The waking alarm blared, a shrill siren tearing through the silence of the pod. Jack groaned and swung his legs over the cot, stumbling across the cramped room to smack the silencer button. The red strobe slowed, then sputtered out.
6:00 AM. Another day in Wasteland 2250.
“Dad,” he called softly, glancing at the cot next to his. “Time to wake up.”
Rob stirred under the thin blanket, his movements sluggish. “Gimme a second,” he muttered, his voice faint and raspy. He propped himself up on trembling arms, his breath shallow and uneven. His legs hung over the edge of the cot for a moment before he hauled himself upright.
Jack turned away, grabbing a metal tray from his desk. A familiar tightness gripped his chest. He didn’t want his father to see the worry in his eyes—not today. Concern didn’t change anything; it just made the inevitable feel closer.
The pod was like every other in their district: two concrete rooms, a cramped bathroom, and a slightly larger space with their cots and desks. No windows, no kitchen. The Eternals didn’t trust lessers with something as simple as cooking. Fires, gluttony, and overeating—those were the official excuses. The real reason was control.
Jack opened the food chute. The morning’s ration plopped down: mush. Beige, gluey, faintly sour. It smelled like nothing and everything all at once. He caught the tray and handed it to his father before retrieving his own.
Rob stared at the mush for a moment, his hands steadying the tray against his thighs. “You know what’s funny, kid? I used to hate oatmeal. Thought it was too plain. Would kill for a bowl of that right now.”
Jack forced a smile. “Oatmeal’s probably still in the Eternal districts. You just need a golden ticket.”
“Yeah,” Rob muttered, stirring the mush with his spoon. “All I need is to get filthy rich and immortal. Simple.”
“One more week,” Jack said, nudging him gently. “Then you can ignore that damned alarm forever.”
Rob gave him a sidelong look, his face creased with dry amusement. “You’ve been saying that every day for months, Jack. I told you, I’m not letting you work two jobs and live on mush for me. You’ve got a future to think about.”
“It’s not so bad,” Jack replied, his voice steady. He hesitated, then added, “And think of the grandkids, Dad. They’ll need a grandpa.”
Rob laughed—a short, wheezy sound that turned into a cough. He waved Jack off with his spoon. “Grandkids, huh? You’ve gotta crawl before you run, kid. What’s her name?”
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“Maybe someday,” Jack said lightly. The truth was, he’d never have kids. Bringing a child into this world was selfish and cruel. But Rob didn’t need to know that.
They ate in silence, the scrape of spoons against metal trays the only sound. Jack had saved enough credits for a protein bar today—a rare indulgence. The artificial chocolate flavor was cloying, but he let it dissolve slowly on his tongue, savoring it like it was the finest thing he’d ever tasted.
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The walk to work was slow. Jack stayed close to Rob as they descended the stairs, his father leaning heavily on the railing. His breathing was labored, his legs trembling with every step. The fourth floor wasn’t high, but every descent seemed harder than the last.
“You’ve got this, Dad,” Jack said softly. He kept his tone upbeat, though his hands hovered near Rob’s arm, ready to catch him.
Outside, the air hit them like a wall. The smog was thick, acrid, clinging to their skin and filling their lungs with every breath. Jack tugged his collar over his nose, but it didn’t help much. The faint hum of underground machinery vibrated beneath his feet, and far above, automated trucks thundered across elevated highways.
Rob stopped to catch his breath, his face pale under the dim glow of the streetlights. Jack glanced up at one of the security cameras, its lens gleaming like an unblinking eye. He felt its gaze settle on him, cold and indifferent.
Rob’s pharma testing facility was only two blocks away. Jack helped him to the entrance, where he paused to rest against the doorframe.
“Go on,” Rob said, waving him off. “Don’t be late on my account.”
“You sure?”
Rob nodded. “I’ll make it. Been through worse, right?” He gave Jack a lopsided smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Keep your head down, kid.”
Jack jogged the remaining three blocks to his development office, slipping inside just as the clock hit 6:59. He let out a sigh of relief as he sank into his cubicle. Work was easier than worrying about his father.
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Jack’s workplace was surprisingly comfortable. The air was filtered, the temperature cool, and the hum of servers filled the room with a strange kind of calm. The comfort wasn’t for the workers—it was for the hardware. Humans weren’t the priority; they were just the necessary side effect.
His cubicle had a desk, a terminal, and an entertainment screen. Entertainment screens were rare for lessers, typically reserved for the Eternals, but they’d been allowed here after workers kept hacking the feeds anyway. Even so, every program was censored.
Jack logged into his terminal, the lines of code scrolling across the screen a familiar distraction. His job was straightforward: monitoring processes, logging anomalies, and reporting errors. Any changes had to pass through layers of review, each one buried deeper than the last. Real control wasn’t for people like him.
“Dammit, quit messing with the signal,” someone grumbled from a nearby cubicle.
“It wasn’t me,” another voice replied, defensive.
Jack glanced at his entertainment screen as it flickered. A reality show about Eternals competing for ownership of a rare albino Pet played on the feed. The leash gleamed like gold, the Pet trembling as its owner paraded it before the others. Jack looked away, a familiar tightness in his chest.
The screen flickered again. Jack froze. The image distorted, then disappeared entirely, replaced by static.
“What the hell is going on?” someone muttered.
The static faded, replaced by something else. Jack’s breath caught in his throat as the screen filled with strange, flickering images.
The room fell silent.