Hart stepped into the meeting room, the soft hum of artificial lighting casting cold shadows over the faces waiting for him. The higher-ups sat in a semicircle, their expressions impassive, yet the tension in the air was palpable. His boss stood slightly off to the side, stiff and silent, unable to meet Hart’s gaze.
Hart cleared his throat. “I need to inform you—”
“We know,” one of the executives cut him off, voice sharp. “The prototype is missing. Stolen.” There was no surprise in his tone, only accusation.
Hart’s heart sank. The inevitability of the moment clawed at him, but he pressed on. “It’s gone, yes. But you all know the security protocols—this isn’t a failure of design but of protection. I can still—”
“It is your failure,” another voice interrupted, colder, more biting. “You didn’t protect your work, Hart. You let it slip through your fingers.”
Hart’s eyes flicked to his boss, searching for some defense, but the man’s head was bowed, his lips tight, unable—or unwilling—to intervene. Guilt? Or fear? Either way, the silence felt like a betrayal.
“I’m the only one who can ensure progress,” Hart stated, his voice firmer now. “Without me, everything grinds to a halt. This project—it’s about the future of humanity. Without—”
The boardroom echoed with a dry, humorless chuckle. “Humanity?” one of the higher-ups asked, raising a dismissive brow. “This isn’t about humanity, Hart. It’s about profits.”
Another joined in, leaning forward, eyes cold and predatory. “And you’re too expensive.”
Hart felt the words hit him like a physical blow. Too expensive. He had dedicated his life to this work, to pushing the boundaries of what was possible. But in the sterile corporate environment, there was no room for vision—only balance sheets, bottom lines.
“We’ve made a decision,” the first executive said. “You’re out.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Hart’s world shrank around him, the sterile walls of the room closing in like the jaws of a trap. They stripped him of his titles, his authority, his name on the project. His identity in their eyes unraveled thread by thread.
“And your lab clothes,” another ordered, not even looking him in the eye as they spoke. “Hand them over.”
Hart’s hands moved mechanically as he unfastened his coat, the fabric heavy with the weight of his years of work. His coat wasn’t just a piece of clothing—it was a symbol of everything he had built, everything he had become. But here, in this room of sterile greed, it was nothing more than a discarded garment.
“Take him out.”
Two bodyguards, towering and impassive, moved in. They flanked Hart, gripping his arms in a way that left no room for resistance. The executives watched with indifferent eyes as Hart was dragged toward the elevator. As the doors slid open, the pristine light of the upper floors flooded the space—cold, indifferent, uncaring.
The bodyguards pushed him inside. Hart barely had time to register the motion before the doors slid shut, sealing him inside the descending box. The soft hum of the elevator was a mockery of the chaos roiling inside him. He was falling—not just through the floors of this building, but through the very fabric of the world he had believed in. He was nobody now.
When the elevator finally halted, the doors opened to the streets outside. The bodyguards shoved him forward, hard enough that he stumbled, the cold night air biting at his skin. Behind him, the doors shut, the sterile corporate tower rising high above him like an untouchable monument of power.
Hart stood there, stripped of everything. The city’s neon lights flickered overhead, casting distorted reflections in the puddles at his feet. He stared at his reflection—a fractured, broken image of the man he once thought he was. The street was alive with the hum of activity, yet he felt utterly invisible, swallowed by the city's endless pulse.
As he looked up at the towering monolith behind him, Hart felt the brutal clarity of it all. This world wasn’t about vision, about progress. It was about control. Profits. And in their eyes, Hart was no longer necessary. He had been discarded like a spent tool.
And now, with the night closing in around him, he realized the truth: he was on his own.
A piece of paper fell to the ground near his feet. He glanced around, but no one claimed it. Hart picked it up and opened it. The faint glow of the streetlight illuminated the inked words: “Life is not worth living. It’s simple, really. Little gaining, many giving…”
His brow furrowed. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he folded the paper back. Each word felt like a challenge, a mockery of the struggle he endured. Yet, buried beneath the surface, a thought simmered. He clenched the paper tighter.
As he turned away, he muttered softly, “But pain paves the way to paradise.”
In a dimly lit hall, the members of De’s organization began to gather. The soft murmur of voices echoed faintly off the walls, filling the space with a quiet sense of camaraderie. They were used to meetings like this, accustomed to the calls that brought them together. It had the air of a family reunion, unhurried and familiar, where the specifics of why they were there didn’t matter quite yet. Some sat in clusters, exchanging small talk, while others stood around, watching the flow of people trickling in from the cold streets outside.
