In an office somewhere in a steel-gray city...
Elarion, 29 years old, sits hunched over a desk under the dull buzz of fluorescent lights. His face is pale, framed by dark circles that tell stories of sleepless nights and endless deadlines. His shoulders slump as he glances at his watch.
Lunch time.
He sighs. Another robotic break in another robotic day.
Rising from his chair, he heads to the company cafeteria—a sterile, pristine place that once felt like a luxury. Free food, back then, had felt like a blessing. Now, it's just another part of the routine. He doesn't eat because he enjoys it. He eats because he has to.
---
Elarion's POV
Rough day. Again. If I push a little more, I might finish the project tomorrow. Another project, another deadline. Another drop in the ocean.
Suddenly, someone bumps into me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I turn my head—it's Hirata.
"Hey, watch it, buddy," I mutter, too tired to care. He looks just as drained as I am.
He rubs his eyes. "Sorry... didn't sleep last night."
"Didn't sleep again, huh?" I say as I pick up a tray of food. He follows beside me.
"I'm working overtime again," he says with a faint, flickering smile. "But it'll be worth it. I'm almost done with the project. Once I get that promotion, I can finally marry Alice."
Alice. Right. The girl from HR. His light in the darkness.
For a brief second, I see it—hope—a rare gleam in his eyes. These days, that's like finding gold dust in concrete.
"I see... well, congratulations in advance," I say, sitting at a table.
"Thanks, man. I can't wait to marry the love of my life."
He smiles and hurries off with his food in hand. "I've got work to finish. See you later!"
I nod. He disappears into the hallway.
I eat alone. Silence wraps around me like fog. I scroll through my social feed. It's flooded with tutorials on "How to Land a Job at 60," or "10 Ways to Stay Productive During Burnout." The algorithm loves misery—especially if it sells solutions.
Out of curiosity, I type in the name of a book I'd heard back in high school: 48 Laws of Power.
No results found.
Weird.
I stare blankly at the screen. I should feel alarmed, but I don't. I'm too tired. Too used to things being... off.
Suddenly, screams break through the air.
People rush toward the windows and out the front door. I follow instinctively, cafeteria tray still half-full on the table.
Outside, the crowd gathers. I squeeze through—and freeze.
There, lying on the concrete, is a body. Blood pools around the head. The world goes silent in my ears as my eyes lock onto the face.
It's Hirata.
Twenty minutes ago, we were talking about his wedding plans.
Now he's just... gone.
My breath catches. My legs feel like jelly.
Why?
---
The police arrive unusually fast. Too fast. They push everyone back with cold efficiency. No one's allowed near the body. No one asks questions. Just protocol.
---
Time Skip – Evening
The office is quiet, but not peaceful. Everyone is shaken, whispering half-formed thoughts, trying to understand what just happened.
I walk out under flickering streetlights, waiting for a taxi. I glance at the residential buildings across the road. Most homes are dark. Only one or two lights flicker dimly. Electricity isn't cheap anymore. People use it only when absolutely necessary.
Unless you're a web developer like me.
Even then… it's not luxury. Just survival.
A taxi pulls up. I get in, sliding into the cold back seat.
As the car rolls through the city's empty streets, I check my feed again.
Nothing.
No news. No reports. No mentions of Hirata.
Just fitness hacks, productivity reels, and influencers showing off ergonomic work chairs.
A few obscure videos try to talk about the incident—but they're buried under mountains of corporate noise.
Then I hear the driver muttering angrily on the phone.
"Don't bother me again. She's just a liability. I have work."
From the speaker, I hear faint crying—a woman's sobs.
I don't want to eavesdrop, but I can't help it.
"She's gone… Our daughter's gone," the woman weeps. "You didn't come home, you didn't take her to the hospital—ambulance was too expensive—"
The man interrupts coldly. "Good. She was a burden anyway."
He hangs up.
The driver catches my gaze in the rearview mirror. I quickly look away, hand him the fare when we arrive. I walk into my apartment, heart heavy.
Two tragedies in one day.
First Hirata.
Then this man's daughter.
Could I have done something?
Said something?
Stopped something?
Maybe…
My entire life has been built on "maybe."
Maybe if I'd paid more attention.
Maybe if I'd chosen a different path at 17.
Only if…
I collapse on the bed, eyes closing before I can think more.
---
The Next Morning
I wake to the sound of a loud, shrill alarm clock.
Weird. I don't use an alarm. I haven't in years. My body wakes up on autopilot now.
But something feels wrong.
My limbs... feel lighter. My chest feels younger. I sit up slowly and look around.
The room is familiar. But not my room.
Where have I seen this place before?
Then I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.
I scream.
It's me—but seventeen years old.
I scramble to the calendar pinned to the wall.
2025.
I fall to the floor, breath caught in my throat.
What the hell is happening?
Then a voice from outside the room—small, trembling.
"Sir...? Um... my daughter... she's sick…"
---
To Be Continued…