2026-01-25 18:09:51“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 on Evan’s face.
"Evan," Arthur breathed. His voice was like dry leaves scraping together. "You... came."
"I’m here, Dad." Evan took his father’s hand. It was cold. "How do you feel?"
"Like I am... fading," Arthur said. He tried to smile, but it was weak. "Did you... did you pay the bill?"
Evan looked at the floor. He looked at the empty spot where his datapad usually sat in his pocket. "I’m working on it. I sold the bike. I sold the pad. I made a payment today."
He lied. He didn't say the payment was useless. He didn't want his father to worry.
Arthur squeezed Evan’s hand. The grip was surprisingly strong for a moment.
"Evan," Arthur said. His tone became serious. "Look at me."
Evan looked up.
"I know... how much it costs," Arthur whispered. "I know we don't have it."
"I will find it," Evan said. "I will get a second job. I will—"
"No," Arthur cut him off. He coughed, a wet, rattling sound. The machine beeped faster for a second, then slowed down. "Listen to me. Do not go... to them."
Evan froze. "To who?"
"The Exchange," Arthur hissed. "I hear... the nurses talk. I hear the families in the hall. They sell their time. They sell their life."
Evan looked away. "It pays well, Dad. It’s fast."
"It is a trap," Arthur said. He pulled Evan’s hand closer. "Time is the only thing... that is truly yours. Money comes. Money goes. But a second lost... is lost forever."
"But without money, you die!" Evan said. His voice cracked. Tears stung his eyes. "I can't let you die, Dad. You are all I have."
Arthur closed his eyes. He took a rattling breath. "We all die, son. It is natural. But to sell your soul... to become a product... that is worse than death."
He opened his eyes again. They were fierce, burning with a last bit of energy.
"Promise me," Arthur whispered. "Don't gamble your future. Don't trade your life for mine. My time is done. Yours is just starting."
Evan bit his lip. He could not promise. He nodded his head, but he did not speak.
"Promise me," Arthur said again.
"Rest now, Dad," Evan said softly. "Save your strength."
Arthur looked at him. He knew Evan hadn't promised. But he was too weak to argue. His eyes closed. His grip on Evan’s hand loosened.
Beep... beep... beep.
Evan sat there for an hour. He watched the numbers on the medical machine.
HEART RATE: WEAK.
MEDICATION LEVEL: LOW.
REFILL REQUIRED: 2 HOURS.
If he didn't pay for the refill in two hours, the machine would stop. The pain would come back. His father’s heart would stop.
Evan stood up. He kissed his father’s forehead. It tasted like salt.
"I’m sorry, Dad," Evan whispered into the quiet room. "I can't let you go. Not for five years. Not for anything."
Evan walked out of the hospital. The rain had stopped, but the city was dark. The only light came from the Upper District.
High above the slums, giant skyscrapers pierced the clouds. They glowed with blue and gold lights. That was where the rich lived. That was where the people who bought time lived. They lived for two hundred, three hundred years, staying young forever while the poor died at forty.
Evan began to walk. He didn't walk home. He walked toward the center of the city.
His boots splashed in puddles. He walked past the closed market. He walked past the gangs standing on corners. He didn't feel fear. He only felt the crushing weight of the debt. 44,300 credits.
He walked until the streets became cleaner. The broken pavement turned into smooth stone. The garbage piles disappeared.
There it was.
The Exchange.
It was the biggest building in the city. It looked like a giant needle made of black glass. It had no windows, only smooth, dark walls that reflected the city lights.
A line of people stood outside. They were like the people in the hospital corridor—tired, poor, desperate. They stood in silence. They were waiting to sell pieces of themselves.
Evan walked to the front. He looked at the entrance. It wasn't a door. It was a wide archway with green lasers scanning everyone who entered.
Above the archway, a digital sign scrolled:
CURRENT RATE: 10,000 CREDITS PER YEAR. TRADE YOUR TIME. SAVE YOUR LIFE.
Evan stood on the sidewalk. His heart hammered against his ribs.
If he stepped through that scanner, there was no going back. He would sign the contract. They would hook him up to the machine. They would drain five years of his life essence.
Maybe he would lose his memories of being nineteen. Maybe he would just age instantly. He didn't know how the technology worked. Nobody in the slums knew. They just knew it paid.
He heard his father’s voice in his head. “Don't gamble your future.”
But then he heard the beep of the monitor. Beep... beep... decreasing. Refill required.
Evan looked at his hands. They were young, strong hands. He had time. He had so much time. Surely, he could spare a little. Just enough to be safe. Just enough to stop the fear.
He took a step forward. The green light of the scanner hit his face. It felt warm.
A robotic voice spoke from the wall. "WELCOME, CITIZEN. PLEASE STEP FORWARD FOR BIO-SCAN."
Evan stood outside The Exchange Registration Hall, staring at the biometric scanners. He took a breath, held it, and lifted his foot to cross the line.
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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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