The afternoon sun scorched the loud, bustling city with harsh, golden rays. New buildings were being constructed on all sides, skeletons of concrete and steel rising into the sky. Workers labored on those sites, their shouts mixing with the metallic clang of hammers and the grind of drills.

  Traffic was honking, a jarring symphony that added to the chaos of the city. But to Tyler, amidst this traffic, all those sounds became a dull roar pressing against his ears.

  He sat in the backseat of an Uber, dressed in black formal pants, a white shirt, and a blazer. He rested his head against the dark, tinted glass of the window. There was barely any light filtering through, casting the interior in shadow, though he could see the blurry shapes of people outside.

  His gaze was directed at the people walking by the sidewalk, but his mind barely registered them. Inside his own mind, there was a chaos of his own. A chaos that did not feel vibrant, that wasn't moving. A chaos that felt... still. He sighed, his chest deflating, and closed his dull blue eyes.

  *Just when I thought, this is actually going to be it,* he thought. *And things turn out this way, again.*

  With those thoughts racing in his mind, he opened his eyes again. The car was slowly passing a construction site where a building was being built. He saw a man pushing a wheelbarrow with two heavy bags of cement inside, a yellow helmet hard against his head.

  The corner of Tyler's mouth twitched upward, a slight, self-mocking curve, as he remembered months back when he was in the same situation. He had worked in construction for years, with the sun beating down on him constantly throughout all those years, baking his skin into a dark tan. His hands had become rough, the skin thickened and scarred, because of the grueling work.

  Despite that, the pay had been pitiful. He had always adapted, taking the scraps without a word, just trying to survive. But that was before he realized the boss was just using his strength for profit. Tyler hauled bags of cement while the man pocketed the difference, paying him pennies on the dollar. He eventually quit the work and decided to look for jobs again, but months had bled into the gutter and so far, things weren't looking good.

  He looked down at his dark shoes. They were formal and polished, or at least they used to be. He had bought them specifically for events like this, but after walking miles of pavement in them, the leather was scuffed and the shine was dull. They looked just as tired as he felt.

  This was his fourth rejection. The fourth interview.

  *It would have been better if they had just ignored my letters. *Why did they have to call me in, just to say it to my face?*

  He remembered the interviewer's expression, eyes flickering with disappointment, as if they expected more but found less. The more they spoke to Tyler, the more their sentences clipped short, their interest fading like a dying radio signal. They told him, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn't capable of working there.

  He sighed again, shifting in the leather seat. His gaze drifted to the side, landing on his black backpack resting beside him.

  "Kid, what's wrong?"

  The voice cut through the dull roar of traffic. Tyler blinked, forcing himself to face forward.

  The Uber driver was staring through the rearview mirror, eyes meeting Tyler's in the reflection.

  "What?" Tyler asked, his voice raspy.

  "You've been sighing a lot since you got in here," the driver said. "What's going on?"

  "Oh, no," Tyler responded. The air left his lungs in a long, heavy sigh. "I'm just tired."

  He leaned back against the headrest, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the day.

  "Just tired?" The Uber driver asked, one eyebrow arching up as he glanced over his shoulder.

  Tyler nodded without looking up, keeping his gaze fixed on the passing street. The driver opened his mouth to continue, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

  "Oh. All right, I know it's none of my business, but listen," the driver said, his tone shifting to something gruffer, like a father giving unwanted advice. "If you're in any kind of bad situation, all things pass. So don't beat your head around it too much."

  The skin between Tyler's brows pinched together. He didn't want pity. "No, I mean, it's just that I came from an interview and I was rejected."

  "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," the driver said, his sympathy sounding practiced, automatic. "You should try to apply for more jobs."

  "I've been doing that," Tyler said, his voice flat. He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the crumbled rejection letter he'd shoved there earlier. "This is the fourth rejection in a row."

  The Uber slowed down, the brakes sighing as they rolled toward a red traffic light. The city hummed outside the windows.

  "Fourth rejection? That's rough," the driver said, shaking his head.

