Chapter 4- Another day

  Another morning.

  “Why am I even going to college?” Bell mused, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  The apocalypse was coming. For those who knew, many things already felt pointless.

  Still, Bell felt the need to maintain some semblance of normalcy—at least for a few more days.

  He got ready to go out, making himself look presentable. Nothing unusual. A short-sleeved checkered shirt, a fitted pair of black denim pants, and a sling bag strapped across his shoulder.

  He lingered in front of the mirror longer than necessary, studying his reflection before slipping on a pair of black sunglasses.

  “Just in case,” he muttered.

  The night before, he had experimented with the Dream Dust he’d found in the core building of the abandoned city.

  At its current stage, the Dream Dust was still Tier One—limited, crude, and insignificant compared to what his future self had once wielded.

  Its first function was perception.

  It extended an invisible field around him, something close to a domain. Within it, Bell no longer relied on eyes or ears alone. He could see and hear with unsettling clarity, magnifying details at will, filtering sounds and scents as if tuning instruments.

  Beyond that, he could sense emotions.

  If he focused, he could feel the emotional states of people inside that field.

  Bell didn’t like that part.

  Emotion sensing wasn’t straightforward. It felt intrusive. Uncomfortable. As if he were crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

  Using the Dream Dust drained him mentally, leaving a dull pressure behind his eyes. Worse, his pupils would dilate completely, his irises turning pitch black whenever the Dust reacted strongly.

  It was frustrating.

  “I really don’t want to look like a freak,” Bell said flatly.

  After some effort, he’d managed to find these sunglasses buried somewhere in his room.

  They’d have to do.

  Transport money.

  ID papers.

  Phone.

  Keys.

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  After confirming everything was in place, Bell closed the door behind him.

  The neighborhood was calm at this hour. Children were already at school, and most parents had left for work. The air carried a mix of dust, sea salt, and faint exhaust fumes.

  In front of several doors, colorful beach flip-flops were lined up neatly.

  Camaros City was coastal. Within their neighborhoods, most residents wore flip-flops instead of shoes, saving proper footwear for formal occasions or long distances.

  Bell remembered his childhood here.

  People stole sandals.

  Children running barefoot often carried their flip-flops in their hands like fragile valuables. Damaging them meant trouble at home. The prettier the sandals, the worse it was—caught between wanting to show them off and needing to protect them.

  Instead of sandals protecting feet, children protected sandals.

  The memory pulled a faint smile from Bell before darker thoughts pushed it aside.

  As he descended the stairs, his gaze drifted over the structure without thinking—the length of the steps, the height of the risers, the shape of the handrails, the materials used.

  “Not great for escaping,” he noted quietly. “Even a fire would trap people here.”

  At the ground floor, Bell hesitated before greeting the gatekeeper.

  The man was thin, tall, dark-skinned, wearing a red uniform faded by sun and dust. He nodded back politely.

  Bell used to greet everyone in the neighborhood. It was habit. Courtesy.

  Lately, that habit felt heavier.

  Greeting led to familiarity. Familiarity led to attachments. Attachments turned into burdens, sooner or later.

  Those thoughts surfaced more often now, uninvited.

  Bell didn’t like them.

  Before the Sigh, he had always been something of a loner.

  Most of the time, he stayed indoors, leaving only when necessary. He rarely messaged people. Rarely called. And people usually left him alone in return.

  Still, there were moments when he craved human interaction.

  Bell could appear sociable. At gatherings, he chatted, laughed, blended in. But eventually, he always felt drained.

  He took a taxi. The campus was located in the suburbs, on the opposite side of the city.

  It had been part of a development project, or so they said. In some ways, it worked.

  In others, it didn’t.

  Transport fares became a problem for students who couldn’t afford the rising rents nearby. The surrounding roads were in terrible condition. Official records claimed a modern road had been completed five years ago. In reality, it was closer to a battered track filled with potholes.

  Accidents happened daily. Some ended badly.

  Bell himself had been injured on a rainy day—not seriously. A strained ankle. A few wounds. Still, he lost his part-time job before he could fully recover.

  Back then, it had felt like the end of the world.

  Some people were like that. They reached a low point and believed it couldn’t get worse. Bad family backgrounds. Poor health. Disabilities. Debt. Corruption. There were countless reasons people were pushed toward desperation.

  Many hoped for change.

  But when change finally arrived—cruel and unforgiving—most couldn’t escape in time.

  After a while, Bell reached the campus outskirts.

  The area buzzed with life. At the entrance stood a gatekeeper in a bright yellow uniform, along with police officers seated inside a glass-walled guardhouse.

  Their presence had become mandatory after terrorist attacks in major cities years ago.

  Most of the time, though, they acted as campus police, modesty inspectors, lost-and-found clerks, and occasional law enforcers.

  Bell’s gaze lingered on them.

  Some faces were familiar. The one he was looking for wasn’t there.

  That officer—arrogant, loud—had been trapped on campus during the apocalypse. Instead of protecting students, he had used them as shields, wasting ammunition on civilians.

  The campus itself was vast. Grand buildings rose on all sides, their architecture impressive and orderly. Green spaces dotted the area, students sitting beneath trees or sunshades.

  Some chatted casually. Others studied alone or in groups. Food and drink stalls lined the walkways, giving the place a relaxed but studious atmosphere.

  Bell paused, taking it all in.

  He wished—briefly—that his visions of the future were nothing more than dreams.

  Then he moved on.

  At last, he reached the amphitheater where his class was scheduled.

  The professor was already seated behind the desk on the podium, microphone, projector, and computer set up, waiting for the lecture to begin.

  Some of Bell’s classmates had already arrived. Sitting before their computer, they almost appeared ready ...