Luke dragged shaking fingers through sweat, matted hair, hissing as fingertips snagged on the raw blisters blooming across his palm. These were souvenirs from another fourteen hour shift soldering circuits that likely powered nothing of consequence anymore. His reflection flickered in the cracked windowpane of a derelict storefront, the movement ghosting, doubling for an instant like a poorly tuned broadcast before snapping back into sync. He blinked, the phantom image lingering behind his eyelids. *Just tired, * he told himself, though the tremors in reality felt increasingly frequent these days, subtle fraying at the edge of a world tearing itself apart. For a moment, his reflection in a broken window showed the motion repeating, like reality itself was stuttering. He blinked, and it was gone. Assembling electronic parts that did who knows what paid little, but nobody made a lot these days. Not since reality itself seemed to be coming apart at the seams. Money had lost its significance after World War III and the Energy Crisis of 2050, which shattered more than just countries and societies. It had cracked something fundamental in the world itself. Luke recalled that dark time, even though he had been just a child, when the world plunged into chaos. Sometimes the memories felt strange, as if he was remembering multiple versions of the same events, each slightly different but equally real.

  The Great Collapse, they called it that now, a bland term for the unraveling that followed the final, sputtering wars and the energy death spiral of the '50s. It hadn't just broken nations; it had fractured something deeper, something in the physics of the place. Sometimes Luke's memories of childhood felt overlaid, multiple versions flickering – hiding under the desk from riots, yes, but *which* riots? The ones where the sky burned red, or the ones where the rain tasted like metal and reality seemed to thin around the edges? Governments dissolved like wet paper, infrastructure crumbled, and the streets became graveyards for rusting vehicles, their husks occasionally flickering with phantom headlights in the gloom. He shuddered as he walked down the broken road before him, his mind drifting back to the moments of fear he had witnessed in his parents' eyes while they hid beneath their family desk. The vehicles that lined the street hadn't moved in years, their purpose lost to a crumbling infrastructure. Roads were left to decay, with no government employees to repair them or clear the debris from fallen buildings. Society had long collapsed; people just hadn't realized it yet. The only semblance of order belonged to the architects of the Shadowed Dawn Initiative, the corporate behemoths who had somehow thrived in the chaos. Their sleek hovercraft cut through the smog, choked sky, untouchable, but proximity to their tech felt… wrong. Light bent oddly around the polished chrome hulls, shadows stretched at impossible angles that made the back of Luke's neck prickle, and looking too long at their facilities left a pressure behind his eyes, a nauseating sense that the geometry of the world itself was being forcibly warped. He remembered the unbearable hunger and weakness he felt when the hovercraft descended from the sky, its brilliant silver exterior reflecting the sun's rays in patterns that hurt his eyes to follow. It was as if God himself had descended, bringing lifesaving aid in the form of food, diesel generators, order, and most of all, structure. Though lately, Luke had begun to wonder if their aid was truly divine, or something altogether different, something that bent the rules of the world to its own ends.

