"It's the topic on everyone's mind! Immortality! Is it the dawn of a new era for humanity, or the most audacious scam in history?"
Ren didn't bother to mute it. He just stared past the screen, out the window, at a patch of gray, unchanging sky.
"Ren? Lunch."
His older sister, Mia, pushed the door open with her hip, a tray balanced in her hands. She was twenty-four, perpetually tired, and the only person who still bothered to talk to him like he wasn't made of glass.
She set the tray on his bedside table and deftly spooned a bite of... something. Probably rice porridge.
He opened his mouth. The texture was smooth. That's all he got. Since the day he was born, Ren's world had been a silent film of flavors.
He'd never tasted salt, sugar, or the bitterness of Mia's terrible coffee.
It was just one item on a long, boring list. He couldn't taste. He also couldn't walk. His legs, thin and pale beneath his blanket, were just... there. Decorative.
"You're watching this 'Global Event' nonsense?" Mia asked, sighing as she glanced at the TV.
The screen showed a charismatic man in a white suit, arms spread wide, promising eternal life.
"It's hilarious," Ren mumbled. His voice was a little rough from disuse.
"It's idiotic," Mia countered, scooping another spoonful. "They're actually claiming this... this portion of blood..." She visibly shuddered.
"They claim it rewrites your DNA. People are sick, Ren. And the people selling it are preying on them."
Ren just looked at the screen. The event was scheduled for tomorrow, in Tokyo.
A massive, custom-built stadium. Millions of people had signed up. They'd paid their life savings, cashed in their retirements, all for a single, ruby-red vial.
The world thought it was a joke. A tragedy. A mass cult. But nobody could stop talking about it.
"You're not... you don't actually believe this, do you?" Mia asked, her spoon pausing.
Ren met her gaze. He had his mother's eyes, she'd always said. Deep and a little sad.
"What if it's not a scam?"
"Ren. It's blood. They won't even say what blood. It's insane. You drink it, you probably get a thousand diseases, and then you die. That's not immortality."
And what if I do? Ren thought, but he didn't say it. He looked back at his laptop. At his dream.
He didn't just want to walk. He wanted to run. He wanted to feel the sting of a poorly kicked ball on his thigh.
A stupid, childish dream for a body that couldn't even stand.
"Mia," he said, his voice quiet.
"Yeah?"
"I signed up."
The spoon clattered onto the tray. "What? No. No, you didn't. The deposit was five thousand dollars."
"I sold my simulation rig. And the crypto dad left me."
"Ren!" Her voice was sharp, a mix of terror and fury. "You can't be serious! You're going to fly to Japan? To drink... that??"
"I am," he said. There was no thrill in it. No excitement. "I leave tonight. The tickets are booked. I... I need you to help me pack."
Mia stared at him, her eyes welling up.
"You're throwing your life away."
Ren finally looked away from her, back to the gray sky.
"What life, Mia?"
The Tokyo stadium was a monument to absurdity.
It was vast, a perfect white bowl gleaming under a cloudy sky. And it was full. A million people.. maybe more—sat in tiered seats. Another million, Ren had heard, were in identical stadiums in London, New York, and São Paulo, all linked by massive screens.
Ren was just one face in the sea of wheelchairs, crutches, and coughing, hopeful bodies.
The "Desperation Section," the internet had cruelly nicknamed it.
Mia had fought him, cried, and then, finally, packed his bag. She was here, standing behind his chair, her hands gripping the handles so tight her knuckles were white.
She hadn't spoken to him in twelve hours.
A roar went up. The man in the white suit... they called him 'The Curator' walked onto the stage.
"Welcome!" his voice boomed, translated instantly on screens and in earpieces.
"Welcome, pioneers! Welcome, believers! Today, you have chosen to cast off the shackles of mortality! You have chosen to live!"
The crowd went wild. Ren just watched. It was all so cheesy.
Drones, thousands of them, descended from the sky. They moved in perfect, terrifying formation, each one clutching a small, insulated box. They landed in the aisles. Attendants in the same white suits began distributing the vials.
A cold, ruby-red vial was pressed into Ren's hand. It was heavy.
He looked at it. This was it. The dumbest bet in the history of bets.
"Don't drink it, Renny," Mia whispered, her voice breaking. "Please. Let's just go home. I'll make you... I'll make you anything."
Ren clutched the vial. He looked up at her, trying to smile.
"On the screen!" The Curator yelled.
"A countdown! Ten! Nine!"
A global chant began. Ren saw people on the massive screens in London, all lifting their vials.
"Eight! Seven!"
This is so stupid, Ren thought. His heart was hammering.
He was terrified. Not of dying, exactly. But of this being it. The last, dumb thing he ever did.
"Three! Two! One! TO ETERNITY!"
A million caps were twisted open.
Ren brought the vial to his lips. He tilted his head back, Mia's hot tear splashing on his cheek.
He drank.
It was thick. And cold. He tasted nothing. Just like always.
He swallowed. He waited.
For a second, there was only silence. A million people holding their breath...
Then, the man next to Ren, a frail guy who'd been coughing into a rag, made a noise. A wet, choking gasp.
"Euuu..." he gurgled, his eyes wide with confusion.
"What the... what the fuck is that?!"
And then he exploded.
It wasn't a bomb. It was... a liquefaction. He just... burst. Blood and bile and things sprayed everywhere, dousing Ren.
And the screaming began. It was a single, unified shriek of a million voices.
All across the stadium, people were slumping.
No, not slumping. They were convulsing. They were tearing at their own throats. They were melting.
Ren felt it.
It started in his stomach. A fire. An agony so intense it made him forget he couldn't feel his legs. He felt them now. They were on fire.
"M-Mia!" he gasped.
"Ren! Oh god, oh god!" She was trying to wipe the blood off his face, her hands shaking.
But Ren couldn't see her. His vision was tunneling.
The pain was everything. It was a thousand knives. It was acid in his veins. He looked down. His hands, gripping the armrests of his chair, were... dissolving. His skin was sloughing off, revealing red, raw muscle beneath.
The stadium was a symphony of death. A wet, tearing, screaming avalanche of it. The live feed on the big screens showed the same. London, NewYork. All of them. Gone.
In ten seconds, it was over.
The screaming stopped. The last thing Ren saw was Mia's horrified, tear-streaked face, her mouth open in a scream he could no longer hear.
Then... blackness.
Silence.
Peace.
So. That was a scam after all, he thought, his consciousness drifting in a cold, empty void. Hilarious.
He floated. There was no pain. No chair. No Mia. There was nothing.
Until there was something.
A line of text, glowing in the infinite dark. It was sharp, clear, and emerald green. It seemed to be printed on the inside of his mind.
[Global notification!]
[Welcome, Parasites... to the Multiverse of Devourers!]