Story code: ST-001071
Part 2: The True Dependency
“If it’s just a routine test, then let me call a private transit service,” I said, setting the Sync Band back on the table. I pulled up my personal banking app, ready to pay the premium for a non-automated medical cab.
Marcus stepped between me and the table, blocking my line of sight to the main console. “Don’t bother. The clinic’s private gate only opens for authorized medical transport partners. If you call an outside cab, they won’t even get past the perimeter barrier without my digital signature. You’ll be stuck waiting at the security gate in the dust.”
His insistence was sharp, lacking his usual polished charm. He tapped the glass table, pointing at the Sync Band. “Just put the band on. It takes two minutes to map your neural profile. Once the system registers the calibration, the gate clearance and your transport app will unlock automatically.”
I leaned back, resisting the urge to wince as my back flared. “You’re desperate, Marcus. What happens if I don’t calibrate it?”
“Nothing happens,” he said quickly, his eyes darting to the terminal screen behind him. “We just have to reschedule. But it’s a waste of time. You’re already here.”
I watched his reflection in the dark glass of the display cabinet. His shoulder was tense, and he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Every time the countdown timer on the wall monitor beeped, his eyelid flickered.
I stood up slowly, using the armrests for support. The pain was a sharp line down my right leg, but I forced myself to walk past him toward the console. Marcus moved to block me, but I stepped around him, leaning my hip against the desk to take the pressure off my spine.
“Leo, step back from the terminal,” Marcus said, his voice losing its calm veneer. “That’s proprietary developer space. You don’t have authorization.”
“I have eyes,” I said.
On the screen, the warning message had changed. The countdown timer was at seven minutes, but beneath it, a new notification had popped up in bright amber text: Developer License Audit Status: Critical. Active calibration data must be submitted within 06:12 to prevent automatic credential revocation.
I looked at the system details. The license wasn’t registered to his company; it was registered to him personally. And the audit wasn’t a routine check. It was a compliance review.
“You didn’t invite me here to help me heal,” I said, the realization settling heavy in my chest. “You invited me because your developer credentials are about to be revoked by the medical board. You need my specific spinal injury telemetry to prove your device actually works on real patients.”
Marcus stared at me, his mouth opening slightly before he snapped it shut. He didn’t deny it. Instead, his posture stiffened, and he pressed his palm against the console, trying to cover the warning window. “The board is tightening regulations. They’re trying to squeeze out independent developers. If I don’t upload a live calibration sequence from a certified post-op patient today, they’ll freeze my testing suite and pull my funding. I’ll lose everything I’ve built.”
“So you locked my transport to force my compliance,” I said.
“It’s one calibration, Leo!” Marcus raised his voice, his defensive tone turning pleading. “It doesn’t hurt. It just reads your neural output. If you let the timer run out, my license is gone. I won’t be able to run trials, and I won’t be able to help anyone. Especially not you.”
I looked at the Sync Band on the table. The proof of his desperation was flashing on the screen in front of me, and the power dynamic in the room had suddenly shifted. He wasn’t just controlling my ride home; he was entirely dependent on my consent to save his career.