At 22 years old, Joseph Marsol already knew that climbing was more than a hobby: it was his way of breathing when the world became unbreathable. Facing the most challenging crag of Roraima Park, he felt the adrenaline run through his body.
Joseph stretched at the base of a colossal rock wall. The afternoon sun licked the stone, and the wind, fresh and vivifying, brought the scent of pine and damp earth from the park's surroundings. The adrenaline from the near crash had already dissipated, replaced by the anticipation of the climb.
He grabbed the chalk bag, the white powder covering his hands, while the result of the final evaluation resonated in the background. The conversation with Anton… and that mysterious call… were still there, at the back of his mind. Unconsciously, he looked down to see the distance he had covered.
Here, in the immensity of nature, the world simplified itself to the next hold, to the next breath. His eyes scanned the intricate route, searching with precision for the perfect line in the rock. Every 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 the stone beneath his fingers.
After an hour of climbing, his earpiece emitted a faint alarm sound. Someone was calling him. A small button deployed from the device, projecting a holographic panel that floated a few inches above the rock. On it read: "Incoming call from Grandpa."
Joseph couldn't help a slight smile upon seeing the name, but this was followed almost instantly by a lowered gaze, tinged with something resembling guilt… or fear.
"Answer," he said, addressing the device.
A robotic female voice came out of the communicator:
"Connecting call."
"Blessing, Grandpa? How are you?"
"God bless you, son! Good, good. How did the final evaluation go?" answered the grandfather, his voice cheerful but rough and tired, like the rubbing of two stones.
In the culture of Sarac, asking for a blessing from elders is a way of asking for their approval, respect, and good wishes, a deeply rooted custom believed to bring good luck and protection.
"It went excellently, Grandpa, although they haven't given me the results yet. Surely it'll be shortly," Joseph took a deep breath, a sigh barely perceptible. "And you, Grandpa? You sound a bit tired."
"I know it will be so, don't worry. There are many things you are good at; don't get discouraged if this doesn't work out. Life is very long and you will have thousands of opportunities," the grandfather reassured him, his voice soft and peaceful.
Joseph took a gulp of fresh air and looked up, glimpsing the end of the crag.
"Grandpa, thank you very much, but I know I will make it. It is my purpose. And it is a good project. But hey, you didn't tell me why you were tired," he complained while little by little he kept climbing.
"True," replied the grandfather, laughing softly. "I'm doing maintenance on my old Jaguar E-Type, also so I don't get rusty, you know. You never know when I'll have to repair cars again."
"Grandpa… you know you don't need to work. My brother and I take care of you."
"I know, son, I know. But there are things one doesn't do out of necessity, but out of affection. It gives me nostalgia to leave it abandoned. Hey, are you climbing now?"
"Yes."
"And how much do you have left to reach 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 crag before," replied Joseph, flashing a light smile while looking at the peak. "Besides, I'm about to arrive. Everything will be wonderful from there."
"I imagine the landscape from the top must be spectacular. But... what about from where you are now? How does it look?"
"I don't look at the landscape while I climb."
"Why?" asked the grandfather with intrigue in his voice.
"I feel like I'll enjoy it more when I reach the top, and that way I avoid distractions," Joseph let out a laugh.
At that moment, his earpiece emitted the same alarm sound again. The holographic panel deployed once more. "Incoming call from ZenthCore."
Joseph frowned. His tone changed.
"Grandpa... they are calling me from the company. I have to hang up," said Joseph with a tone of alarm and a certain hesitation in his voice.
"Okay, okay, son. I'm going to prepare the celebration dinner."
"Well... blessing."
"God ble..."
Joseph cut the call before the phrase ended. He took a few seconds to secure himself on the rock. As he did so, his hand trembled without him realizing it. He looked toward the top again, took a deep breath, and said with a firm voice: "Answer."
With the communicator still active and the line open to the call from ZenthCore, Joseph knew this call would define his professional success or failure in the dizzying technological world.
"Hello?"
A male voice, cold and formal, came through the earpiece.
"Good afternoon, Joseph Marsol?"
Before answering, Joseph looked down, toward the precipice that opened beneath his feet. He took a deep breath, trying to empty his head of everything that had happened to him that day: the unfinished conversation with Anton, the near accident, the anxiety over the results. He knew that call would define everything. He sharpened his hearing to the max, concentrating so much that he could hear the soft whisper of the wind among the pine branches and the distant song of birds. His limbs, fixed to the rock, trembled slightly.
"Yes, that's me."
"I am informing you about the result of your final evaluation, after the executives thoroughly inspected the projects of the five candidates."
"Yes?" interrupted Joseph, a word that escaped like held breath.
