By the time my eyes opened the clock was already groaning past 11:30 with sunlight slipping through the blinds like it was begging me to wake up.
While I rolled in the sheets until they felt like chains wrapped around my legs.
My body was still heavy with the hangover of the two wars—one digital, and the other domestic.
I had gone to sleep a grinning devil and woke up like every lazy young master I once sworn I'd never become.
The morning rituals happened on autopilot.
Toothbrush foaming in my mouth with that classic sting of mint on the tongue.
Hot shower fogging the bathroom, raining water hot enough to burn my skin exactly how I liked it.
Muscles aching faintly from clutching a rifle that technically didn't exist.
And by the time I'd dragged a T-shirt over my head I still wasn't any more awake.
Having dressed up, my eyes landed on the desk only to find the army application staring back at me.
The only thing left was a signature that'd lock the rest of my life in.
We stared at each other longer than I'd ever admit.
Picking it up, I folded it with more care than it deserved and slid it into my back pocket.
I'd ask Uncle Pete. He had always known what to say, even when I didn't want to hear it.
When I finally went downstairs, the villa felt just right in its silence.
No racket of the sister, no shrill play-acting from the aunt, no soft footsteps from the boy.
Just the faint tang of room fresheners, as if the place wanted to pretend at cleanliness instead of admitting it reeked of last night's poison.
She was there, of course - The aunt.
Slouched on the couch, eyes were glued to the screen of her phone, scrolling through endless feeds as though she might find redemption hidden between the gossip, memes and newsflashes.
The moment she noticed me, her eyes lifted and her lips twitched in the beginnings of another barb forming—but then she stopped.
The words lodged in her throat, as she swallowed back down all the venom she had spent the last eight years spilling so freely.
Maybe the sound of that brass bell from last night was still ringing in her ears.
I didn't even bother acknowledging her...
Not a glance, or a word.
I walked past her into the dining hall and let myself drop into MY chair at the head of the table.
My hand rested there a moment, feeling its cool surface, before I pressed the bell.
-Ding.
"Coffee."
The service door slid open, and a maid padded in with measured and silent steps.
A porcelain cup was placed in front of me with steam curling upward.
Bitter in its scent yet still wanting to remind me that the world could still be warm.
The first sip burned just right, settling bitter on the back of my tongue.
While I sat there with the cup in my hand, scrolling through the clan chat on my phone.
A few beats passed before my aunt walked in, following my footsteps, her eyes drilling into my face.
She lingered in the doorway longer than I'd ever seen her linger in silence.
Not glaring, nor readying another dagger of a word.
Just standing there… almost timid — a look that was new to her face.
Her eyes traced me sitting at the head of the table, like the sight alone was something alien.
"Were you serious last night?" she asked finally.
Almost polite.
"Absolutely." I didn't look up, taking another sip of coffee instead, "I'd suggest you start making your exit plans."
While she blinked, her shoulders stiffing.
Then almost sheepishly, she slid into a chair at the table.
For once, there was no performance.
Just shock and the faint stink of defeat.
"What will we do?" she whispered, still clinging to the hope that maybe... maybe I'd been bluffing.
"I'll give you ten thousand creds," I said flatly. "You'll figure the rest out on your own."
Her face went pale. "But… but what about Marissa's college? We can't afford that!"
"Then don't." I set the cup down with a click. "Besides, loans exist. Ask the system for help just like everyone else."
That gutted her worse than any curse I could've thrown.
For once, she had no reply.
Draining the last of the coffee, I let the bitter sting sit at the back of my throat, and rose.
I didn't look back as I crossed the hall and stepped out the main doors.
The driver already had the car waiting.
It's black frame gleaming under the noon sun.
I slid into the back seat before flicking the folded army application against my knee, and muttered, "Uncle Pete's firm."
"Yes, sir."
The sedan pulled out, tires rolling against pavement that had been redone a dozen times in my lifetime.
Through the tinted glass, the city of 2050 crawled past — not the flying-car fever dream the old movies promised, but a world that had aged like milk.