  A dry, hollow chuckle slipped past Tyler's lips, completely devoid of humor. "Yeah. It's obviously because of one thing."

  "What's that?" the driver asked.

  Tyler turned his head toward the window, watching the blur of pedestrians. "Me failing to go to college."

  "Oh, well, that shouldn't really hold you back a lot," the driver said with a shrug. "Why don't you try applying for courses?"

  Tyler shook his head, the motion sharp. "I don't have enough money to do that. Those things cost a lot."

  "Don't you have anyone to help you out?" the driver asked, his eyes leaving the road for a second to glance at the rearview mirror. "Like your parents?"

  Tyler's eyes widened, the dull blue irises expanding. He shifted in his seat to look directly at the man.

  The driver caught the sudden shift in Tyler's expression, the way his shoulders had gone rigid.

  "No," Tyler said. "I don't have any parents."

  "Oh," the driver said, the word falling heavy in the small space between them. "I'm sorry... I didn't know."

  The driver faced forward then, gripping the wheel as he stopped the conversation, letting the silence fill the car. Tyler looked down at his shoes again, staring at the scuffed leather.

  "Maybe it would have been better if my parents were there. If they were still alive." Tyler thought, his eyes narrowing as memories of his past resurfaced, unpleasant things he had tried to bury, ghosts he tried to forget.

  He remembered the story of the accident. The car crash that took his parents. He had been the only survivor, a two-year-old found walking away without a single scratch on him. It was so unrealistic. It was a miracle.

  After that, his aunt and uncle took him in. A couple who couldn't have children of their own. But their home wasn't a sanctuary. The people called him a "miracle child,"

  As a kid, he hadn't understood. He thought they just hated him. But the hate was never really his. It was the hatred of his father that bled over him. His uncle hated his brother, and his aunt mirrored that rage, poisoning the well.

  He remembered his uncle's hand. The rough grip, the blows that never seemed to care that he was just a kid back then. Never any mercy.

  He remembered his aunt's voice, sharp and shrill, echoing through the house almost every week. *You're lucky we took you in,* she would say. *You're lucky you have a home.* But the words always felt like a cage. A reminder that he was a burden. A parasite who would always need someone to depend on.

  He felt like a parasite for just existing. He even failed to go to college because of the mental stress. He couldn't even make friends last. Everyone eventually drifted away, leaving him alone.

  Tyler felt the car rolling to a slow stop by the side of the road. He grabbed his bag and said, "Thanks."

  As he stepped out of the car, the noise of the city rushed in, louder than before, and the heat of the afternoon hit him instantly. He pushed the door shut.

  "Hey kid," the driver called out.

  Tyler leaned toward the open window, lowering his head.

  "I know things are pretty rough right now but everything is going to be alright, okay? Just believe that," the driver said.

  "Yeah," Tyler said, a small smile forcing its way onto his face. "Don't worry. I'll pull through."

  He scratched the back of his head, slightly ruffling his dark hair.

  "Alright, have a nice day," the driver said.

  He signaled and then merged into the traffic, disappearing behind other cars.

  Tyler turned around. He pulled his bag closer to his shoulder, walking forward along the sidewalk, staring down at the pavement.

  *What the hell am I gonna do now?* he thought. *Should I just go back?*

  "Yo."

  A voice cut through his thoughts, causing him to look up. He tried to find where it was coming from.

  A few meters away, a guy about his age was calling him over with a wave. He was wearing dark pants, sneakers, a black t-shirt, and a black and white jacket.

  It was Mike. Even with people passing by, blocking the view, Tyler would have been able to make him out from his short stature, ginger hair, and messy brown mop. He walked over and saw Mike holding an oversized can of an energy drink.

  Mike instantly stepped up beside him and hugged him. The sudden embrace added weight to Tyler's shoulders, making him feel slightly annoyed.

  "Don't do that," Tyler said, shrugging the heavy arm off his shoulder.

  "What? Come on, man, you should learn to cheer up a little," Mike said, his grin faltering for a second.

  "Man, it's hot," Tyler said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Don't hug me like that."