"It was ruled that your project is not fit to be funded, therefore, you are dismissed from ZenthCore for not passing this stage."
Suddenly, the trembling in his limbs ceased. His muscles tensed, not from the effort of the climb, but from a frozen shock. What? It's not possible? thought Joseph. It makes no sense.
"Please, collect your things tomorrow first thi..."
"But why!" asked Joseph, while his voice rose in pitch with every word, and his breathing accelerated. "I don't understand why you rejected it! It is something no company has done!"
"Calm down first, Mr. Marsol," said the voice, with a tinge of annoyance.
"Excuse me, it's just that I really only want an answer," answered Joseph, composing himself and lowering his voice.
The male voice sighed and exhaled audibly.
"Okay, look, one of the main factors for the rejection of your project must be the focus. Right now, what companies are looking for is technology that revolutionizes and improves cyberimplants or cyberskeletons."
"But it was something innovative," murmured Joseph, these words resonating in his chest.
"Yes, they kept that in mind, but among the five candidates, your project took a backseat."
While listening to these words, Joseph brought his forehead close to the rock, leaning on it with his eyes closed. The cold of the stone against his skin was the only thing he felt clearly.
"I understand," he took a deep breath. "Apologies for raising my voice."
"Don't worry. You know, pick up your belongings from the lab tomorrow first thing."
"Uh-huh."
"Have a good afternoon."
The voice on the other side of the communicator vanished, leaving Joseph hanging in the void. The weight of the words —"project not fit," "dismissed"— hit him with a force that exceeded the scare of the near accident.
He understood ZenthCore's logic, but the reality was a punch to the gut.
A sudden dizziness assaulted him, and his vision began to ripple with confusion. His head buzzed, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He looked toward the top of the crag and, suddenly, saw it absurdly far away, as if the mountain had stretched in an instant. It was unreachable. He looked down, seeking support on the base that before seemed solid to him, but now the precipice had no end, an unfathomable blackness that called to him. His sight wobbled, threatening to go completely blurry. His body felt strangely weak, as if gravity had doubled just for him.
He felt how the simple breeze he didn't notice before turned into a blizzard.
He knew this was serious. A professional climber like him 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 and most reasonable thing. He had to reach the ground, his only escape route.
But in a moment of stubbornness or confusion, his body tried to ascend. He was aware that the top wasn't that far; he felt he could arrive quickly.
With a titanic effort, Joseph tried to concentrate. His fingers, which before moved with the precision of a surgeon, searched for the next hold. It was a simple section, a movement he had repeated hundreds of times. He stretched his arm, hand extended toward a small fissure that should serve as support, but the pressure in his mind, the echo of "unfit," of "failure," ate away at him from the inside. He felt useless, as if all his skill had drained away along with his hopes.
His hand reached the rock, but something failed. Perhaps his grip was too weak, or his foot slipped on an imperceptible speck of sand, or simply his mind couldn't transmit the correct order. The tips of his fingers slid, a rasping and terrifying sound that magnified in the silence of his panic. A choked scream escaped his throat.
Joseph fell.
As the air rushed down with him, his eyes, full of immense disbelief, searched for the top of the crag, that objective that now seemed to mock him. He saw it, so far away.
The impact was brutal. A dry crack resonated in the mountain. His right leg bent at an unnatural angle. The left one, too. Upon bouncing, his elbow struck against the rock.
Then, darkness.
Upon opening his eyes, a blinding light pierced his sight.
"What happened?" he asked in a low and raspy voice.
Little by little, he tried to focus his sight. When the blinding effect faded, he saw the situation clearly. He was on the ground, to the side of the crag. He didn't remember how he had gotten there, only the sensation of his fingers slipping.
He tried to sit up, but he couldn't. Upon raising his left hand, he saw the damage: the thumb split, the other fingers without skin, blood gushing ceaselessly.
"Damn... right, I can't feel pain," he murmured with annoyance, letting his arm fall to the ground.
He tried to move the other arm. Nothing. He only felt the elbow and something hanging: his forearm.
He understood, with increasing clarity, how grave his condition was.
Suddenly, he felt something hot spreading across his back. Like a bucket of ice water, lucidity returned all at once.
"Call emergency. Fall from the mount..." he managed to say, his voice fading slowly.
A female voice emerged from the earpiece:
"Call placed one minute ago. The emergency unit is already nearby."
Joseph breathed with difficulty. He forced a last request:
"Thank you... also tell my grandpa... and Anton..."
Making an effort to stay conscious, he looked up once more toward the cliff, from the base to the top. The sirens could already be heard in the distance.
Joseph closed his eyes completely.