Marcus Temp trudged through the bustling city streets, the weight of his mundane life pressing down on his shoulders as the rain fell, wrapping the city in a blanket of soft, shimmering light. He pulled his coat tighter, his head bowed beneath the flickering neon signs that cast fragmented reflections on the wet pavement. At twenty-six, his thoughts were a constant whirl of anxiety, drowning out the beauty of the world around him. The rain worsened, and by reflex, he stopped in front of a tall, nondescript building.

He lifted his head, rain dripping down his face as he stared at the looming structure. "Come on, Marcus," he muttered, the cold seeping through his coat. "You can do this." It was the same line he repeated to himself every day, a flimsy shield against the dread that gnawed at him. It felt even more hollow today, like an incantation that had long since lost its power.

With a deep breath, he entered the building, his whispered mantra fading into the hum of fluorescent lights.

Despite spending the entire morning under the harsh flicker of fluorescent lights, Marcus began to believe his luck had turned by noon. His usual good-luck ritual seemed to pay off, and he felt his shoulders finally loosen. He hadn't had to deal with his boss all morning, and the day seemed to coast along without incident. But just as he started to settle into the idea of a calm afternoon, a sudden email notification made his neck and back tense.

"Marcus, I received your report but assumed you knew I needed the vendors broken down by name and expenditures."

Marcus sighed as he read the first sentence, muttering sarcastically, "Of course, you'd assume I can read your mind." He rubbed his eyes, wondering why he was even surprised. His supervisor was notoriously difficult to deal with. Over the years, he'd learned to decipher Kim's passive-aggressive messages. Still, no matter how hard he tried, nothing was ever good enough. This time, however, she hadn't even provided the crucial information needed to finish the task. Marcus continued reading.

"Marcus, I'm not happy with your performance. Redo the report and email it to me first thing in the morning. Include the raw data so I can check your work. ~ Kim."

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen. The office chatter faded as his mind spun. He was stuck in this endless cycle—do the work, get criticized, redo it. It didn't matter how many hours he put in. His salary was fixed, and so was the disdain from above.

As the day wound down, Marcus reached for his coffee mug, its once-warm contents now a cold, brown sludge. Around him, the office shifted from the quiet hum of work to laughter, farewells, and the faint sound of someone's happy hour plans. He looked into his mug and paused, noticing his reflection on the dark liquid. The man who looked back held such profound sadness that the room suddenly went silent.

"What did I do to deserve this life?" The thought floated through his mind as he stared at the tired, sad man in his reflection.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered again, "You can do this." But this time, the hollow words felt heavier.

"Marcus?"

The voice startled him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Daniella standing beside his desk, her dark eyes curious. Her hair, as usual, fell down her back in effortless waves. She was one of the few in the office who still spoke to him.

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"Hi, Daniella," he said, his voice cracking slightly. He silently cursed himself for sounding awkward.

"You looked kind of sad for a second," she said, tilting her head.

He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Just a long day."

After looking at her watch, her eyes brightened. "Hey, you want to grab a drink? It looks like you need to unwind a bit."

Surprised, Marcus hesitated. "Uh, yeah. Sure. This coffee's terrible anyway."

A few blocks later, they sat across from each other at a small outdoor café. The city was still wet from the morning rain, the streetlights casting soft reflections on the damp pavement. The air had cooled, the scent of rain lingering.

"So, what did Kim say to you?" Daniella asked, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup.

Marcus watched as she blew gently on her coffee, momentarily mesmerized by the simple motion. She had always been kind to him, but he reminded himself that she was just being polite. Nothing more.

"Same old stuff," he said with a shrug. "I screwed up again, apparently."

Before Daniella could respond, the chair under Marcus was yanked away with a sharp jerk. Time seemed to slow as Marcus tumbled backward, his body hitting the ground hard, the back of his head cracking against the concrete.

Pain exploded in his skull, his vision swimming as he struggled to process what had just happened. Above him stood a tall man, his face twisted in anger.

"Who the hell is this?" the man growled.

Marcus blinked up at him in confusion as Daniella's voice cut through the haze.

"George, relax," she said with a light laugh, though there was a trace of annoyance in her tone. "He's just a guy from work."

"Are you trying to make me jealous, Daniella?" George said under his breath.

"Are you jealous?" She flirted back.

Marcus felt his chest tighten. Daniella's words hit him harder than the fall. He'd always known she wasn't interested in him, but hearing her dismiss him so casually made something inside him crumble.

George didn't even glance down at Marcus, his anger dissipating into cold indifference. He wasn't threatened by Marcus. He didn't even see him as competition—just someone beneath his notice.

"Let's go," George said, placing the chair back over Marcus as if he weren't even there.

Daniella shot Marcus a fleeting, almost pitying smile before walking away, arm-in-arm with George. As their footsteps faded, Marcus pushed the chair aside and slowly got to his feet, his body aching, his clothes damp from the wet ground.

He started walking, not caring where he was going. The rain had started again, soft at first, then heavier as it soaked through his clothes. "Of course," he muttered, his voice lost in the downpour. "Of course, it's raining."

By the time he reached his small apartment, Marcus was drenched. He kicked off his shoes at the door and collapsed onto the couch, his head pounding from the fall. The dim light filtering through the window was the only illumination in the room as he lay there, staring at the ceiling.

The pain behind his eyes grew sharper, but he was too exhausted to care. "Just a bruise," he mumbled, his eyelids growing heavy. "Just a bruise."

Sleep came quickly, pulling him under. But as his breathing slowed, the damage in his brain worsened.

The fall had caused more harm than he realized; a blood vessel in his brain was leaking blood within his skull, causing pressure. It spread slowly, relentlessly, unnoticed as Marcus drifted further into unconsciousness.

In the quiet of his apartment, as the rain outside continued its steady beat, his body went still. His breaths slowed until, finally, it stopped altogether. The aneurysm caused by his fall took him into his sleep suddenly and unnoticed.

But Marcus did wake again—only not in the world he had known. His eyes fluttered open to the sight of a woman's dirt-streaked face staring down at him. She looked wild and unkempt, and when she smiled, he saw the black stumps where her teeth should have been.

Before he could understand what was happening, she threw him away into a pile of garbage.

His mind screamed in confusion. What the hell just happened?