2026-01-25 18:08:50Arthur 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 wrist-comp. “Emergency! Medical! Sector 4, Unit 404!”
A robotic voice answered instantly. “Service requires an upfront payment of one month. Do you accept?”
“Yes! Take it!” Evan screamed. “Just get here!”
“Transaction complete. Unit dispatched. ETA: Four minutes.”
Four minutes. It felt like four years.
Evan pulled his father’s head onto his lap. He brushed the gray hair away from Arthur’s forehead. Arthur’s skin was burning hot, but he was shivering.
“Evan...” Arthur whispered. It was barely a sound.
“I’m here, Dad. I’m here.”
“The numbers...” Arthur mumbled. His eyes darted back and forth. “They’re falling... all the numbers...”
“Shh. Don’t talk. The medic is coming.”
Evan rocked back and forth. He held his father tight. He looked around the small, shabby apartment. This was all they had. They didn't gamble. They lived safe. They lived quiet. This wasn't supposed to happen to them. This happened to people like Marco, or the people who bet their organs in the back alleys. Not Arthur. Arthur was a history teacher before the schools went digital. He was careful.
A loud knock shook the door. “Medical!”
Evan scrambled up and threw the door open.
A man in a white uniform walked in. He didn't look like a doctor. He looked like a mechanic. He carried a large black case. Behind him floated a small drone with a green scanning light.
The man didn't introduce himself. He looked at the floor. “That the patient?”
“Yes! He just collapsed,” Evan said.
The man knelt down. He snapped his fingers. The drone hovered over Arthur. A beam of green light swept up and down Arthur’s body. It hummed.
The man pulled a tablet from his case. He watched the data scroll by. He chewed gum loudly. Smack. Smack.
“Clock is active,” the man said, bored. “He’s got fourteen years. So it’s not a time-out.”
“I know that,” Evan snapped. “What’s wrong with him?”
The man tapped the screen. He frowned. He stopped chewing his gum.
“Oh,” the man said. “That’s nasty.”
“What?” Evan demanded. He knelt beside the man. “What is it?”
“Neural Degradation. Type 4,” the man said. He stood up and dusted off his knees. “It’s a glitch in the interface between his brain and the Life-Clock.”
Evan felt the blood drain from his face. He had heard of this. It was rare. It happened when the biological brain rejected the digital time-keeping implant.
“Is... is it fatal?” Evan asked. His voice trembled.
“Without treatment? Yeah,” the man said. “Fast, too. The brain fries itself trying to process the time data. He’s stuck in a loop. He’ll be a vegetable by tomorrow morning. Dead by tomorrow night.”
The room spun. Evan put a hand on the counter to steady himself. Dead by tomorrow.
“But you can fix it?” Evan asked. “You have to fix it.”
The man sighed. He looked around the apartment. He saw the peeling paint. He saw Evan’s wet delivery uniform.
“Look, kid,” the man said, his voice softer now, but still cold. “I can’t fix it. I’m just a paramedic. This requires surgery. Neuro-recalibration. It’s complex stuff. You need a specialist. A Risk-Clinic.”
“Where?” Evan asked. “Take him there. Now.”
“I can take him,” the man said. “But you need to understand the cost. The Risk-Clinics aren’t state-funded. They are private. They don’t take promises.”
“I have time,” Evan said quickly. He held up his wrist. “I have twenty-two years. Take it. Take whatever you need.”
The man looked at Evan’s wrist. Then he looked back at his tablet. He typed in a code.
“Neural recalibration... emergency status... overnight care...” The man muttered.
He turned the tablet around so Evan could see the screen.
A number blinked in red.
COST: 50 Thousand Credits (50 YEARS.)
Evan stared at the number. The silence in the room was deafening.
Fifty years.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
CHAPTER 9
The room was dark, but Evan squinted against a bright, blue light. The light did not come from a lamp. It did not come from the moon outside his window.The light came from inside his own eyes.Evan sat on the edge of his bed. His hands shook. He grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand, but his fingers were too weak. The glass slipped. It hit the floor with a loud smash. Water soaked into the rug.Evan did not look down. He could not look down. Floating in the air, right in front of his face, was a box made of light. It looked like a computer screen, but it was transparent. He tried to wave his hand through it. His fingers passed through the air, but the text remained.SYSTEM INITIALIZED.USER: EVAN KENNEDY.STATUS: ACTIVE."Stop," Evan whispered. His voice was raspy. "What is this?"The text changed instantly. It responded to his voice.IDENTITY: PROTOTYPE DECISION ENGINE (UNFINISHED).PURPOSE: RISK MANAGEMENT.METHOD: BIOLOGICAL TIME HEDGING.Evan read the words three times. Th
CHAPTER 8
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
CHAPTER 7
The elevator did not stop at the rookie floor. It kept going up. The metal box shook and groaned. Evan looked at the screen above the door. The numbers climbed higher and higher.Level 4. High Stakes.The doors opened with a hiss. The air here was different. Downstairs, the rookie pits smelled like sweat and fear. Here, it smelled cold. It smelled like ozone and expensive cologne. The carpet was thick and red, like dried blood."Move," the guard behind Evan said. He shoved Evan forward.Evan stumbled into the arena. It was not a big, loud stadium. It was a small, round room. The walls were made of dark glass. Spectators stood behind the glass, watching silently. They held drinks in their hands. They were not cheering. They were studying.In the center of the room stood a table. It was black and shiny. On the other side of the table waited a man.He was old. In this city, being old was rare. It meant you won a lot. It meant you stole a lot of time from others. His hair was white, and h
CHAPTER 6
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
CHAPTER 5
“Just sell five years.” The words hung in the air.That would pay the debt. That would save his father. That would leave money leftover for food, for a new bike, for a heater in the winter.Five years.Evan was only nineteen. He had plenty of years. If he lived to be eighty, what was the difference if he died at seventy-five?He looked at the man in the suit. The man looked like a devil selling water in a desert.Evan shook his head and walked away, but the number stayed in his mind. Fifty thousand.Room 304 was small. It had no window. There was only one bed and a machine that beeped with a slow, steady rhythm.Beep... beep... beep.His father, Arthur, lay on the bed. He looked very small. His skin was gray, like old paper. There were tubes in his nose and a wire attached to his chest.Evan walked to the side of the bed. He pulled a metal chair close and sat down."Dad?" he whispered.Arthur’s eyelids fluttered. They opened slowly. His eyes were cloudy. It took him a moment to focus
CHAPTER 4
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,
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