  "Is it really?" Mike asked, tilting his head.

  "Yeah, it is," Tyler said, gesturing at the oversized can in Mike's hand. "You probably couldn't tell because you've been downing frozen energy drinks all day. You really shouldn't do that. I thought you would know better, being a health assistant and all that."

  "Nah, man, who cares?" Mike said, waving him off. "I'm on my lunch break. By the way, how did it go?"

  "The usual," Tyler said, kicking at a crack in the pavement.

  "Oh, you got rejected?" Mike asked, his smile dropping into a frown.

  Tyler nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Yeah."

  "Isn't that funny? This one wasn't even demanding. And yet I still couldn't get the job."

  "Oh man, that's rough. Well, don't worry about it, all right?" Mike said, clapping a hand on Tyler's back. "You'll pull through. I'm sure you're going to get that next one."

  "You always say that," Tyler replied, his voice flat. "How many times has it been now?"

  "Listen," Mike said, stepping closer. "I know it sounds a bit repetitive when I always say this but you really gotta believe this too. You've gotta have some hope. You know, in life, things can sometimes feel down..."

  As Mike's voice droned on, Tyler wasn't even listening anymore. His thoughts were already far, Mike's words becoming a blur. He then snapped his head up, interrupting Mike.

  "Hey, so, is there any space that I can fill up at the convenience store?"

  Mike paused, then said,"I'll ask the manager, "but things are looking pretty tight right now."

  Tyler sighed. "Alright, I'm heading home then."

  "Yeah, I'll see ya." Mike paused, his gaze following Tyler. "Oh, hey, wait."

  He took a few steps and stopped beside him. "Here," he said, handing over the energy drink.

  "Weren't you drinking this?" Tyler asked.

  "Oh, no," Mike said. "I just opened it. Plus, I've been drinking these a lot today. Maybe it's time to take in your advice and act like a health assistant."

  Tyler chuckled slightly. "Yeah, like you ever do that."

  Mike let out a short laugh. Tyler took the energy drink and took a sip.

  "Anyway, see you later," Mike said, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "I gotta get back to work."

  "Sure," Tyler answered.

  Mike headed back toward the convenience store a few meters away, that was where he worked.

  Tyler watched him go. He had hoped Mike would at least talk to the manager, but hearing his words, that hope vanished. He continued forward. Their home was close. They rented an apartment near the road in the city.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He arrived, opening the small gate and stepping into the yard. He could still hear traffic rushing behind him. He opened the front door and saw the mess Mike had left.

  He had woken up before Mike, but the apartment had stayed messy all through yesterday. He expected Mike to handle it, but clearly, he hadn't. He sighed again, dropping his bag by the door.

  He kicked off his shoes, the leather tight and stifling, then peeled off his blazer. It landed in a heap on the couch. He was left in just his white shirt, the fabric damp and clinging to his back.

  He didn’t stop, he want to think.

  He grabbed the trash, shoving debris into the bag with unnecessary force. Then the clothes, snatching them from the floor and dropping them into the laundry basket. The motion made his blood pump, and the heat in the apartment spiked. It was marginally better than the scorching sun outside, but the air here was stagnant, heavy. It felt like walking around inside a baking oven set to low.

  He twisted the tap. The pipes groaned before spitting out water. He plunged his hands in, scrubbing mechanically as the plates vanished beneath a cloud of white foam. His eyes narrowed, staring at nothing but the bubbles popping on the surface.

  *I’ve got to pay him back.*

  The thought was a rhythmic thrum in his head, matching the circular motion of the sponge.

  *I’ve burned through so much of his money. Printing all those documents. Dragging myself to interview after interview… damn it. I haven't paid him a single cent.*

  He gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles pressing against the cold metal. *He even paid the rent for the last two months. It feels like he’s taking of me.*

  The guilt sat heavy in his chest, heavier than the heat. It dragged something up from the dark, a memory he had spent years trying to drown.

  “You’ll never be anything.”

  His aunt’s voice. Sharp. Hateful.

