The elevator didn't just rise; it ascended.
It was a freight platform the size of a tennis court, built to lift tanks. As it climbed past the open floors of the Rouge, the sheer scale of Alta's empire revealed itself.
It was a vertical city of misery.
Floor 10: Assembly.
Jason looked through the chain-link walls of the cage. He saw thousands of people. Not robots. People.
Men and women in identical gray jumpsuits stood shoulder-to-shoulder at conveyor belts. They were assembling ammunition. Their hands moved in a blur.
There were no guards with guns. There were "Adjusters."
Men in tailored suits walked the lines carrying long, silver cattle prods.
Jason watched an Adjuster tap a woman on the shoulder. She had slowed down for a second.
ZAP.
Blue electricity arced. The woman convulsed and fell. Two other workers immediately dragged her away and filled her spot. The line didn't stop.
"Efficiency," the Silver Legion officer in the elevator said. He was watching Jason's face, enjoying the horror. "We're up to 98% output. No unions. No breaks. Just pure American productivity."
"It's slavery," O'Malley growled, straining against the cuffs the robots had slapped on him.
"It's the gig economy," the officer smirked. "They work for water credits. It's a free market."
Floor 20: The Hanging Gardens.
The smell changed. The stench of grease and sweat vanished, replaced by the scent of lavender and ozone.
This floor was a greenhouse. Hydroponic trays stretched for acres, glowing under UV lights. Fresh vegetables. Tomatoes. Lettuce. Strawberries.
Food that no one in the wasteland had seen in years.
Howard Hughes stared at the strawberries like they were alien artifacts.
"Nitrogen cycles," Hughes muttered, twitching. "They're using the CO2 from the factory floors to feed the plants. It's... it's a closed loop. It's perfect."
"It's mine," Sarah said. Her voice was flat. "I designed this system for my thesis. Before the collapse. She stole the blueprints."
The elevator shuddered. It reached the top.
Floor 30: The Penthouse.
The doors slid open.
The world changed instantly.
Gone was the industrial grays and rust. This was a white marble lobby. It looked like a museum. Or a mausoleum.
A phalanx of Silver Legion guards stood waiting. These weren't the grunts from the train tracks. These were the elites. Polished boots. Silver gorgets. Submachine guns held at low ready.
"Separation protocol," the officer barked.
The guards moved. It was violent and precise.
Two of them grabbed Howard Hughes.
"No! I need my tools!" Hughes screamed as they dragged him toward a side door labeled R&D. "I have ideas! The servo motors are overheating! I can fix them!"
"Take the German," the officer pointed at Einstein.
Einstein didn't fight. He just adjusted his glasses and looked at Jason.
"I will calculate the variables," Einstein said calmly. "Do not die, Jason."
They shoved him and Oppenheimer after Hughes.
"And the wizard," the officer pointed at Tesla.
Tesla smiled. He looked at the guards with pity.
"I am going to rewrite your power grid," Tesla whispered as he was led away. "You are giving a child a box of matches."
Then they came for O'Malley.
Four guards. They knew he was the threat.
One of them slammed a rifle butt into O'Malley's kidney.
CRACK.
O'Malley went down to one knee, groaning.
"Boss," O'Malley gasped. "Don't... sign... anything."
"Patrick!" Jason lunged forward.
An Adjuster stepped in front of him. He jammed a shock baton into Jason's stomach.
ZZZT.
Jason's vision went white. His legs turned to water. He collapsed on the marble floor, gasping for air.
"Take the meat to the Pit," the officer ordered. "General population. Let the workers have him."
They dragged O'Malley away. His boots squeaked on the polished stone.
Jason lay on the floor, dry heaving.
A pair of high heels stepped into his vision. Black stilettos.
"Get up," Sarah said.
Jason looked up.
Sarah wasn't looking at him. She was looking at her reflection in the glass wall.
She was wiping the soot from her cheeks. She licked her thumb and cleaned a smudge of oil from her forehead. She straightened her torn dress.
She stood up. Her posture changed.
The slouch of the survivor vanished. Her spine locked. Her chin lifted. Her eyes went cold.
In ten seconds, she had shed the skin of the refugee.
She put on the mask of the Rockefeller.
"She can smell weakness," Sarah whispered, staring at the double doors ahead. "If you look like a victim, she'll eat you. Stand up, Jason. Be the monster she thinks you are."
Jason forced himself up. His stomach burned. His legs shook.
He took a breath. He buttoned his torn jacket.
He nodded.
The double doors opened.
It wasn't an office. It was a throne room.
Mahogany walls. Persian rugs. A fireplace crackling with real wood—a luxury worth more than gold in the frozen world.
One wall was entirely glass, overlooking the burning ruins of Detroit.
Alta Rockefeller sat behind a desk the size of a boat.
She didn't look up.
She was reading a ledger, marking lines with a fountain pen.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Jason and Sarah stood in front of the desk.
They waited.
One minute. Two minutes.
It was a power play. She was telling them they didn't exist until she acknowledged them.
Jason didn't play along.
He walked over to the sidebar. He picked up a crystal decanter of whiskey. He poured himself a glass.
The sound of the liquid pouring broke the silence.
He took a sip.
"Smoky," Jason said. "Pre-war blend. Nice."
Alta stopped writing.
She looked up.