Rif slipped in through the door, moving through the crowd with a relaxed gait. He scanned the room briefly, spotting Ony sitting by himself toward the front. The man was still, his hands resting in his lap, eyes steady and calm as they observed the people filtering in. Rif made his way over, settling down next to him.
“What is this?” Rif asked, his voice low. “Why did you call everyone here?”
Ony didn’t turn. His voice, when he responded, was calm but carried the weight of something considered. “The full extent will be clear when we start. Certain concerns have been raised. Concerns that every member should hear and decide on.”
Rif narrowed his eyes, but Ony’s calm demeanor was impenetrable. He glanced around the room again. Most of the members seemed untroubled, as though they had been called for just another routine gathering. A few exchanged quiet laughter, and some sat in silence, waiting. The sense of belonging was palpable here. This wasn’t just a group—it was a refuge, a place where they all shared something that couldn’t quite be named.
He could feel it—the subtle pulse of unity that had formed over time, but beneath it, something else lingered, something stirring.
Just as the quiet conversations around the room began to settle, the door creaked open, and De stepped inside. His arrival was understated, though it had the effect of drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the hall. There was no grand entrance—just a nod to those who acknowledged him, and then he made his way to the side, leaning casually against the wall. He remained there, observing the room with a calm and distant expression, as if this gathering were just one of many things on his mind.
The murmur in the room began to fade. Ony, watching De’s arrival from his seat, took that as his cue. He rose, his movements deliberate and steady, and without a word, he made his way toward the front of the room. For a moment, he stood in silence, letting the last traces of conversation die down. Then, in a rare gesture, he stepped up onto a low table that stood against the wall, his broad figure imposing, yet familiar. The crowd quieted entirely.
Ony stood before the gathered members, his presence commanding the room with quiet intensity. He rarely spoke in public, but when he did, every word weighed heavy, as if each syllable carried a burden he had long carried in silence.
“We’ve come a long way,” Ony began, his voice calm but unwavering, his eyes scanning the room. “Each of you has made sacrifices, each of you has given something of yourselves to be here. And for that, I’m grateful. We’ve done what others are too afraid to even consider—offering a way out for those who suffer most, those who’ve lost hope.”
A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “And I must admit, I’m happy. If my life had consisted only of my time with this organization, I would never even consider throwing it away.”
He paused, reflecting on the contrast of dreams and reality. “It’s sad, really—feeling it in my bones, experiencing what life could be. We could have this: a meaningful existence. But we’re forced to live in a world that is often ruthless and unforgiving. I know, what a revolutionary statement.”
He let the words hang in the air before continuing. “But we were lost once, too. Think back to your childhood. You fought for survival, even if your upbringing wasn’t the most pleasant. Pushing through was what mattered. Don’t get me wrong; we’re doing the right thing by saving lives. But I believe we can do more. Right now, our focus is primarily on those who actively wish to die. But there are many who suffer in silence—those with chronic conditions that may not be fatal but still bring immense pain.”
De began to walk toward Ony, curiosity piqued. Ony’s gaze remained fixed on him, anticipating his arrival. When De stood beside him, he spoke.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Are you suggesting we approach these individuals to give them a choice?” De asked, his voice steady. “I’m on board with that. Do you have a specific plan in mind for how we should proceed?”
“Yes,” Ony replied, enthusiasm brightening his tone. “Currently, most of our members focus on terminally ill patients and those actively seeking to end their lives. Since your encounter with that woman, who couldn’t even signal her consent, we’ve formed a team monitoring relevant technologies. We also have another group researching ways to alleviate pain and fear for those who choose to end their suffering. But we could divert some of our Seekers to reach out to those who are quietly enduring their struggles and offer them the choice to let go.”
De paused, contemplating the implications. “I agree we should seek out those who are silently suffering or simply want reassurance that they have the option to give up. Rif, what’s your take?”
Rif rose and joined the discussion, a serious expression on his face. “While I see the merit in your proposal, we must consider the stability of our organization. Expanding too quickly risks making us vulnerable—creating new enemies and aggravating existing ones. Our growth has been steady, and I think we should think twice before pushing for expansion.”
Ony nodded in acknowledgment. “I understand your concern, Rif, and I agree. But the world won’t wait for us to be ready. Change is upon us, and the time when we’ll be powerless to save lives is fast approaching. Stability is crucial, but we must also be willing to take risks. What do you think, De?”
“I agree with both of you,” De replied thoughtfully. “We should aim to expand while maintaining our integrity. We need to reach as many people as possible so everyone has the choice to give up if they want to. In addition to reaching out to those with chronic but non-fatal diseases, I propose we create a team to prepare for the inevitable legal challenges our organization will face. I know it’s a naïve dream to imagine a world that accepts us as legitimate, but if we don’t prepare, we risk losing a critical fight.”