  “You’ll never be useful. You’ll just be an orphaned parasite. That’s all you ever were.”

  He frowned, his hand suddenly tightening around the handle of a knife submerged in the water. He scrubbed the blade with aggressive, dangerous force.

  "No," he muttered to the empty room. "That can’t be true."

  He forced his grip to loosen. He thought of the driver’s advice, using it as a shield against the voice in his head.

  "Yeah. Nothing lasts forever. I’m going to pull through this." He breathed out, the sound shaky in the quiet kitchen. "It’s not like this is going to go on forever. I’m not going to grow old just looking for jobs."

  He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. In the corner, a spider sat on a dusty cobweb, trembling violently as it struggled to maintain its hold.

  He watched it shake.

  If I go back to the construction site, they’ll take me in, he thought, the resignation tasting bitter. They know how hardworking I am. It would be easy.

  He sighed, the sound deflating him. He looked back down at the sink, refocusing on the submerged knife, and finished washing.

  Once the last plate was dried and the floor mopped, the apartment smelled of bleach and sweat. He needed to wash it off. He stepped into the shower, turning the handle all the way to cold. The shock of the water made him gasp, but it numbed the heat, if only for a moment.

  Coming out of the shower feeling refreshed, he didn't bother drying off his hair completely. He threw himself onto the couch, the cushions groaning under his weight, and closed his eyes, desperate for sleep to pull him under.

  Just as his eyelids grew heavy, dragging his vision into darkness, the lock clicked.

  Tyler snapped his head toward the door, the noise jolting him awake. The door swung open and Mike stumbled in, wrestling with three plastic grocery bags that looked ready to burst.

  "Hey, I'm back," Mike huffed, kicking the door shut with his heel. He shifted his grip, wincing as the plastic dug into his fingers. "Can you help me with this?"

  "Yeah." Tyler rubbed the sleep from his face and hurried over. He grabbed the heaviest bags, relieving Mike of the load.

  They moved to the kitchen, unpacking in a flurry of movement, cans thudding onto the counter, boxes sliding into cupboards. It was a distraction, something to do with their hands. As Mike shoved a box of cereal onto a shelf, he paused, looking around the kitchen. He noticed the gleaming sink and the smell of damp floor cleaner.

  "I see you cleaned the place up," Mike said. He sounded slightly guilty. "Sorry, man, I couldn't help. I was just swamped with work."

  "Oh, no, it's fine." Tyler kept his eyes on the milk carton he was putting away. "I had to do something around here."

  Mike looked at him, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. It hung in the air, threatening to drag up the one subject Tyler didn't want to discuss, yet needed to know.

  Tyler wiped his hands on his pants. "So... how did it go?"

  "Huh?" Mike blinked, then realized. "Oh. That."

  Mike rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Tyler's eyes. "Sorry, man. They said we're pretty full right now. The manager said I was barely lucky to even get in myself." He looked up, trying to inject some optimism into his voice. "But don't worry. The second I hear about an opening, or if I find something better, I'll make sure to tell them to fit you in as a replacement."

  Tyler felt a heavy stone settle in his gut, but he forced a nod. "Thanks, I guess."

  Mike paused, needing to fill the dead air. "I applied for some other jobs recently. Cost a fortune to print the resumes... but it's been some time now. I think they'll call soon."

  "Or atleast i hope so."

  Tyler turned away, retreating to the couch. He grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV, letting the noise wash over the room.

  Mike stretched his arms over his head, a massive yawn cracking his jaw. "I'm gonna take a shower," he said, heading down the hallway toward the bathroom." Its hot out there."

  "It's pretty damn hot in here, too," Tyler muttered, feeling the stagnant air clinging to his skin.

  "Yeah!" Mike shouted back from the bathroom. "You'd think the temperature would be better at night, but it's still exactly the same!"

  Tyler didn't answer. He just kept pressing the channel button, the light from the TV flickering across his face as the screen jumped from news to commercials to static.

