A familiar pang of guilt, sharp and unwelcome, twisted in Jason’s gut. He’d offered comfort, platitudes about time and figuring things out, but they both knew the truth. The Fare, the astronomical price for passage on the Shadowed Dawn Initiative’s escape route, was impossibly out of reach for someone like Luke, slaving away for K.I.W. credits that barely bought a daily nutrient paste ration.
Jason turned, the cold, chemical-tinged air biting through his worn jacket. The walk back to the cramped hab-unit he shared with Irara felt longer each night, the shadows deeper, the silence punctuated only by the distant groan of failing infrastructure or the occasional desperate shout swallowed by the ruins.
He found Irara by the cracked plasteel window, her silhouette framed by the sickly orange glow of the failing atmospheric scrubbers outside. She didn’t turn as he entered, her gaze fixed on the bleak cityscape, but he felt the tension in her shoulders, the shared weight of unspoken grief and impossible choices. He moved beside her, pulling her close without a word. They stood there for a long moment, drawing strength from the familiar contact, two solitary figures against the backdrop of a dying world.
Alan’s ghost lingered between them, a constant presence in their shared silence. Luke, young, struggling, desperate but not yet broken, had unwittingly reopened that wound.
Irara finally looked up, her face etched with lines of sorrow, but her eyes held a quiet, unyielding strength that Jason had always admired. "You told him it would be okay," she stated softly, not an accusation, but a simple acknowledgment of the lie they both lived with.
"What else could I say?" Jason murmured, tightening his embrace.
"We’ve saved what we could," Irara said, her voice trembling almost imperceptibly. "For this. It’s the right thing, Jason. For… for the hope he represents." The conviction in her voice solidified his own wavering resolve.
He nodded, the familiar ache settling deep in his chest. This wasn't a choice made lightly, but a culmination of years of quiet desperation, of scrimping, saving, trading favors, all funneled towards this one, final act. He kissed her forehead gently, a farewell wrapped in decades of shared love and loss. Then he straightened, releasing her hand, forcing himself to turn away before his resolve could crack.
The air outside felt colder, charged with a strange static that seemed to mirror the fraying edges of reality itself. The K.I.W. Onboarding facility loomed ahead, a stark monolith of polished black metal cutting against the bruised twilight sky. Unlike the surrounding derelict structures, it glowed with internal light, humming with contained power, a beacon of corporate dominance in a city returning to dust. The entrance hissed open, indifferent to the gravity of his purpose.
Inside, the air was sterile, filtered, smelling faintly of ozone and recycled despair. Machines hummed with quiet efficiency. He spotted Derek almost immediately, a familiar face in this otherwise impersonal hub of bureaucracy. Derek, short, stocky, his dwarf-like beard incongruous in this high-tech setting, looked up from a datapad, surprise flickering across his features.
"Jason! Didn't expect to see you tonight."
"Just tying up loose ends, Derek," Jason replied, keeping his voice level.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
They retreated to Derek's cluttered side office. The shadows cast by the buzzing overhead light seemed to pulse erratically, making the stacks of official datapads look momentarily like unsteady, leaning gravestones. Derek leaned forward, lowering his voice, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple despite the office chill.
"Word came down, Jason," Derek whispered, his eyes holding a mixture of excitement and something darker, perhaps fear. "It's active. Rahu. The first Transition Platforms are online. They start linking the Forerunners tomorrow."
Jason’s breath caught. Tomorrow. He’d known it was close, but the finality of it hit him like a physical blow. Rahu. The mythical escape. The corporate-engineered reality. It was real. And it was leaving.
"What… what is it, Derek? Really?" Jason asked, needing the truth, however harsh.
Derek’s eyes gleamed with an almost fanatical light. "More than just another planet, Jason. It's… designed. Controlled. Inspiration taken from old RPG games but on a completely different wavelength. They've.. they have been able to artificially mold burgeoning realities! For years they have struggled with realities fizzling out due to not enough of what they're calling 'Critical Mass Decisions'. Conflict, struggle, high stakes choices. they're what generate the energy needed to keep Rahu, this new world, reality, stable, to keep it from… well, from doing whatever this reality is doing." He gestured vaguely at the flickering lights outside. "They say it's stable, safe… for those who paid the price."
A wave of nausea washed over Jason. A reality fueled by engineered conflict. "So, life is just… a resource? Suffering keeps the lights on?"
Derek shrugged, avoiding Jason's gaze. "They call it 'purpose'. Challenges, rewards. Risk. Like the games Alan used to play, remember? Just… the stakes are permanent." He finally looked up, a flicker of genuine sympathy in his eyes. "It's monstrous, yeah. But it's survival. Or so they claim."
Jason swallowed the revulsion. Survival. For Luke. "The Fare," Jason said, his voice thick. "Still no way around it?"
Derek shook his head slowly. "None, Jason. Not for this. Credits or approved skills. That's the gate. No exceptions, not even for K.I.W. brass, officially." He paused. "Your boy… Luke, right? He doesn't have it?"
Jason didn't need to answer. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken confirmation.
"I'm sorry," Derek said, and for once, Jason believed he meant it.
Jason murmured his thanks, turned, and walked back out into the sterile corridor, Derek’s pity following him like a shadow. The decision was made. The path was clear.
He found Irara still by the window when he returned. She looked at him, her eyes asking the question he didn't need to voice. He simply took her hand.
"It's time," he whispered.
She nodded, tears finally tracing paths through the grime on her cheeks. "For Alan," she whispered back. "And for the boy who still dares to hope."
Together, they walked towards the public Credit Kiosk near their hab-block. Its impassive blue screen cast long, wavering shadows in the desolate street. Jason pressed his worn hand against the cool surface. The interface flickered, recognizing his bio-signature, his meager K.I.W. credit balance displayed starkly.
Transfer Credits?
He initiated the transfer, keying in Luke Rennoka's identification code, gleaned months ago through a hushed favour from Derek.
Enter Amount.
He entered his entire balance.
Confirm Transfer: J. Miller Account -> L. Rennoka Account.
He confirmed. The screen pulsed.
Transfer Complete. Balance: 0 Credits.
He stepped back, gesturing for Irara. Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed her own palm to the screen, repeating the process, transferring the sum they had painstakingly saved, the sum meant for their own passage, their own escape.
Transfer Complete. Balance: 0 Credits.
It was done. A profound emptiness settled over Jason, quickly followed by a strange, unexpected lightness. They had given away their future, their only hope of escape, for a boy who reminded them too much of the son they had lost.
As they turned away from the Kiosk's cold glow, Jason looked up instinctively. The thick, toxic clouds momentarily parted, revealing not stars, but a sliver of impossible, a dark purple void, a void so deep it felt like an eye opening, observing their small sacrifice from an unimaginable distance. Then the clouds swirled shut again, leaving only the oppressive weight of the dying Earth. He took Irara's hand, and together, they walked back into the shadows, carrying the weight of their choice, lighter than a feather, heavier than a mountain.