Ony nodded appreciatively. “That’s a solid idea. Rif, your thoughts?”
Rif considered for a moment. “This is risky, but if you both believe in it, I can go along with it too. However, we must prepare for increased confrontations with outside forces. Not everyone here is eager to engage in combat, but we must acknowledge that simply being part of this organization can make us targets. For our cause and the survival of our organization, we need to be ready to defend ourselves.”
The meeting had drawn to its natural close, but no one seemed eager to leave. Small conversations lingered in corners, quiet but filled with weight. A few members hovered near the door, but none made the final move to step outside into the cold night. They exchanged glances, soft smiles, or murmured words, but their feet remained rooted to the floor as though leaving this place would strip them of the only thing that truly felt real.
By the front, Ony stood among a few volunteers, his voice low but still holding the steady authority that had commanded the meeting. A woman leaned against the wall nearby, half-listening to his words but more focused on the moment—the warmth of the space, the quiet connection between them all. Her gaze kept shifting toward the door, but her body refused to follow. Instead, she shared a quiet laugh with the man next to her, the sound more wistful than joyful, like a secret they both understood but wouldn’t voice.
De, standing close to the center of the room, noticed it too. His eyes moved from one member to the next, each of them finding some excuse to stay a little longer—another word of thanks, a few more details on their next task. He didn’t say anything about it, but the slight tilt of his head showed he understood what kept them here. They weren’t just members of a cause tonight; they were family, bound by something deeper than the decisions made during the meeting.
Rif, however, felt none of it. He leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over the scene with cold detachment. His thoughts were already elsewhere, his mind calculating the next steps, assessing the risks. He didn’t linger in the warmth of the room or in the shared silence. To him, this was just another meeting, another set of tasks to complete, and another group of people who would eventually leave, whether they liked it or not.
From outside, a beggar had approached, her thin frame barely visible through the frosted glass of the door. She was old, wrapped in tattered layers, her hands trembling as she knocked gently, more a tap than a true knock. The cold air slipped in as the door was cracked open again, and the woman’s face appeared in the threshold. Her voice, fragile yet insistent, wavered as she spoke.
“Please, anything you can spare… I haven’t eaten in days…”
The members near the door hesitated, some reaching instinctively for their pockets, their eyes flicking between each other, unsure. Rif, leaning against the wall, noticed immediately. His brow furrowed, irritation flickering across his face. He pushed off the wall and strode toward the door, quick but composed, his presence cutting through the air. He wasn’t one for these distractions.
Reaching the door, he stood before the woman, blocking her view of the others. His voice, low and firm, was meant to dismiss her. “This isn’t the place. Move along.”
The woman, her eyes wide with desperation, didn’t seem to hear him or simply didn’t care. She glanced past him, still pleading with those inside, her voice rising with each word. “Please, I’m starving…”
Rif’s jaw tightened. He leaned closer, his voice colder now, trying to keep the situation from escalating. “I said, move.”
But the woman didn’t back away. Whether it was sheer need or stubbornness, she remained rooted to the spot, her hands trembling as she tried to make eye contact with anyone who would listen. Rif, losing patience, placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back, not hard, but enough to make her stumble a step. “Get out of here,” he hissed.
Before the situation could escalate further, a figure emerged from the dim light inside—De. “Wait,” De said gently, holding up a hand toward Rif. He turned to the beggar, his tone calm and kind, as if the scene that had just unfolded didn’t bother him in the slightest. Rif, however, felt his jaw tighten. De's unflinching calm always unnerved him in moments like this—moments when Rif’s instinct was to push away anyone who might compromise their security.
“What is it you truly want?" De asked, his voice unshaken. "Are you only begging, or are you looking for something more?”
The woman, caught between them, blinked up at De, her tear-filled eyes full of confusion. “I just… I need help. I don’t… I don’t know what you mean.”
De’s eyes softened as he crouched slightly to meet her gaze. “What if I told you we could offer you something better? Not just food or money—but an escape from all this pain. From suffering.”
Rif shifted his weight, his gaze narrowing as he watched the exchange. Letting her in so easily? He didn’t like this—didn’t trust it. Strangers like her, desperate and vulnerable, could easily say anything to get what they wanted. Rif could feel the irritation simmering beneath the surface, though he kept it hidden behind a practiced stoicism.
The woman stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes darted between De and the door, as if trying to understand the weight of his words. “An escape…?”
“Yes,” De said quietly. “We give people the choice to leave their pain behind. To let go of all of this. You wouldn’t need to beg anymore. You’d have something far more certain.”