Ads skinned entire buildings.
Drones zipping around in the air like mosquitos, carrying groceries and meds.
Buses ran without drivers, and the faces behind their smart-glass windows were lit in the glow of AR glasses streaming newsfeeds and gossip directly into their retinas.
The noise of engines was gone too, replaced by the near-silence of electrics.
Quieter, sure…
But the dead kind of quite.
While I leaned back in the backseat, watching it all zip by.
Eight years since that call - eight years of swallowing fire and vomiting it right back at them.
Just one more month until I turned twenty-one.
One more month until the law backed what I'd already decided last night at the dinner table.
As my fingers drumming the folded application, wondering if it was a ticket out… or just another set of chains waiting.
The sedan rolled to a stop in front of the firm's front gates.
The driver slipped out first, opening my door.
And I stepped out, army form heavy in my pocket as I looked up at the glass, steel, and concrete slab that housed the only man left who hadn't tried to bleed me dry.
Inside, the air smelled of coffee and fresh paper.
The reception was all gleam and marble desks with light bouncing off glass walls and polished decore that probably cost more than most homes.
A muted TV by the wall scrolled with court updates across its screen.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Pierce," the receptionist called the moment I walked in, like she had my arrival down to the second.
Her smile was bright with practiced warmth as she straightened her back.
Pretty face, polished voice with not a hair out of place.
It knocked me off rhythm for a second while I stood there like an idiot, feeling heat prickling up my neck.
"Uh… yeah. I've got an appointment with Pete. I mean—Mr. Harrison. One o'clock."
The corner of her professional smile twitched, clearly enjoying watching me fumble just like the last time I was here, "Of course, sir. One moment."
Her fingers danced across the keyboard.
And after a pause that was barely half a breath, came a nod.
And with that same trained warmth, she said. "You're checked in. Go right ahead—he's expecting you."
"Right. Thanks." I tried for a smile that it came out as crooked as aunt.
While I turned away before she could notice—or before she could pretend not to.
My footsteps resounding louder than they had any right to in that damn near sparkling corridor.
The walls here were all glass and wood polished smooth enough to see your reflection.
People talking in whispers as though walls themselves were spies.
No shouting, no venom, or cracks in the facade.
It was all clean and quite.
Everything my house wasn't.
And couldn't help wondering which one I hated more.
The door at the end of the corridor opened into a different world.
Pete's office was less 2050 and more 1950 - oak and mahogany swallowing the walls, shelves crammed with leather-bound books that smelled of times older than I.
Here and there, hints of the new age intruded— a holo-console tucked discreetly beside a mountain of paper files, and a ambience-control panel set in the old wood— but the room's soul refused to move on.
A green-shaded lamp glowed on the that grand desk, and behind it sat Pete Harrison.
A head of white hair combed back with beard and moustache groomed to perfection, and cigar in his mouth staining the air.
He looked more like a mafia boss than a lawyer.
Even so, his eyes lit up the moment they landed on me.
"Come on in, kid!" he said with a toothy grin, voice gravelled by time… and cigars
I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me, and made the walk to his desk.
The chair creaked as I dragged it out and sat, the weight of what I'd come to say pressing down heavier than any war in-game.
Taking a deep breath I laid it out, "I've decided… we're serving them the eviction notice the day I turn twenty-one."
Pete leaned back, taking a drag, and for a moment just looked at me.
His eyes weren't sharp or judging—just gentle, "Must've been hard for you."
"Parasitic as they are… they were sort of the only family…."
"Yeah. I know you adored the kid."
My throat tightened, as I replied, "That's why I'll give them ten thousand creds as a parting gift."
A puff of smoke followed by the curl of a knowing smile, "Smart. That way no one can contest the eviction."
I frowned, rubbing my thumb against my palm, "I… didn't think with that in mind."
"Of course you didn't." Pete chuckled. "You can act God's greatest asshat all you want, Vincent, but at the end of the day? You're still just a kid… a good kid."
That hit something in me I didn't want to show as a faint smile dragged across my face before I shoved it down.
