"Hey, Lucy, before you leave for the day, turn in that report," an old man in a pristine black suit said, his voice carrying the easy authority of long habit. Despite the late hour, not a single crease marred his jacket.
Sitting at his desk and diligently typing away, Lucy glanced up with a practiced smile that never reached his eyes. "Yes, sir. I'm almost finished with it."
The older man—Lucy's boss—nodded once and disappeared back into his office, the door clicking shut behind him with a sound of finality.
As soon as he was out of sight, the smile slipped from Lucy's face, leaving a look of quiet resentnt. His jaw tightened.
'Damn, I hate this stupid job... and these stupid reports,' he thought bitterly, raking his fingers through his long black hair in frustration. The strands fell back across his forehead, obscuring his pale eyes montarily.
But no matter how much he hated it, none of that anger mattered. The simple truth was this: he got paid too well to care. Golden handcuffs, they called it.
He was learning why.
The office around him was mostly empty now, and the other cubicles were abandoned for the day.
He had always been quick to learn, whether riding a bike, fixing cars, or even teaching himself to code. It didn't matter what it was—he could figure it out if it needed doing. Given enough practice, there wasn't much that stayed out of reach.
A natural talent that had carried him far.
Although he was only nineteen, companies had practically broken down his door to recruit him.
In the tech blogs, they called him the "prodigy programr." Sotis, he wondered if that were all he'd ever be.
'Ah, money, how I love you,' he thought with a sheepish grin, pushing the lingering bitterness aside. The figures on his last paycheck flashed through his mind, soothing the sting of another late night.
Fueled by visions of paychecks and a slightly more tolerable tomorrow, Lucy threw himself back into the report.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, the rapid clicking echoing in the empty office. The hours crawled by, and the harsh glow of his monitor was the only thing keeping him company as darkness gathered outside the windows.
At last, long after the halls had gone quiet, he finished the assignnt and gathered his things. Another day survived. He stretched, wincing as his back cracked in protest.
Lucy had enough money to drive to work every day, but he always chose to walk.
Despite the paycheck and prestige, his job was isolating, demanding, and suffocating.
His parents had died while he was still in high school, and between climbing the career ladder and drowning in assignnts, he'd never had the ti, or maybe the energy, to make real friends.
So, his walks ho beca his only chance to be around people, feel alive, and pretend, even for a little while, that he was part of sothing bigger than code and deadlines.
Today, the walk was perfect.
The weather was warm, with no clouds in the deep blue sky. The city streets humd with the rhythm of life—cars rolling by, conversations rising and falling, footsteps tapping along cracked pavent.
The sidewalk was full of strangers going sowhere, doing sothing. And in the distance, laughter spilled into the air like music.
Lucy breathed it all in and let himself smile. This was the part of the day he looked forward to. The tension in his shoulders eased with each step.
As he turned a corner, sothing caught his eye.
On the side of the road, a woman stood beside a car, its hood popped open. She crouched near the engine, brow furrowed, clearly out of her depth. The evening sun caught in her hair, turning it to burnished copper.
'Perfect opportunity,' Lucy thought. He felt that familiar tug of curiosity and walked over, flashing a polite grin. It felt good to be needed for sothing real, sothing tangible.
"Hey, do you need any help?" he asked, his voice friendly, genuine in a way it hadn't been all day.
The woman turned around, brushing her hair from her face with her wrist.
Her soft brown eyes t his, and strands of chestnut hair frad her features, though they were streaked with grease and sweat.
She looked him over, pausing just long enough to size him up. Then she offered a crooked smile that dimpled one cheek.
"Yeah, actually. My car broke down, and I have no idea what I'm doing here," she said, her tone light, almost playful despite her predicant.
Lucy chuckled, stepping a little closer. The scent of motor oil and her faint perfu mingled in the warm air. "Well, lucky for you, I'm a master with tools. Let take a look."
He moved beside her, glancing down at the open engine, eyes already scanning for obvious problems—and that's when he felt it.
Cold, sharp pressure poked into the small of his back. A chill ran up his spine, freezing him in place.
The woman's voice dropped, losing all warmth. "If you scream, you die. Now give your wallet."
His heart jumped, pounding violently in his chest. The world narrowed to a pinpoint, everything but the gun at his back fading away. Lucy had never feared death, but that was because he'd never t it, not like this.
Not with a gun jamd into his back.
'What the actual hell?! Am I going to die at the hands of a beautiful lady? Oh my god, what about my money?!'
He swallowed hard, and his mouth suddenly beca bone dry. "It's in my back pocket," he whispered shakily. Please take it. You can have it all."
She reached around, fingers slipping into his pocket—and then, just as suddenly, soone from the crowded sidewalk bumped into her.
The shove was slight, accidental, but it broke her stance. Lucy felt her grip falter.
The trigger slipped.
A deafening bang split the air, echoing off the surrounding buildings.
Pain exploded in Lucy's stomach as the bullet tore through him, hot and sharp and absolute.
Lucy collapsed to the ground, his legs giving out beneath him as fire tore through his gut. The concrete scraped his palms as he tried to catch himself.
The world tilted violently around him; the street sounds were warped and distant, as if he were underwater. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears.
Sowhere above him, he heard screaming, footsteps pounding away, a car horn blaring, and a woman's voice cursing under her breath. But none of it felt real anymore.
He instinctively pressed his hands to his stomach, feeling the sticky warmth gush between his fingers. His shirt, once white, blood crimson.
'Is this it...? Am I dying?'
Panic clawed at his chest, wild and animalistic, but it was distant too, muted by the numbness already creeping up his limbs. His vision blurred, the bright blue sky above him bleeding into white.
'It's not fair...'
Thoughts tumbled through his fading consciousness.
He never got to spend the money he earned. Never got to fix his broken life.
'I never even got to say goodbye to... to whom?' He was shocked that there was no one to say goodbye to.
The weight of all the things he hadn't done crushed him harder than the pain ever could.
His breathing grew shallow. Each gasp burned like fire in his lungs. The taste of copper filled his mouth.
'At least it was quick,' he thought grimly, trying to laugh, but it ca out as a choked, wet cough that spattered his chin with red.
And then—
The world shattered.
It was as if soone had pulled the floor out from under him, ripping the city, the sky, his very body into pieces. One mont he was dying on a grimy street, and the next—
He was falling.
Through darkness. Through silence. Through sothing deeper than space itself.
He didn't know how long he had fallen. Seconds? Minutes? Years? Ti had no aning in this place between places.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, he stopped.
Lucy stood—or floated, maybe—in a place that defied explanation.
A vast, endless expanse of silver mist stretched out in every direction.
Stars flickered in the distance like blinking eyes.
Strange colors bled across the dark sky: deep purples, golds, hues he couldn't even na. The air itself seed to shimr with power.
Before him, four thrones towered high above the mist, each occupied by a figure. Gods, he realized instinctively. He didn't know how he knew, but the truth of it burned in his bones like a brand.
They were watching him.
Judging him.
A voice, ancient and imnse, bood from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It resonated not just in his ears but in his very soul.
"Draft complete. Pick 4000: Lucian Gray, human, designated to the Goddess of Rebirth."
Lucy stared up at them, still clutching his stomach out of reflex, even though the wound was gone. His shirt was clean, unmarked by blood or the bullet hole.
'Gone...?'
He patted his abdon in disbelief, searching for pain that was no longer there.
'What the hell is happening...?' he thought weakly, mind reeling.
But deep down, in the part of him that had always known life wasn't fair, another thought crept in, sharp with indignation.
'And what does pick 4000 an?!'
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