There was a long pause. The woman’s lip trembled, and then, as if a dam had broken inside her, she began to sob. Deep, guttural cries that echoed into the night. She sank to her knees, her hands clutching the fabric of her worn coat as tears fell freely down her cheeks.
“I—I don’t need any of this anymore,” she stammered, her voice thick with desperation and relief. Her hands dug into the deep pockets of her ragged coat, pulling out a few crumpled bills, loose coins, and a half-eaten piece of bread. “I’ll offer the escape,” she whispered. “Please… just take it all.”
She thrust the meager items toward De, her eyes wide, as if she had nothing left but her willingness to leave it all behind. De, calm as ever, accepted the collection with quiet grace, nodding in acknowledgment.
“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice steady. “Come inside.”
De led her through the door, and the warmth of the hall enveloped her. The hum of conversations softened, members glancing over but quickly averting their eyes, as if instinctively understanding the weight of the moment. De brought her to a small table where he placed food and water before her. She ate with hurried hands, but her sobs subsided as she drank. The warmth of the bread and water seemed to soothe her shaking form.
De sat across from her, his calm gaze watching her closely. “You’ve made your choice,” he said quietly. “If escape is what you want, we will help you find peace. But,” he added, his voice softening, “there’s always another way. You could join us, help others who suffer like you. But either choice is yours. And should you decide to join, know that the option to leave will always remain.”
She paused, mid-bite, her breath catching in her throat. But her eyes held no hesitation, only a kind of deep, weary certainty.
“No,” she said, voice cracking. “I just… want to escape. I’m tired. I’ll offer myself. I’m ready.”
De nodded, his face composed and accepting. “Then we’ll help you.”
The room had grown quiet by then, most of the members sensing the gravity of the woman’s decision. A soft tension settled over the space, but before anyone could move, a faint voice rose from the back of the room.
“I want to end it.”
At first, it was so quiet that no one responded. The conversations, though hushed, continued. But then it came again, louder, more strained.
“I want to end it!”
The members around the room stilled, the words cutting through the air like a blade. It was a young man, shy and usually silent during meetings, sitting alone at the back. His voice, shaky at first, grew stronger with each repetition.
“I want to end it,” he said again, and now everyone heard. Heads turned. A few members exchanged uncertain glances, while one whispered for others to stop talking. Slowly, the room fell into silence, the young man's words hanging heavy in the air.
De's attention shifted to the young man, his calm presence unwavering. All eyes were now fixed on the one who, like the woman before him, had found the courage to ask for release from his suffering.
The three leaders—De, Rif, and Ony—moved towards the young man who sat just a few feet away, his shoulders hunched and trembling slightly.
“Are you sure?” De asked, his voice steady yet gentle, as he knelt before the man, meeting his gaze.
“Yes,” the young man replied, his voice barely above a whisper, but resolute.
De nodded, acknowledging the gravity of the decision. “Do you have a preferred way to go?”
The young man hesitated, glancing around at the gathered faces. “I just want it to be painless,” he murmured, a hint of desperation in his eyes.
De reached into the inner pocket of his coat and produced a small pill, holding it delicately between his fingers. “Here,” he said, offering it to the young man. “You can take this.”
He then offered a bottle of water, extending it toward him. “You’ll need to wash it down.” The young man hesitated for a moment, the weight of his choice pressing down on him. But with a deep breath, he accepted both the pill and the water, the trembling in his hands betraying his resolve.
De sat beside him, their shoulders almost touching. “This isn’t entirely painless,” he said quietly, ensuring the young man understood the reality of his choice, “but it’s the best we have right now.”
The young man nodded slowly, his breath catching in his throat as he swallowed the pill. He looked at De, seeking reassurance.
At that moment, Ony stepped forward, producing a syringe filled with a clear substance. Without a word, he handed it to De, who took it with a steady hand. De carefully inserted the needle into the young man’s arm, the sharp prick momentary but real.
Rif then reached into his own pocket, retrieving a second pill. He passed it to De, who offered it to the young man. With a final, heavy sigh, the young man accepted it, consuming it without hesitation.
The gathered crowd remained silent, their expressions a mixture of somber acceptance and resignation. This was not the first time they had witnessed someone give up, and they all understood the quiet weight of the moment.
Once the young man had taken the second pill, De and Ony helped him to a nearby bench, laying him down gently. The young man’s eyes fluttered, a sheen of tears forming as he slowly succumbed to the fate he had chosen. His breathing grew soft, the tension in his body gradually releasing as he drifted into an eternal sleep.
Shortly after, the beggar accepted the same fate, surrendering to the escape she had longed for. As De watched her disappear into the night, a gnawing doubt settled in. He glanced at Ony, the question slipping out before he could stop it. "Are we manipulating them, or just offering a choice?"