Pegasus Pharmaceuticals was founded in 2029. I remember when people said it would revolutionize the healthcare industry and bring an end to the chaotic period of vigilante justice that had stricken executives. Art Pegazo founded the company with inheritance from his father, hiring hundreds of White doctors and patenting several drugs that initially sold very poorly. Pegazo feared cartels and believed his doctors would someday come across something revolutionary. He promised to protect the supply chain of American healthcare products. I watched as he focused on funding security units called Pharmaguards to defend that supply chain. Soon enough, everyone wanted a piece of Pegasus, leading to mergers and acquisitions in every sector of the industry.

It’s strange thinking back on that early stage. The world feels different now. The U.S. stretched its borders, swallowing up Canada and Greenland, while the Second Mexican-American War just… kept going. I still remember the news stories when Panama fell—troops marching into the canal, promising to cut off the flow of migrants and drugs. The cartels didn’t stand a chance.

Meanwhile, the drone market exploded.

He shifted the company’s focus to drone technology, creating more efficient delivery systems and surveillance tech. His company started delivering packages—mostly prescription drugs—but the drones saw everything. A hurricane destroyed the Florida Keys and most of Miami, and those drones saved around 130 people. I remember Pegazo standing in front of the cameras afterward, talking about innovation. Hurricane Leo came not long after and claimed 1,500 lives. Pegazo still walked away with the good press, and by the time he moved back to Houston, he’d already invested heavily in Republican primaries. In 2031, he announced he was running for office. The endorsements piled up from the people who benefited from his donations.

The Pharmaguards really started to hypermilitarize in 2032. The American public called it a “people’s war,” but the media and the bourgeoisie saw it for what it was—senseless violence. Deportations increased. If you threatened the life of a corporate executive or a politician, you went to jail. The government began controlling the ontology of the internet. That lasted until the collapse. Now it’s just Pegasus. Pegazo.

When Pegazo won the 2032 election, things unraveled fast. A viral lung disease spread through the country, killing millions within months. I watched businesses shutter as labor power disappeared. The wealthy fled to the cities, hiding in high-rises, or they retreated to the countryside to carve out some kind of agricultural life. Pegazo ordered the army to keep producing a drug that promised to cure the infection, but the disease adapted too quickly. People needed constant doses to survive.

The pharmacies couldn’t keep up. There weren’t enough testing kits for the virus. Conflicts started breaking out globally over shortages. When Pegazo’s approval ratings dropped, his drone company started selling intelligence to foreign agencies, and no one even knew. I didn’t know. We were all too focused on the pills and the shortages.

***

I woke up to find out I was already late for my appointment. For someone who wants to die, I realized I was not being very proactive about it.

My dealer got me an old smartphone and I can read some of the messages on X from Pegasus: “MAID is not readily available to patients at this time, we apologize for any inconvenience this may cause to our patients.”

Guns are everywhere in this goddamned place. It’s like they wanted us to all kill each other at some stage. Like we weren’t meant to last this long. Fewer Americans finish high school than ever before as new school programs price families out of education. Many Americans cannot afford housing, and the homeless population rises. Uneducated, unhoused masses fill the streets. In this jungle, you have to be ready for anything. I shouldn’t be the one complaining, I have it good, here in this apartment.

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I sat up in bed, the faint hum of distant generators vibrating through the prefab walls of my housing unit. The view from my window stretched over the decaying sprawl of Houston—or what was left of it. The inner ring of highways wrapped around a skeleton of housing complexes, the only remnants of habitation left beneath the shadow of the skyscrapers. Those towers, shining like monoliths of glass and steel, loomed above the rest of the city, wrapped in sprawling LED screens that projected endless advertisements for luxury commodities none of us on the ground level could afford.

Below, Eleanor Tinsley Park had been reduced to patches of cracked concrete, fenced by razor wire and monitored by drones that screamed in the air, their lenses always watching. An old U.S. flag drooped beside the entrance, while two Pharmaguards leaned against the barrier, rifles resting in their arms.

My feet met cold linoleum as I shuffled toward the narrow kitchenette. The apartment was efficient but barren. The VR rig in the living area hung suspended, like a museum piece from an era that no longer felt real. No decorations. Just hollow space and the glow of the screen embedded in the wall. I brewed stale tea and sat by the window. Below, kids kicked around a deflated ball while their parents huddled beneath rusting shade structures.

I flicked on the screen with a wave of my hand. A news anchor’s voice filled the room, heavy with forced sincerity.

"Tonight, we honor Raphael Adams, a Pharmaguard killed protecting his district near the Galleria. Adams was more than an officer; he was a symbol of stability. And yet, some believe we should forget men like him—that we owe others their food, housing, and medical care. This is why I stand with Art Pegazo. Pegazo understands what’s at stake… Now I want you to tell me this, why should I have to pay for someone else’s surgery, college, food, housing, and all of their commodities? I’ll tell you why: Because they said so. They want everything to be free for them, and they’re naive. Stand with Pegazo and we will protect our communities.”

I shut the screen off and rubbed my temple.

Through the window, I spotted a familiar figure entering the park. Tango. He moved quietly, slipping onto a bench beneath one of the surviving oaks. The faint glow of his tablet lit his lap. I hesitated before pulling on black jeans, a denim jacket, and wrapping a purple scarf around my neck. The stairs groaned under my feet as I headed down to the park.

Tango barely glanced up when I approached, but his eyes flickered with recognition when I waved.

"Margot?"

"Hey. Mind if I sit?"

He shifted, making space. I lowered myself onto the bench, hands stuffed deep into my jacket pockets.

"How’ve you been?"

Tango’s gaze didn’t leave the rusted playground. "Not great. I keep replaying it. Shouldn’t have happened."

"You can’t blame yourself," I said, leaning forward. "We all make calls. Sometimes they’re the wrong ones."

"I brought that thing around. It’s on me."

I placed a hand lightly on his back. "Where are you from?"

“America, like yourself… Like everyone else here,” he said, glancing around the park.

I smiled. “Keep to yourself, then. Well, maybe you could tell me why you chose to join the Pharmaguards—and of all units, why the Control Corps?”

“Well, why are you here?”

"The pay’s good. I can buy what I want. I mostly drive, so it’s simple work most of the time. Tiring, sure, but manageable. We’re rangers, so I figure I’m lucky any time I don’t see something."

"It’s better than dealing with the riots back home or the wars in the south," Tango said. "I thought animals would be simpler. I thought Vegas was our occupied territory."

“It is,” I replied. “But you can only hold so much…”

“I joined because I wanted to do right by people, to clean up the community,” he said. “That’s why, I think.”

I met his eyes and saw the weight sitting behind them.

"You look familiar," I said.

He shrugged. "I don’t know who you are."

I faced forward on the bench. "I guess that’s why I sat down. I’ve been in the Pharmaguards for seven years, and I’ve learned that you’re more likely to stick around if you know who you’re working with. What did you feel when you shot that man?"

"He was, I…" Tango faltered. "It’s hard to explain."

"If you need anything—someone to talk to—don’t hesitate to reach out."

"I’ll be fine," he said, standing and placing his orange bowler hat on his head.

I stayed on the bench a few minutes longer, letting the air clear my head. I pulled out my phone again, scrolling through news about the election and Art Pegazo. I groaned and put it away.

Back in the apartment, the weight of the day sat heavy on my chest. I stared at the steaming cup of coffee on the table, the city outside silent except for the occasional honk.

My Pegasus AI pinged softly, pulling me back to the glowing screen. I glanced at the notification and saw an email from Kurt.

From: Kurt Owens

Subject: Dinner?