  Luke climbed over a large piece of rubble and squeezed himself through a crack between two walls. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten all day. The tattered semblance of structure that the corporations provided helped with food, but it had reached a point where they could only ration a single meal for everyone. Even the boundless resources of billionaires couldn't last forever, especially not on a dying planet, though "dying" seemed too simple a word for what was happening to Earth. Sometimes, in the darkest hours of night, Luke thought he could see something vast and hungry waiting in the spaces between stars. The Shadowed Dawn Initiative would hopefully save his life, and the lives of all who remained on Earth. But their savior was tainted. In the months that followed, they learned the truth. The Shadowed Dawn Initiative wasn't a lighthouse guiding them home; it was a temporary life raft offering only a slim chance of escape. No amount of money could solve the problem of the world's dwindling resources. The solution: save a few, hopefully. Luke had only heard bits and pieces but from what he gathered The Shadowed Dawn Initiative, or Initiative as everyone had started calling it wasn't even complete. They had people working round the clock racing against the dying planet. Or perhaps, he thought, watching shadows move strangely across the ground, they were racing against something else entirely. Luke put his thoughts aside as he approached the mess hall. The smells wafting from it were intoxicating, though sometimes they seemed to shift and change, as if multiple versions of the same meal were being cooked simultaneously. The Mess Hall itself was reminiscent of old school cafeterias or buffets. While there was disagreement about the initiative itself, the food, generators, and other goods that were supplied to them were a godsend. Luke squeezed through a gap between crumbling walls, the sharp twist in his gut a familiar companion. One meal a day – the Initiative's charity barely kept starvation at bay. He joined the shuffling queue outside the repurposed warehouse serving as a mess hall, the scent of something vaguely chili,like thick in the air, though even smells seemed unstable lately, sometimes hinting at spices that couldn't possibly exist before fading back to the usual nutrient paste aroma. Around him, faces were gaunt, eyes vacant. He looked down at his hands, the angry red blisters on his fingertips seeming to throb faintly, a dull pulse that felt disconcertingly in time with the low hum of the nearby generator, or maybe something else entirely, something vast and broken beating beneath the skin of the world. He carried the tray gingerly, careful not to shift it or put too much weight on it. He shuffled forward in line keeping his eyes down, the intoxicating smell of chili causing the rumbling in his stomach to grow louder. Luke didn't mind. The rumbling was a quiet companion these days. One of the older workers in the factory always joked that the rumbling was a sign that he was still alive. The day you stop feeling the rumbling inside is the day you truly die. "Here ya go lad!" A familiar voice said. The voice jolted him from the dark place his mind had gone to. Luke looked up, forcing a weak smile. "Thanks Jason."

  Jason, older, his frame honed sharp by scarcity, mirrored the smile, though it didn't quite reach eyes that held the same hollowed look as everyone else's. His short brown hair was streaked with premature grey, his face a roadmap of hardship. He slid a tray beside Luke's. "Another day in paradise, eh?"

  "Something like that," Luke managed. Jason removed his stained apron, grabbed his own meager portion, and they navigated the packed room to find a scarred table near the back. They ate in silence for a while, the only sound coming from the noise of their forks scraping their plates. Sometimes the sound seemed to echo strangely, doubling for a split second before snapping back, like a bad audio connection.

  "Do you think they'll finish in time?" Luke asked abruptly. "I pray they do. Even with the collective workforce, we're already seven years into their ten, year estimate, and it's getting pretty bad here." Luke nodded in agreement. The air quality was worsening with each passing day. There were generally oxygen scrubbers and recently the corporations had handed out advanced masks with top, grade air filters to a select few, resources as they were there were only enough for the very elite. Eventually, the air would become so toxic that even those would fail. "What even is Shadowed Dawn?" "Not rightly sure, to be honest. Most talk of it as a doorway to someplace else," Jason replied, and for a moment, his form seemed to flicker, as if multiple versions of him were speaking at once. Luke rubbed at his eyes unsure what to make of what he saw. "Another planet? I know they sent colonizing vessels to promising planets, but even if they make it okay, there isn't time for a return journey before Earth becomes uninhabitable." "Another planet, another place, another realm. It doesn't really matter. As long as it takes us away from here," Jason said, gesturing with his hands. The movement left trails in the air, like reality was struggling to keep up with the motion. Luke nodded before turning his attention to his plate. The silence returned as Luke focused on scraping every crumb off their plates.

  "Are you getting close to your fare?" Jason asked abruptly. Luke flinched, the question landing like a physical blow. The warmth from the chili turned cold in his stomach. The Fare. The impossible mountain of credits needed to buy passage on the Initiative's escape route. Hope felt like a cruel joke. "I… I'm trying, Jason." The words were ash in his mouth. "Extra shifts, sucking up, sleeping in that wreck near the factory… it doesn't matter. The number… it never changes." His vision blurred. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the blistered heels of his palms against them, but the tears leaked out anyway, hot and stinging. One splashed onto the table, and for a bizarre instant, it seemed to refract the dim light into a thousand miniature, dying Earths before vanishing. A sob tore from his throat.

