"I know, my boy, I know. But there are things you don't do out of necessity, but out of affection. It makes me nostalgic to abandon it. Hey—are you climbing right now?"
"Yes."
"And how far are you from the top? Be careful with the rock, and remember to check your fingers… because of your condition."
"Don't worry. I'm always careful. I've climbed this cliff before," Joseph replied, offering a light smile as he looked toward the summit. "Besides, I'm almost there. Everything will be wonderful from up there."
"I imagine the view from the top must be spectacular. But… what about from where you are now? How does it look?"
"I don't look at the scenery while I climb."
"Why not?" his grandfather asked, curiosity in his voice.
"I feel like I'll enjoy it more when I reach the top—and it helps me avoid distractions," Joseph laughed.
At that moment, his earpiece sounded the same alert again. The holographic panel reappeared.
"Incoming call from ZenthCore."
Joseph frowned. His tone shifted.
"Grandpa… the company is calling me. I have to hang up," he said, alarm and hesitation slipping into his voice.
"Okay, okay, my boy. I'll start preparing a celebration dinner."
"Well… bless me."
"May God bless y—"
Joseph cut the call before the sentence finished.
He took a few seconds to secure himself against the rock. As he did, his hand trembled without him noticing. He looked back up at the summit, took a deep breath, and said firmly:
"Answer."
With the communicator active and the line open to ZenthCore, Joseph knew this call would define his professional success or failure in the vertiginous world of technology.
"Hello?"
A cold, formal male voice came through the earpiece.
"Good afternoon. Is this Joseph Marsol?"
Before answering, Joseph looked down—toward the abyss yawning beneath his feet. He inhaled deeply, trying to empty his mind of everything that had happened that day: the unfinished conversation with Anton, the near accident, the anxiety over the results. He knew this call would define everything. He sharpened his focus so intensely he could hear the soft whisper of wind through pine branches and the distant song of birds. His limbs, fixed to the rock, trembled slightly.
"Yes. This is him."
"I'm calling to inform you of the result of your final evaluation, after the executives thoroughly reviewed the projects of the five candidates."
"Yes?" Joseph interrupted, the word escaping like a held breath.
"It has been determined that your project is not suitable for funding. Therefore, you are dismissed from ZenthCore for failing to pass this stage."
Suddenly, the trembling in his limbs stopped. His muscles tensed—not from the climb, but from an icy shock.
What? That's not possible.It doesn't make sense.
"Please collect your belongings tomorrow at first hou—"
"But why?!" Joseph shouted, his voice rising with each word, his breathing accelerating. "I don't understand why it was rejected! It's something no other company has done!"
"Calm yourself, Mr. Marsol," the voice said, irritation creeping in.
"I'm sorry. I just… I really want an answer," Joseph replied, steadying himself and lowering his voice.
The man on the other end sighed audibly.
"Alright. Look—one of the main reasons your project was rejected is its focus. Right now, companies are looking for technology that revolutionizes and improves cyber-implants or cyber-exoskeletons."
"But it was innovative," Joseph murmured, the words echoing in his chest.
"Yes, that was considered. But among the five candidates, your project was relegated to the background."
As he listened, Joseph rested his forehead against the rock, eyes closed. The cold of the stone against his skin was the only thing he felt clearly.
"I understand," he said, taking a deep breath. "I apologize for raising my voice."
"No problem. As I said, please collect your belongings from the lab tomorrow morning."
"Alright."
"Have a good afternoon."
The voice faded, leaving Joseph suspended in emptiness.
The weight of the words—"not suitable," "dismissed"—hit him harder than the near accident had.
He understood ZenthCore's logic, but the reality felt like a punch to the gut.
A sudden dizziness overtook him. His vision began to ripple in confusion. His head buzzed, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He looked toward the summit of the cliff, and suddenly it seemed absurdly far away, as if the mountain had stretched in an instant. Unreachable.
He lowered his gaze, seeking reassurance in the base that had once felt solid—but now the precipice had no end, an unfathomable darkness calling to him. His vision wavered, threatening to blur completely. His body felt strangely weak, as if gravity had doubled just for him.
The gentle breeze he hadn't noticed before now felt like a gale.
He knew this was serious. A professional climber couldn't afford a mental and physical collapse halfway up a wall. Being there—vulnerable and dizzy—was a mortal danger. He couldn't stay. He had to descend. It was the safest, most rational choice. He had to reach the ground—his only escape.
But in a moment of stubbornness—or confusion—his body tried to climb upward. He was aware the summit wasn't that far; he felt he could reach it quickly.
With titanic effort, Joseph tried to focus. His fingers, which once moved with surgical precision, searched for the next hold. It was an easy section, a movement he had repeated hundreds of times. He stretched his arm, hand reaching for a small crack meant to support him—but the pressure in his mind, the echo of "unfit," of "failure," ate away at him. He felt useless, as if all his skill had drained away along with his hope.
His hand touched the rock—but something failed. Maybe his grip was too weak. Maybe his foot slipped on an imperceptible grain of sand. Or maybe his mind simply couldn't transmit the correct command.
His fingertips slid.
A harsh, terrifying scrape echoed, magnified by the silence of his panic.
A strangled cry escaped his throat.
Joseph fell.
As the air rushed past him, his eyes—wide with disbelief—searched for the summit, that goal now seeming to mock him. He saw it. So far away.
The impact was brutal.
A dry crack echoed through the mountain. His right leg bent at an unnatural angle. The left followed. As he rebounded, his elbow smashed into the rock.
Then—darkness.
When he opened his eyes, a blinding light pierced his vision.
"What happened…?" he whispered hoarsely.
Slowly, he tried to focus. As the glare faded, the situation became clear. He was on the ground, at the base of the cliff. He didn't remember how he got there—only the sensation of his fingers slipping.
He tried to sit up. He couldn't.
Raising his left hand, he saw the damage: the thumb split, the other fingers stripped of skin, blood flowing relentlessly.
"Damn it… right. I can't feel pain," he muttered in frustration, letting his arm fall.
He tried to move the other arm. Nothing. He could only feel his elbow—and something hanging: his forearm.
With increasing clarity, he understood how serious his condition was.
Then he felt something warm spreading across his back. Like a bucket of ice water, lucidity snapped back into place.
"Call emergency services. Fall from the mountain…" he managed, his voice fading.
A female voice answered through the earpiece:
"Call placed one minute ago. The emergency unit is already nearby."
Joseph breathed with difficulty. He forced one last request:
"Thank you… also notify my grandfather… and Anton…"
Straining to stay conscious, he lifted his gaze one last time toward the cliff, from its base to the summit. Sirens could already be heard in the distance.
Joseph closed his eyes completely.