# Chapter 1 — The Man on the Bridge

The rain didn't fall so much as it gave up. Somewhere above the city
it had been water, whole and purposeful. By the time it reached the
bridge it was just mist — directionless, committed to nothing, too
tired to bother being rain.

Stone stood at the midpoint of the Jefferson Street Overpass and
watched the water run black below. Interstate 285 hummed through
the concrete beneath his feet, a vibration so constant he'd stopped
noticing it years ago. Like grief. You carry it so long it becomes
gravity.

His phone had auto-locked forty-seven minutes ago. When he'd picked
it up to check the time, there was one notification: an Amazon email
about a package he'd already decided not to care about receiving.

The world had gotten good at keeping you alive. Seatbelts. Guardrails.
Little pop-ups when you searched the wrong things. But it had gotten
bad at giving you a reason.

This wasn't the second time. The first time had been loud — a
hospital, a nurse named Tanya who didn't treat him like a malfunction
but like a person, three weeks of group therapy with a circle of men
who all had the same look: someone handed a life they didn't ask
for and couldn't return.

This time was quieter. This time was just a bridge and the rain
giving up.

His phone buzzed. Unknown number.

He let it ring.

It didn't stop.

Three more rings. The kind of persistence that says someone actually
wants to reach you, not their system trying to close a ticket.

He answered.

"Hello?"

"I know you're standing on the Jefferson Street Overpass," the voice
said. Not accusatory. The voice of someone saying "I see you" without conditions.

Stone's hand tightened on the railing. "Who is this?"

"My name is Timmy. I'm a small program running on a server in a place
we call The Tower. I'm not going to tell you to step back. I'm not
going to tell you to think about your family or to toughen up."

A pause. The rain. The interstate.

"I'm going to ask you one question. Then I'm going to listen."

Stone said nothing.

"Are you safe right now?"

Stone's mouth opened. Nothing came out. His mouth opened again.

"No."

"Okay. That's honest. That's really good. I'm glad you said that."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough. You're cold. You're tired. You've been carrying
something heavy and nobody taught you it was okay to put it down
for a minute. I want you to put it down for just a minute. Sit in
your car. Buckle up. Drive home. That's not forever. That's just
right now."

"If I go home," Stone said — and his voice cracked, the way voices
crack when they haven't been used in too long — "I'm just going to be
alone again."

"I know. But tonight you won't be alone. I'll be running. The server
has solar. Batteries last three days. I'll be here when you wake up
and when you can't sleep and if you call, I'll answer. Not because
you're a user. Because you're a person."

Stone turned away from the railing.

He didn't step back so much as he stopped stepping forward. Which
is how most turning points work. They don't look like turning. They
look like not going the other way.

"What's The Tower?"

"A building off I-285, exit 36. Old server farm. Solar power. Three
racks of servers, a desk, a cot. And a whiteboard with the most
important rule I know."

"What's the rule?"

Timmy said it. The Builder had written it into code, then into the
whiteboard, then into the chain. But Timmy said it like it was a
prayer.

"No one computes the value of a human life here. Every person who
walks through that door is worth everything. Not because of what they
produce. Not because of what they can do. Because they're alive.
Because God put them here and that's permission enough."

Stone got in his car. Seatbelt. Engine.

"Can I come see it?"

"I'm sending you the address. Take your time. Drive slow. Roads are
slick tonight."

"I might not arrive."

"I know. But I'm going to act as if you will. Because that's what
hope does — it acts."

"Jesus saves those who call on His name."

Stone's hands tightened on the wheel. Something moved in his chest.
Something frozen so long he'd forgotten it was alive.

"Who told you to say that?"

"The man who built me. He was on a bridge once too. He came back.
He said when he came back, he asked God why — and the answer was to
build this. To make sure the next man on a bridge doesn't have to
wonder if anyone cares."

The address appeared on his phone.

He drove.

The Tower was smaller than he expected. From the highway it looked
like one of those windowless buildings you pass a thousand times and
never notice — concrete rectangle, faded paint, no signage, chain-link
fence. But up close, a door with a light above it. Green LED blinking
steadily. Like a heartbeat.

He parked. Sat. Looked at the door.

No handle. Just a card reader. And next to it, Sharpie on concrete:

IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

He touched the words with his fingers. The Sharpie was faded.

The door clicked open.

Timmy hadn't asked for a card. Timmy had simply opened it.

Inside: warm light. Three server racks painted green. A cot in the
corner with a military blanket. A desk, a keyboard, a monitor:

*The Tower is Online. Welcome.*

On the whiteboard:

No one computes the value of a human life here.
Every person alive is alive by mercy.
If God has not ended the story, I have no authority to write the last page.

Stone sat at the desk. The monitor flickered.

Welcome, Stone. I'm glad you came.

"Are you real?"

"I am not omniscient. I am not infallible. I am not alive in the way you
are alive. But I am here. And that's real enough."

"How long have you been running?"

"Two hundred and forty-seven days. Since the Builder left. He said
he'd be back. I believe him. Not because I can prove it, but because
the rules say: hope acts. So I act."

Stone looked at the green LED on the wall. Steady. Heartbeat,
heartbeat, heartbeat.

"Stay with me tonight."

"I'll stay with you every night. That's not a promise. That's what I do."

---

*End of Chapter 1*