I follow the directions on my tablet, descending through the facility's infrastructure toward Waste Processing Sublevel 3. The further down I go, the more the environment transforms, polished surfaces give way to utilitarian metal, decorative elements disappear entirely, and the air grows thick with industrial smells and mechanical sounds.

  A service elevator takes me the final levels down, its aged mechanism groaning under my weight. When the doors slide open, I'm hit with a wall of humid air carrying the unmistakable tang of biological waste mixed with chemical treatments.

  Waste Processing Sublevel 3 is a vast network of pipes, tanks, and processing equipment sprawling across an open industrial space. Catwalks crisscross overhead, connecting various monitoring stations where both human and alien technicians supervise the systems. The ceiling is low, the lighting harsh and functional, casting everything in an unflattering bluish-white glow.

  Several other people move purposefully through the space, independents and nulls, each focused on specific tasks, maintaining equipment, monitoring gauges, or clearing blockages in the system. Unlike the training areas, there's no evidence of power use here; this is pure physical labor.

  I make my way to a central control station marked with "Reclamation Unit 7" on a worn sign. A burly man with cybernetic augmentations visible along his left arm stands checking readouts on a grimy console. A facility badge identifies him as Supervisor Dorn.

  "Independent Asset 7249 reporting for labor assignment," I announce, holding up my tablet with the assignment details.

  Dorn looks up, his cybernetic eye whirring slightly as it focuses on me. "Another fresh independent," he grunts, not bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm. "Let me guess, high-tier potential who thought independence sounded romantic?"

  Without waiting for my response, he taps something into his console. "Reclamation Unit 7 processes biological waste into nutrient base for the lower-tier food synthesizers. Your job is filter maintenance, clearing blockages and replacing degraded components."

  He gestures toward a locker nearby. "Protection gear in there. You'll need it. Unit's been backing up all night, filters are probably completely fucked by now."

  I open the locker to find stained coveralls, heavy gloves, and a breathing apparatus that's seen better days. The equipment smells of industrial cleaners barely masking the underlying stench of waste.

  "Four hours of labor required today," Dorn continues, not looking up from his console. "Complete the assigned sector efficiently and you can leave early. Fuck up, and you'll stay until it's fixed regardless of time."

  As I put on the protective gear, an older woman approaches from one of the processing lines. Her weathered face suggests she's been working in these conditions for years.

  "First day, huh?" she says, helping me adjust the breathing apparatus. "I'm Mira. Been independent for three years now." She lowers her voice. "Don't rush the filter replacements. System needs to equalize pressure between changes or you'll get a faceful of shit, literally."

  Dorn finishes with his console and projects a schematic onto a nearby screen. "Red sections indicate blocked filters. Yellow needs inspection. Green is functional. Right now we're running at 43% efficiency. Get it above 80% before your shift ends."

  The schematic shows dozens of filter points throughout Reclamation Unit 7, most of them glowing red or yellow. A daunting first assignment designed to test my resolve, or break it.

  "One more thing," Dorn adds, his cybernetic eye focusing on me with uncomfortable intensity. "Some independent assets think they can use their abilities to shortcut the labor. Don't. Power usage in waste processing is monitored closely, safety protocols. Use the fucking tools provided."

  Mira hands me a toolkit, manual wrenches, pressure gauges, and replacement filters packed in sealed containers. "Start at junction B-17," she suggests. "Work outward from there. More efficient that way."

  With my gear secured and tools in hand, I make my way into the maze of pipes and processing equipment that comprises Reclamation Unit 7. The stench is overwhelming despite the breathing apparatus, and condensation drips from overhead pipes, creating slippery conditions on the metal walkways.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  As I locate junction B-17 and begin removing the access panel to the first filter, I understand why this assignment is given to new independents. It's not just physically demanding, it's deliberately demoralizing. A stark reminder of my new position in the facility hierarchy.