"Oh, right!" I said suddenly, I'd almost forgotten, "I'm joining the army."
Pete froze mid-drag. "Come again?"
"That game—The Endlessness—it's as close to real as virtual gets... I can be a sniper." I said as my grin spread, stupid and wide with eyes alight with something dangerously close to hope.
Pete set the cigar down in its tray before leaning forward. "Kid… game and real life aren't the same thing. There are no health packs out here. The military's a solid career, sure. But you're walking in with the wrong perspective."
I exhaled as the grin faded, "Yeah, I know the logic is shit. But it's what I've got. Once I kick them out, the whole family will be at my door like a horde of zombies. So I figured—rent the house, enlist, disappear for a couple years. Go no contact. Let things cool down."
Pete studied me for a long second, then gave a slow nod. "That'll work. But listen to me... this isn't a game. So, don't go in expecting it'll feel like one."
"I know…" I said quietly.
"Did you tell them about the eviction already?"
"Yes… Yesterday."
Pete groaned at that while rubbing his forehead. "Shouldn't have… Bah! No matter." He flicked his hand, dismissing the thought, "If we play this right... we can use what they do against them."
The conversation then trailed, turning to smaller things, and finir details, and the kind of advice I didn't want but knew I needed.
When I finally rose to leave, Pete's warm and gruff voice followed me out.
"You'll be fine, kid. Just… don't lose yourself trying to win every little scuffle."
The heavy office door clicked open as I pulled it, Pete's smoke and wisdom still clinging to me like a second skin.
My head was heavier than when I came in — with more things to chew on than answers I got as I walked toward the exit.
And then—
"Vincent!"
That voice was brighter than all the lights around.
I froze with the door still half-open with hand on the handle.
The receptionist had slipped out from behind her desk leaving her professional smile behind before stopping right before me, closer than she needed to be.
"Uh…" while I felt my grip on the door tighten. "Yeah?"
Her smile curled like she was daring herself. "Can I… can I call you Vincent? I'm Layla by the way."
And of course, my brain decided to glitch ,"You… yeah, sure. You can… do that." My voice cracked like a twelve-year-old, and I hated it.
She shifted her weight from one heel to the other, eyes darting up then back down as she asked "I was wondering if you were free this Saturday?"
While I blinked once.. Then twice… Even thrice.
Still half-turned, body stuck between the hall and the exit, brain screaming that I should close the damn door and face her properly.
Instead, I stayed exactly as I was — hand still on the handle, and body twisted, looking like a malfunctioning NPC.
"Oh. Uh. Saturday. Yeah. Free… Totally free. Wide open. I don't even have friends so… Cough!." I faked a cough, heat rising to my ears.
While her smile widened. "There's a place near Emerald Square. A café… 6 PM sound good?"
"6 PM? Yes… great! I love coffee. Was already drinking it, actually… Earlier. Today. Y-you know… "
[Fuck!]
She laughed soft, and for some reason that only made me wanna disappear faster. "It's a date then."
"Yeah! Date… Totally." I stammered while still holding that damn door open like an idiot. "I'll, uh… see you then."
I turned back toward the street, shoulders locked tight, trying to pretend that didn't just happen.
And that's when I saw it.
A massive truck barrelling straight toward the firm's gates.
The driver's face as pale as it gets.
His hands jerking the wheel in dumb panic as the horns blared.
For a split second the world slowed—headlights swallowing the glass walls with my reflection caught in them like a deer.
But my body refused to move.
If I had just walked out, I wouldn't be so square in it's path.
I always knew some chick would be the death of me!
"Shit—"
- CRASH!!
And the next moment I felt the weight of tense of tons slamming into me all at once, ripping the air out of my chest.
My world broke apart in the roar of the truck slamming into the firm's entrance—
—and then nothing.
Darkness swallowed everything.
And out of that dark came a man's voice.
Ancient, sure… but with a kind of casualness that'd make anyone's skin crawl.
"Say…" his voice echoed in my ears, like he was leaning over my shoulder. "…You want a wish?