Arthur was a big man, but he looked small now. He was curled up on his side. A ceramic mug lay broken near his hand. Coffee, black, cold, was spilled across the linoleum tiles like an ink stain.“Dad!”Evan rushed forward. He dropped to his knees. The hard floor hurt his knees, but he didn't feel it. He grabbed his father’s shoulder.“Dad! Wake up!”Arthur rolled onto his back. His eyes were open, but they were not looking at Evan. They were looking at the ceiling, unseeing. They were milky and gray. His breathing was shallow. It sounded like a rattle in a dry box. Hhhhrrr... hhhhrrr...“No, no, no,” Evan stammered.He grabbed his father’s wrist. He looked at Arthur’s Life-Clock.14 Years, 2 Months, 1 Day.“You have time,” Evan said, panic rising in his chest. “You have plenty of time. Why are you falling?”In this world, people usually died when their clock hit zero. The heart stopped. The lights went out. But Arthur had fourteen years. This was something else.Evan tapped his own wr

The rain in the lower city did not wash things clean. It only made the dirt wet. It turned the dust into gray mud that stuck to boots and tires.Evan pushed his bicycle through the mud. The bike was not new, but it was fast. It had a frame made of blue metal that shone even in the dark. He had built it himself from scrap parts over three years. It was his freedom. It was the only way he could travel to the upper levels to look for work.Today, it was just money.He stopped in front of a shop with a blinking yellow sign. The sign said: GRIX’S GOODS – WE BUY ANYTHING.Evan took a deep breath. The air smelled like burning plastic and old oil. He pushed the bike through the door. A bell rang above his head.Inside, the shop was full of junk. There were piles of old clothes, broken toasters, and screens with cracked glass. Behind a tall counter sat Mr. Grix. He was a large man with grease on his chin and a robotic eye that zoomed in and out with a soft whirring sound."I don't need wheels,

The pen felt heavier than a brick. It was a sleek, black pen, but in Evan’s hand, it felt like a weapon. He looked down at the paper on the metal desk. The paper was thick and cream-colored. The words were small, but the message was giant.Contract of Temporal Exchange.Evan took a deep breath. The air in the room smelled like rubbing alcohol and old money. He looked at the bottom of the page. The line for his signature waited. If he signed, there was no going back. If he didn't sign, he stayed poor and desperate.He pressed the pen to the paper. His hand shook a little. He wrote his name. Evan Kennedy.As soon as he lifted the pen, the black bracelet on his left wrist buzzed. It was a sharp pain, like a bee sting. Evan gasped and grabbed his wrist. The bracelet was made of smooth, dark glass. Suddenly, numbers flashed under the glass in bright red light.PROJECTED LIFESPAN: 03 Years, 02 Months, 14 Days.Evan stared. His mouth went dry. He was nineteen years old, but according to this

Evan ran. His boots slapped against the wet metal of the walkway. His breath came in short, painful gasps. It felt like breathing through a straw. He did not look back. He knew they were there. He could hear their heavy footsteps. They were calm. They were not running. They did not need to run.Evan turned a corner and slipped. His shoulder hit a brick wall. Pain shot down his arm, but he pushed off and kept moving. He looked at his left wrist. The bio-screen embedded in his skin was glowing with a harsh red light.Current Balance: 2 Minutes.Future Projection: 0.00.Zero.The number made his stomach turn. In this city, time was not just money. It was life. If the projection hit zero, the system marked you as "Expired.""End of the line, Evan," a voice boomed.Evan stopped. He was in a dead-end alley. A high fence blocked his path. It was covered in razor wire. He spun around.Two men stood at the entrance of the alley. They wore matte-black armor. They had no badges, only the symbo