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  "Oh, my boy," Jason said, putting an arm around him. The warmth of his embrace seemed to steady the wavering reality around them, anchoring Luke at the moment. "I, I, don’t want to die, Jason." Barely holding back his tears, Luke was unable to resist the tight squeeze from Jason, and the floodgates opened up. He cried in Jason's arms for a long while. Nobody cared or looked in their direction. Crying was commonplace these days. "It will be okay, my boy," Jason said, running his hand through Luke's hair. "We will figure it out. There is still time." Jason tried to be comforting, but he knew and understood. Luke's situation wasn't unique. 95% of the people on Earth couldn't afford the fare, and that was assuming the corporate nations even finished Shadowed Dawn in time. Sometimes, when Luke thought about those numbers, he could almost see them floating in the air, each digit representing countless lives hanging in the balance. The Earth was on its last legs. The abuse that humans had caused climate change was laughable compared to what had come later. Chemical warfare, nuclear warfare, and geothermal warfare, it was like kicking a horse while it was down. The geothermal warfare had tapped into the Earth's core to deliver devastating attacks at the cost of the planet itself. But lately, Luke had begun to wonder if they'd done more than just damage the planet, if perhaps they'd cracked something more fundamental than just the Earth's crust. The atmosphere was already damaged from the radiation and airborne chemicals, but now the entire Earth's magnetic field was failing. Sometimes, on clear nights, the aurora could be seen even at the equator, though the patterns it formed seemed wrong somehow, as if they were glimpses of something vast moving beyond the veil of reality. If they were lucky Earth had another five to ten years left before it was uninhabitable, though "uninhabitable" seemed too simple a word for what was coming.

  Jason watched Luke's thin frame retreat into the shadows, his steps heavy with resignation. Luke's spirit was different from most others left in this broken world, still burning, even if dimly, refusing to flicker out completely. Jason felt a pang of helplessness, a gnawing guilt that had become almost familiar. Most people had long since accepted their fate, living out their final days as hollow shells. But Luke… Luke was still trying to live, to reach for a future no one else could see. Jason turned and began the walk back to his quarters, the cold air biting through him, seeming to grow sharper with each step. He found Irara waiting, her silhouette softened by the dim glow of a cracked window. She turned to him as he entered, her eyes shadowed with grief but also with a quiet determination. Luke stirred old memories they rarely spoke of now, memories of Alan, their son, another young life lost to this endless war against despair. Without a word, Jason pulled her close, and they held each other for a long, silent moment, as if sharing their final breaths. Irara's face was set in hard lines, but her eyes softened as she looked up at him. "We've done all we could for him," she said quietly, almost to herself. "It's the right thing." Her voice trembled, but the conviction held. Jason nodded, feeling the familiar ache settle deep in his chest. This choice was inevitable, unavoidable. He kissed her, a farewell wrapped in love, and then he straightened, forcing himself to release her hand as he left. The air felt colder than before, as though the world itself sensed what he was about to do. The Onboarding building loomed ahead, the sharp lines of its metal fa?ade cutting against the night sky. Most of the city's structures lay dark and dormant, but the Onboarding center glowed unnaturally, like a beacon of corporate power. Inside, the machines hummed with a sterile energy, indifferent to the desperate souls filing through its doors. Jason steeled himself and stepped into the light. "Jason! Long time no see!" The voice came from Derek, a short, stocky man with a beard that made him look like some fabled dwarf from another era. Jason had spent years quietly building this relationship, trading favors and scraping together small exchanges of food and resources, hoping for the smallest sliver of leverage. Today, he was about to cash in everything he had. They moved into Derek's cramped office, the shadows flickering strangely under the buzzing fluorescent light, making the stacks of datapads look momentarily like leaning tombstones. Derek leaned in, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, sweat beading on his upper lip despite the chill. "They've done it, Jason," he said, a gleam of excitement in his eye that didn't quite mask a deeper unease. "The Initiative, Rahu, it's ready. The first working prototype is complete. They'll start linking people over tomorrow.” Jason's chest tightened. He had prepared himself to hear this news for years, but now that it was real, a wave of mixed emotions, relief, fear, anger, washed over him. The Initiative, Rahu, always rumored, always a distant promise, was now close enough to touch. But that promise came at a steep price, one that Jason knew Luke could never afford. "What… what exactly is it, Derek?" he asked, voice thick with the weight of the question.

  Derek's eyes glinted with something like fanaticism as he leaned forward. "Imagine, Jason, a new world, built from the ground up. But it's not like this one. It's… controlled. Designed. Stable, but only because they've built it to feed on struggle, on conflict.” He gestured with his hands as he spoke, his movements leaving faint, oily trails in the glitchy light. "They're calling it 'Critical Mass Decisions.’ Every choice that matters, every fight for survival… it sustains the new reality, keeps it whole. Generates the energy needed to keep it from collapsing like… well, like *this* one is.”

