The automatic doors of St. Helena Medical Center shut behind Marcus Chen. Revealing the dying golden light of another day.
A day he wasn't so sure he wanted to see end, why??.
A piece of paper and somehow the words on it weighed more on his mind than the overdue rent, lack of food for the night and his own depreciating self wroth.
"Chronic Radiation Sickness. Stage 3. Treatment cost: 847,000 credits. Time remaining without intervention: 3-4 months."
He laughed. Out loud, on the sidewalk like some kind of lunatic.
Three months, All those double shifts at Azzuri Innovations, letting them pump him full of experimental rift residue "for science," and this was his retirement package.
He took a step toward the crosswalk and nearly became street art.
A land cruiser had just brushed past his nose. His hair whipping back as the wind caught him off guard, sending him stumbling into a lamp post.
"Phew, was this close to getting Isekaid",. He said patting himself on the head and sounding a tad disappointed at his own safety.
Just then, the sound system above him chimed in
"Operations continuing in Sector 7. Luce Nera advises civilians to avoid the riverside district until Variant cleanup is complete. Toppler response teams report minimal casualties"
"Minimal casualties." he snorted. "That's easy to say when your apartment building isn't the one getting levelled by some gorilla with anger issues".
He'd recently just lost what was the third place this year. And The insurance companies were having none of it
Marcus stopped walking. Where was he even going? His current shoebox apartment was in the opposite direction, and honestly, what was the point? Three months of sitting around, watching the ceiling peel and waiting for his organs to shut down one by one.
He looked at the letter again, then at a trash receptacle floating quietly near the corner.
"Lebronnn….," he whispered, and took his shot.
The crumpled letter sailed through the air in a beautiful arc, hung for a moment against the sunset, and then bounced off the rim like his life choices.
"I'm not too sure if he did it like that he'd be the goat?"
Marcus spun around to find a college kid watching him with barely concealed amusement. Fine skin, perfect teeth, wearing one of those crisp red blazers that screamed world renowned University— The Virelia Institute.
kid looked like he'd never missed a meal in his life, let alone a basketball shot.
"The goats MJ, and Lebrons a** wishes he had my form," Marcus shot back, bending to pick up his failed attempt at dramatic disposal.
The student laughed, genuine, not mocking. "Sure he does. That's why you're out here practicing your technique on garbage cans."
"Don't be like that kid, you know everyone starts somewhere." Marcus straightened up, noticing the "old" gold chain catching light at the kid's throat. The kind that came with generational wealth.
The student's expression shifted slightly, eyes scanning Marcus's face with unexpected concern. "You okay, man? look like you've seen better days."
"Huh, try better years." But something in the kid's tone stopped Marcus from going full self-pity mode. Instead, he managed a shrug.
A few seconds of awkward silence stretched between them before the student nodded toward the Virelia towers rising like crystal spears in the distance. "I should get back. Dorm check-in soon."
"Yeah, sure. Go learn how to save the world or whatever."
The kid was already walking away, but he threw a glance over his shoulder. Marcus caught it. Concern mixed with something else,
Recognition? Pity? He couldn't tell.
Marcus watched the red blazer disappear into the evening crowd and felt something twist in his chest. The kid was gonna probably grow into a fine toppler one day, and if he didn't there was enough of daddy's money to last him 3 months and more than a lifetime.
He started walking again, no particular destination in mind. The city bustled around him, hover-carriers weaving between traditional ground traffic, holographic ads of movers painting the air in false promises.
Sixty years since the first rifts tore reality open and scattered monsters across the globe, and somehow humanity had built something beautiful from all that havoc
Beautiful for some, anyway.
Meridian Park squatted between two residential blocks, its trees overgrown and benches cracked from so long-ago.
Warning signs fluttered from the fence posts: "MISSING PERSONS REPORTS IN THIS AREA. TRAVEL IN GROUPS. REPORT SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY."
Marcus read the signs and kept walking.
The park was empty, which wasn't surprising. People talked about this place, homeless folks who came here to sleep and never left,
City council kept promising to clean it up, install better lighting, maybe post some security drones. But there are always more important districts, and more valuable citizens to protect.
He found a bench that looked somewhat structurally sound and sat down, heavily.
Three months.
Marcus pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, all twelve of them. Half were work numbers, a couple landlords, one was his dentist. The rest were people he used to know, back when he thought life might go somewhere interesting.
When was the last time someone had called him just to talk? When was the last time he'd called someone?.
The sun was setting behind the apartment towers, painting everything in shades of orange and gold. It was actually pretty beautiful, in a tragic sort of way, Like a movie scene right before the protagonist's dramatic death.
Marcus closed his phone, then his eyes and leaned back, Maybe people really did disappear here And maybe, for once in his life, he was in the right place at the right time.
Time passed, nightfall. Marcus might have dozed off cause next thing he knew, an engine was rumbling nearby.
He opened his eyes to see headlights cutting through the darkness. A truck had pulled up to the park entrance, its bulk silhouetted against the street lamps. As he watched, the driver's door opened and a figure climbed out, too dark to make out details, but clearly human, I mean what else could drive a truck.
"Great," Marcus muttered. "My luck, it's just some city worker."
Part of him had been hoping for something more dramatic. Mysterious kidnappers, supernatural predators, anything that would take the choice out of his hands. Instead, he was probably about to watch someone empty trash cans for the next twenty minutes
But as his brain slowly caught up with his eyes, something didn't add up. The truck was old. like, actually old. And it was past midnight. When did garbage collection happen at midnight?
Actually, when did "manual" garbage collection happen at all? This was big 2072. Waste management was handled by automated systems–drone pickups, molecular recyclers, on-site incineration units.
The city hadn't used manual trucks for most of Marcus's lifetime.
The figure was walking toward the park now, moving with purpose.
Marcus was suddenly awake and tried to stand up but his legs felt strange, heavy. Was the world tilting sideways?? No, he soon realized he was falling back onto the bench. His phone clattered on concrete as his vision started to blur.
Gas, Something in the air??. Knew he'd go out sooner or later, but he never really imagined it'd be like this.
"Well," he tried to say, but only managed a weak wheeze. "At least it's not the cancer."
Then the darkness swallowed him whole