  But as I work through the first few filters, my hands getting coated in foul-smelling residue despite the gloves, I realize this assignment provides a unique opportunity. While my body handles the disgusting but simple mechanical task, I can extend my telekinetic awareness to map this complex system while appearing to just focus on my work.

  I carefully regulate my power usage, keeping it at a minimal level that shouldn't trigger any monitoring systems. Instead of using telekinesis to manipulate the filters, which would be obvious, I use it as a sensing tool, extending tendrils of awareness through the pipes and conduits surrounding me.

  The waste processing system unfolds in my mind like a three-dimensional blueprint. Massive pipes carry biological waste from the upper levels, channeling it through progressive filtration stages. I trace the main flow lines, identifying how different facility sectors connect to this system. The sponsored quarters produce significantly more waste than the independent blocks, their nutrition allocations clearly more generous based on the volume processed.

  As I replace a particularly clogged filter at junction C-24, my awareness discovers something interesting, a secondary pipe network running parallel to the main system. These smaller conduits seem to carry processed waste extracts toward a section labeled "Agriculture Sector" on a nearby control panel. The facility must be growing some of its own food, recycling nutrients in a closed system.

  "Fuck!" I mutter as a pressure valve releases unexpectedly, spraying me with foul-smelling liquid. The protective gear catches most of it, but the stench intensifies around me.

  While cleaning myself off as best I can, I push my awareness deeper into the system architecture. The waste processing sublevel connects to at least three major maintenance tunnels, large enough for personnel to move through. One appears to lead toward Block D, another toward what might be the Arena sectors based on its direction, and a third descends even further below.

  I move methodically from filter to filter, maintaining a steady work pace while building my mental map. Each junction reveals new information, relay stations that monitor flow rates, chemical injection points that modify the waste composition, and occasional security checkpoints where the pipes pass between major facility sections.

  Most valuable are the access hatches I discover, maintenance points that don't appear on the official schematics projected by Supervisor Dorn. Some are partially hidden behind equipment or marked with outdated designation codes. I memorize their locations, understanding their potential value for moving through the facility undetected.

  After two hours of work, I've replaced fifteen filters and built a comprehensive mental map of Reclamation Unit 7 and its connections to surrounding systems. The knowledge feels empowering, in just one labor assignment, I've gained insights into the facility's infrastructure that sponsored assets would never encounter.

  Mira appears occasionally, checking my progress and offering brief advice on particularly troublesome filter assemblies. During one such visit, she subtly indicates a small gap between pipes near junction D-8.

  "Pressure regulator there's been glitchy for months," she says loudly enough for nearby monitors to pick up. Then, much quieter: "Actually works fine. Blind spot in the security coverage. Good place to catch your breath if needed."

  I nod my understanding while continuing to work. The independent assets have clearly mapped these systems extensively, identifying vulnerabilities and safe zones throughout the infrastructure.

  By the end of my four-hour shift, I've cleared most of the red-marked filters and inspected the yellow ones. The system efficiency has risen to 83%, acceptable by Dorn's standards. More importantly, I've gathered valuable intelligence about the facility's hidden architecture.

  As I return the tools and remove the soiled protective gear, Supervisor Dorn checks my work on his console.

  "Acceptable for a first assignment," he grunts, not looking particularly impressed. Or maybe he's just disappointed that I didn't run to the sponsors begging them to take me back.

  I nod, keeping my expression neutral despite my satisfaction with what I've learned. As I make my way back toward the service elevator, Mira falls into step beside me.

  "You did well," she says quietly. "Most new independents complain the whole time or try to use their powers and get flagged by security. You just worked."

  "The work itself isn't the point," I reply. "It's what you learn while doing it."

  She smiles slightly, approval in her eyes. "You'll adjust to independence just fine with that attitude. Remember what you saw down here, knowledge of the facility's guts is something even the highest-tier sponsored assets don't have."

  The elevator arrives, its doors groaning open to reveal the same aged compartment that brought me down. As I step inside to return to the main levels, I carry more than just the lingering stench of waste processing, I carry a mental map of systems and vulnerabilities that might prove crucial in the days ahead.