  Jason felt a chill crawl through him. "So… they're turning life into a game? Fueling this new world with the suffering of those who live there?"

  Derek shrugged, avoiding Jason's gaze. "It's not suffering. Not exactly. People will have rules, rewards… purpose. They'll have challenges to overcome, a system that rewards them. But yes… the stakes will be real. Life there will thrive on struggle, just like this one. Only it'll be contained. Manageable. Safe, for those who can afford the fare.” Jason swallowed hard, forcing down a sense of revulsion. A world engineered to sustain itself on human struggle, a reality stabilized by sacrifice and ambition. It felt monstrous, and yet… if it meant survival, if it could save Luke… "When do they start?" he asked, barely able to get the words out.

  "Tomorrow.” Derek's tone softened, regaining some professional distance. "The Forerunners, those who've gathered enough credits, they’re the first to go. They'll cross over and leave all of this behind.” Jason looked away, the weight of the fare pressing down on him. He knew he could never gather enough in time. "Is there… any way around it? Anything you can do?"

  Derek shook his head, and in that moment, Jason saw a glimmer of genuine regret, quickly masked. "I'm sorry, Jason. No shortcuts. Not for something like this. If your friend doesn't have the fare, he won't be joining the Forerunners. It's as simple as that.” Jason forced himself to nod. The response had always been inevitable but hearing it out loud made it real. He murmured a thank, you, turned on his heel, and walked back out into the cold, Derek's words echoing hollow in his ears.

  Jason walked slowly, each step feeling heavier, as if the air itself had thickened around him. By the time he returned to the quarters he shared with Irara, the decision was already formed, hard and unyielding. Irara looked up from where she sat, her face drawn with lines of worry that smoothed only slightly as he entered. In silence, he moved to her side, and she looked up at him with eyes that saw through him entirely. The shared weight of loss and sacrifice, the ghost of their son Alan, hung heavy in the cramped space.

  "So that's it, then," she said softly. He took her hand, calloused fingers interlocking with hers, squeezing gently. "I think it's time, Irara," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Luke… he needs this more than we do. We've had our time. Alan would have wanted..." His voice broke.

  They sat together in silence, the enormity of their choice settling around them like a shroud. At last, Irara spoke, her voice steady, though her grip tightened on his hand. "We're doing the right thing. For him. For the hope he still carries. I… I believe that." Jason kissed her forehead, a quiet, final act of love, and then he released her hand and stood. He didn't look back as he left, each step carrying him closer to the Credit Kiosk.

  The Kiosk stood starkly against the night, its impassive blue light casting long shadows that flickered strangely in the cold air. Jason approached, feeling a deep calm settle over him, a sense of inevitability as he pressed his blistered hand against the cool screen, the interface flickering slightly as it registered his bio-signature. He moved through the prompts with numb precision, each question confirming his choice.

  *Confirm Transfer: J. Miller Account ,> L. Rennoka Account. The screen glowed.

  Confirm Transfer: I. Petrova Account ,> L. Rennoka Account.

  Another pulse of light. Transfer Complete. Balance: 0 Credits.

  A wave of profound emptiness washed over him, followed by a strange peace. It was done.

  As he watched the numbers vanish from his account, he whispered a prayer to the darkness, not to any god he could name, but to the quiet, ancient forces that seemed to watch from just beyond the stars. He prayed that Luke would find his way, that he would survive in the new world. And perhaps, he thought, that world would be kinder to Luke than this one had been. The light from the Kiosk pulsed once, faintly, almost dismissively, as if acknowledging his sacrifice. Jason turned away, his heart heavy but his spirit lightened, feeling as though he had passed into something vast and unknown. As he walked back, he looked up at the smog, choked sky and, for a fleeting moment, the oppressive cloud cover seemed to waver, revealing a sliver of impossible, utter blackness beyond – a void so vast it felt like an eye opening, observing, before the clouds sealed shut again. Then it was gone, leaving only the cold night and the ghostly glow of the Kiosk behind him.