A Necromancer's Guide to Clearing a Game Like Tower

The elevator in the Resource Bureau spat him out onto the ground floor and the first thing James did was duck into the single-occupant bathroom off the lobby. Ko. It bent a little as he gripped it in one hand. He’d expected a wire transfer or an official check. But the woman from Legal had made him sign three different forms in triplicate and then handed him an envelope like he’d won a radio contest.

There was no one in the hall. No security, no press, not even the usual crop of guild leeches scanning the crowd for easy marks. The Bureau had walked him out under a privacy clause so strong the receptionist didn’t even register his exit. He stuffed the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket, zipped it shut, and kept his hand there all the way home.

His boots made wet sucking noises in the stairwell up to the flat. Second floor, end of the hall, same door with the handle that stuck if you pulled too hard. He turned the key, shouldered the door, and slipped inside. He listened for voices but the flat was silent except for the wall heater’s half-dead rattle.

James paused by the door. He exhaled. His hand was still tight around the envelope. He walked to his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and sat cross-legged on the faded duvet. It was the only place in the flat where the floor didn’t groan if you put weight on the wrong spot.

He set the envelope on the bed and stared at it. The last time he’d seen this much money was when his father’s insurance paid out. His uncles took everything except what his mother stashed in a savings account she never used, because it hurt to look at the balance. That had been a year’s worth of rent, and it had vanished in twelve months.

James took out his penknife and slid it under the flap. Inside were ten neat bands of bills, each labeled $34,380 in sharp blue marker. The bank’s security tape was still unbroken. He ran a thumb along the top note and then stopped, feeling something old and chemical in his chest. He put nine bands back into the envelope, resealed it, and slid it into his backpack, which still stank faintly of blood from the last Floor run. The tenth band—$10,000—he set aside. He counted out five thousand and wrapped it in a plastic sandwich bag before hiding the rest.

The loose floorboard in the corner was easier to pry up than he remembered. Last time he’d hidden the circlet there, it had barely fit between the joists. Now, the empty space under the board felt more like a crypt, and he had to force himself to stack the cash inside. He pressed the wood back down and spent two minutes rolling the threadbare rug perfectly smooth.

He sat there, breathing the damp mildew stink of the flat, feeling a phantom weight in his gut. Nothing had changed except everything. The world was the same, the rent unpaid, the water stains growing on the ceiling, but now there was a fortune in the floor and the only thing James could think about was what to do next.

He waited until after six, when his mother’s shift at the cleaning company was supposed to end. He waited until he heard her key in the lock and then he made tea, not because he wanted any but because she would ask if he’d eaten and tea was something to do with his hands.

She came in with her head down, eyes fixed on her phone. She only looked up when she smelled the kettle boiling. "You’re home," she said, surprise in her voice, as if she’d half-expected him to vanish again.

"Finished early," James lied, pouring water into two mugs. "They said I should rest between clears."

She nodded, not really listening. She put her bag down on the chipped kitchen table and started rubbing her temples. Her knuckles were red and raw. There was a new cut on the back of her hand, already scabbed over. She saw him looking and snorted. "Caught it on a bin lid. Got a Tetanus booster from the nurse, so don’t bother fussing."

James shrugged. He set a mug in front of her and watched the steam rise between them. The envelope was still in his pocket, and it made the whole conversation feel like a lie.

He waited until she’d taken a sip, then pulled the sandwich bag of cash from his jacket and set it on the table. The bag slid across the laminate, stopping just at her wrist.

She stared at it. She didn’t touch it. Her face blanked out in a way he’d only seen once before, at his father’s funeral.

"What’s that, James."

"Tower contract," he said, keeping his eyes on the mug. "They pay on commission now, not by the hour. If you clear a Floor, they pay you. This is... an advance."

She stared at the money another three seconds, then looked at his face. "Advance for what. You’re not a guild member."

James forced himself to meet her eyes. "I’m sub-contracted to the Resource Bureau. They needed something from me for a project. I signed an NDA so I can’t say more. But it’s clean, legal money. First payment, more to come. I thought we should fix the heat, or pay off the rent—"

His mother didn’t blink. She didn’t even seem to breathe. After a long time she reached out, picked up the bag, and peeled back the plastic. She counted three bills, then put the whole bundle back down.

"I want to see the contract," she said. Her voice was careful, the words spaced out like tiles.

James had expected this. He’d prepared the partial contract summary the TRB gave him, the one that just said "Resource Management Consulting" and listed a rate and duration. He reached into his pocket, unfolded the paper, and slid it across the table. She picked it up and read every word.

She set the contract down and rubbed her temples again. "And this is for what, exactly? What did you do for them that’s worth this much?"

James hesitated. The lie tasted sour in his mouth. "I found an item on Floor 1 they needed. I gave it to them, and they’re paying for access. That’s all." He almost said more, about the circlet, about O’Shea, but the words knotted in his throat. "It’s just an artifact, Mam. I’m not in trouble."

She studied him, her eyes shining in the harsh kitchen light. The look was different from her usual suspicion. More naked, more frightened.

"Are you sure?" she asked, quiet. "Because that’s enough money to disappear someone. I’ve seen what the Tower does to people, and I’m not talking about the fighting."