Her face was unlined, preserved by the best medicine money could buy. Her eyes were blue ice.
"That bottle cost five thousand dollars," Alta said softly.
"Put it on my tab," Jason said. He sat down in the leather chair opposite her. He didn't ask permission. "You owe me twelve million for the train, remember? Deduct the drink."
Alta stared at him. Then, a small, tight smile appeared.
"You have your father's insolence," she said. "And my daughter's taste in men."
She looked at Sarah.
The warmth didn't reach her eyes.
"Hello, Sarah. You look... thin."
"I had the flu," Sarah said. Her voice was ice. "And radiation poisoning. And your mercenaries shot at me. It ruins the complexion."
"Discipline is hard, darling," Alta sighed. "But necessary."
She opened a drawer.
She pulled out a file folder. She slid it across the desk.
"I reviewed your bluff," Alta said. "The Judas Protocol. The dead-man switch."
She tapped the folder.
"My engineers analyzed the signal spectrum. There is no sub-carrier wave, Jason. Your watch is broken. You have no link to Gates."
Jason froze. The whiskey glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
Sarah tensed.
"But," Alta continued, "I stopped the execution anyway."
"Why?" Jason asked.
"Because a man who can lie to a firing squad without blinking is a man I can use," Alta said.
She leaned forward.
"I don't need dead heroes, Jason. I have plenty of those. I need a CEO."
She opened the folder.
It wasn't a death warrant.
It was a contract.
"Position: Head of Operations," Jason read the header. "Standard Oil & Ford Joint Venture."
"The world is broken," Alta said, gesturing to the burning city outside. "Gates controls the slaughterhouses in Chicago. The Timber Barons hold the Northwest. I hold the manufacturing. But I have a problem."
"Let me guess," Jason said. "Logistics."
"Pelley is a fanatic," Alta said with distaste. "He's good at shooting people. He's terrible at supply chains. My factories are running at 98%, but I can't move the product. The rail lines are contested. The roads are mined."
She looked Jason in the eye.
"You built a tech empire in your previous life. You understand scale. You understand distribution."
"You want me to be your delivery boy," Jason said.
"I want you to be my partner," Alta corrected. "Run the logistics. Secure the trade routes. Deal with Hitler and the Barons. Make the trains run on time."
"And if I refuse?"
Alta smiled. She pressed a button on her desk.
A panel on the wall slid open. A monitor flickered to life.
It was a live feed of the R&D lab.
Tesla was chained to a workbench. An Adjuster held a pistol to the back of his head.
Einstein was weeping, forced to write equations on a whiteboard.
Hughes was screaming silently behind soundproof glass.
"The scientists are valuable," Alta said. "But they are temperamental. If you don't sign, I don't need a Head of Operations. I'll just need... spare parts."
She looked at Sarah.
"And your wife? She goes to the Nursery. A lobotomy is painless, Jason. She'll still be pretty. She just won't talk back."
Sarah didn't flinch. She stared at her mother with pure hatred.
Jason looked at the contract.
He looked at the screen.
He looked at Alta.
He finished his whiskey. He set the glass down.
"I need a pen," Jason said.
Alta handed him her fountain pen. It was gold. Heavy.
Jason hovered the pen over the signature line.
He looked up.
"One condition," Jason said.
"You're in no position to haggle," Alta warned.
"I'm not haggling," Jason said. "I'm advising. You have a supply chain problem? I can fix it. But I need my own team. Not your Silver Legion idiots. I want O'Malley. I want the scientists."
"Denied," Alta said. "The scientists stay in the lab. O'Malley stays in the Pit."
"Then the trains don't move," Jason dropped the pen. "You want efficiency? I need my engineers. You want security? I need my dog. Without them, I'm just a guy in a suit. With them, I'm an empire."
Alta studied him. She was calculating.
Risk vs. Reward.
"The scientists stay in the lab," Alta compromised. "But they report to you. O'Malley..." She paused. "If he survives the night in the Pit, you can have him back. If the workers kill him, he wasn't useful anyway."
"Deal," Jason said.
He signed the paper.
Ezra Prentice.
The ink was black. It looked like oil.
Alta took the contract back. She smiled. A real smile this time. The smile of a predator who just ate.
"Welcome to the family, Jason," she said.
She pressed the intercom.
"Cancel the liquidation order. Issue Mr. Underwood a security badge. Level 5 clearance."
She stood up and poured herself a glass of champagne.
"Dinner is at eight," she said. "Dress code is black tie. I'll have the tailors send something up."
She turned her back on them to look out the window at her burning kingdom.
Jason stood up. He grabbed Sarah's hand.
They walked out of the office.
The heavy doors closed behind them.
They were alone in the marble hallway.
Jason leaned against the wall. He was shaking.
He looked at the security badge in his hand. It had his photo on it. It had been printed five minutes ago. She had known he would sign.
"You sold us," Sarah whispered.
"I bought us time," Jason whispered back. He looked at the camera in the corner of the ceiling. He forced a smile for the lens.
"We have access now," Jason said softly. "We have clearance. We have the labs."
"We're prisoners, Jason."
"No," Jason looked at the badge. "We're employees. And employees can organize a strike."
He looked at the elevator.
Down there, in the dark, O'Malley was fighting for his life.
Up here, in the light, the real war was just beginning.
"Get some rest," Jason told her. "I have to go to work."