I Can See the Expiry Date of Everything

Chapter 5

The row of men in charcoal coats moved with a terrifying, synchronized fluidity, their footsteps landing on the pavement with the precision of a metronome. Between them and the retreating shadows of the city stood Thomas Miller, his face a mask of placid indifference. He didn't run. He didn't shout. He simply waited, his presence acting as a dam against the chaotic flow of the street.

"Don't let go," Kevin whispered, the words barely audible over the sudden, unnatural silence of the city. He pulled Megan and Daniel into the narrow gap between a brick wall and a dumpster, his eyes darting wildly. The air was heavy, tasting of ozone and wet pavement.

Thomas Miller stepped into the light of a flickering streetlamp. He stopped ten paces away, his hands clasped behind his back. "You’re making this difficult, Kevin. Most people at this stage realize the math isn't on their side. You’re just delaying the inevitable collapse."

"I'm not interested in your math," Kevin spat, his voice tight. He gripped the iron wrench Daniel had swiped from the hospital supply room. His knuckles were raw, his hands trembling with a cocktail of rage and pure, unfiltered adrenaline. "Why her? Why is she the one you’re obsessed with ending?"

Miller tilted his head, a ghost of a smile touching his thin lips. "Megan Taylor is a variable that has become increasingly volatile. Her continued existence is a debt that the system can no longer reconcile. It isn't personal, Kevin. It’s accounting. You, however—you are a bug in the code. A witness who refuses to close his eyes."

Daniel stepped forward, his breathing ragged. "Who are you people? You talk about it like it’s a computer program. People aren't data points."

"That is where you are wrong, Doctor," Miller replied, his voice dropping to a conversational, almost friendly tone. "The universe is built on exchange. A life for a life. A second for a second. You have spent the last few hours stealing time from others to keep your friend breathing. Do you have any idea how much debt you’ve accumulated today?"

Kevin felt a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes as he looked at Miller. There were no numbers above the man’s head—just a swirling, dark abyss. "I don't care about the debt. I’m not letting you touch her."

"You are a debtor, Kevin," Miller continued, ignoring the threat. "And the Auditor doesn't like bad credit. Every time you push, the system pulls back harder. Look around you. The grid isn't just in the sky; it’s in the foundation of this city. We are the ones who make sure the building doesn't fall down when the weights shift."

Kevin’s mind raced. He looked up at the brickwork above Miller’s head—old, crumbling, and weather-beaten. He looked at the rusted fire escape ladder hanging limply against the wall. He needed a distraction, something to break the rhythm of these men.

"Megan," Kevin whispered, pressing his hand against her back. "When I move, you run toward the alley behind the newsstand. Do not look back. Daniel, you go with her."

"Kevin, no," Megan gasped, her eyes brimming with tears. "We aren't leaving you again."

"You have to," Kevin said, his voice dropping to a harsh command. "This is the only way."

Kevin didn't wait for a reply. He lunged.

He didn't run at Miller; he lunged for the rusted iron chain tethered to the fire escape support beam. He swung his full weight into the line, his boots scraping against the concrete. The chain groaned, a high-pitched shriek of tortured metal, and the entire fire escape assembly—rusted through after decades of neglect—began to tear away from the brick face.

"Now!" Kevin roared.

The heavy steel structure plummeted. It wasn't a precision strike; it was a falling guillotine. Miller finally looked up, his calm expression fracturing for the first time. He leaped back, but the sheer mass of the iron and rusted grating caught the edge of his coat, pinning him against the wall as the debris hit the ground with the force of a bomb.

The crash sent a cloud of pulverized brick and dust billowing into the street, obscuring everything in a blinding, choking fog.

"Go!" Kevin yelled, grabbing Megan and Daniel. They scrambled over the debris, their lungs burning as they sprinted into the darkness of the narrow alley.

"Keep moving!" Daniel urged, his hand gripping Megan’s arm as they burst out onto the next street over.

Kevin led them through a labyrinth of dumpsters and fire escapes, his heart drumming against his ribs like a frantic animal. He could hear them behind him—the rhythmic, steady thud of the men in charcoal coats. They weren't running; they didn't need to. They were closing in.

They ducked into a small, abandoned subway entrance, the stairs slick with slime and grime. Kevin slammed the gate shut, hooking a chain through the latch. It wouldn't hold them for long, but it would buy them a minute.

They collapsed on the bottom step, gasping for air. The subterranean tunnel was deathly quiet, save for the dripping of water and the distant, distorted hum of the city above.

"We need to get to the tracks," Kevin panted, wiping dust from his eyes. "If we can make it to the maintenance tunnels, we can bypass their sensors. We need to go underground."

"Kevin, look at your hands," Daniel said, his voice trembling.

Kevin looked down. His palms were glowing. A faint, violet pulse was radiating from his skin, mirroring the color of the countdown tickers. It wasn't a hallucination. The numbers were bleeding into him.

"I'm becoming part of it," Kevin whispered, the horror of the realization cooling his blood. "The more I see, the more I’m absorbed by it."

"We can fix this," Megan said, her voice shaking but defiant. "We have to be able to fix this."

Before Kevin could answer, a soft, deliberate footstep echoed from the top of the stairs. The heavy metal gate didn't rattle; it simply vanished, turning into a shimmer of translucent light before dissolving completely.

Thomas Miller descended the stairs. His coat was covered in dust, and one sleeve was shredded, but he wasn't bleeding. He looked exactly as he had before, his expression serene.

"Structural damage is such a temporary solution, Kevin," Miller said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. He stopped, his gaze drifting to the faint, violet glow emanating from Kevin’s skin. "And look. You’re already starting to integrate. You’re becoming a variable, not a witness."

"Stay back," Kevin warned, standing up to shield Megan and Daniel.

"I offer you a deal," Miller said, his voice smooth and devoid of any urgency. "Walk away. Stop interfering with the ledger. Let the time resolve itself for the girl, and you will be spared. You can live out your remaining days in a world where you no longer see the numbers. You can be... normal again."

Kevin looked at Megan, then at the abyss-like void above Miller’s head.

"What happens if I refuse?"

Miller gestured toward the far end of the tunnel. "Then you will see exactly what happens to those who try to rewrite the laws of the universe. You will become the very thing you are fighting. A number. A digit. A fleeting moment that no one remembers."

Kevin’s eyes widened as he looked at Miller. For the first time, the darkness above the man’s head shifted. It didn't resolve into a number. It resolved into a symbol. A horizontal figure-eight.

Infinity.

"You aren't a person," Kevin whispered, the weight of it crushing his lungs. "You’re the clock."

Miller smiled, a cold, empty gesture. "And time, Mr. Brooks, is finally running out."