  "You know we could have the fan on right now if I hadn't knocked the damn thing over!" Mike shouted from the bathroom, his voice echoing against the tiles. "Guess we're sweating until next month's paycheck!"

  "Yeah," Tyler muttered, not looking away from the screen.

  A few minutes later, steam billowed out of the hallway as Mike returned. He was shirtless, wrestling a black and blue tee over his head with one hand. The other hand was pressed tight to his ear, holding his phone.

  Tyler noticed the tone immediately. It wasn't the loud, boisterous voice Mike used with him. It was lower. Softer. Almost weirdly soothing.

  "Right... I'll see you on Saturday. Alright. I love you, too. Bye."

  Tyler’s thumb froze on the remote. *I love you?*

  He stared at the side of Mike’s face. He didn’t even know Mike was seeing anyone.

  Mike tossed the phone onto the cushion and threw himself onto the couch next to Tyler. The old springs shrieked in protest under the sudden weight, sounding like they were in physical pain.

  Tyler felt a dry chuckle rise in his throat at the sound, but it died quickly. He looked at Mike, relaxed, employed, and apparently loved.

  A sharp pang of envy twisted in Tyler's gut. It felt like the gap between them, which used to be nothing, was turning into a canyon. Mike was moving on to a different level of life, and Tyler was still stuck at the starting line.

  He looked away, his eyes catching on Mike’s chest. The skin was bare.

  "You're not wearing your necklace," Tyler said, clearing the tightness from his throat. "Rare to see you without it. You usually don't even shower without that thing. Did you lose it?"

  "Oh, no. Didn't lose it." Mike leaned back, stretching his legs. "Left it in the bedroom."

  "The bedroom?"

  "Yeah. Well... you know what I always say. That thing has always been my lucky charm. But..." Mike shrugged, a confident grin playing on his lips. "I don't think I really need it anymore."

  He turned to look at Tyler. "If anything, maybe you should wear it. I don't know, man, might fix your luck."

  "Nah," Tyler scoffed, turning his eyes back to the TV to hide his face. "I don't believe in that voodoo crap."

  Mike shifted, turning his whole body to face Tyler, enthusiastic now. "Come on, man, why not? I told you before. My great-grandfather found it. Guy had three wives. Passed it to his son, my grandfather, who passed it to-"

  "-to his son, who also had two wives, and then it was passed on to you," Tyler droned, cutting him off. He looked at Mike flatly. "Yeah. I know. This is like the fourth time you've told me this story."

  "Right," Mike said, still pushing. "You really should wear it."

  "Come on, man," Tyler said, his expression hardening. "You know I don't believe in luck."

  Mike sighed in surrender, leaning back into the cushions and turning his eyes to the TV.

  Tyler stared at the screen, but he wasn't really watching the commercials flit by. His mind was turning inward, dark and cynical.

  *If there was such a thing as luck*, he thought,* it would just mean I’ve had the bad kind my whole life. From the moment I was born.*

  He glanced sideways at Mike, who was mindlessly watching a car insurance ad.

  *The only thing I would call 'luck' was meeting him.*

  He turned back to the TV, his thumb hitting the channel button mechanically. Click. Click. Click.

  *But even that… maybe that proves his lucky necklace doesn’t work. It barely works for him when I'm around. If I wasn't here, he could have bought more food. He could have brought his girlfriend back to the apartment.*

  The guilt gnawed at him. *I’m probably the reason he hasn't.*

  "Wait, hold on," Mike said, sitting up. "Can you go back?"

  Tyler blinked, snapping out of his spiral. He cycled back to the channel he had just skipped.

  He recognized the set immediately. The bright colors, the oversized props. It was a show he hadn't thought about in over a decade. Mr. Maker.

  Mike chuckled. "It's still on? I can't believe they're still airing this."

  Tyler leaned forward, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips for the first time that evening. "Yeah. Looks like they changed the actor, though."

  He watched the man on the screen pick up a glue stick and some cardboard. It hit him with a wave of heavy nostalgia. He remembered sitting cross-legged on the floor as a kid, glued to this show. It was about taking the simplest things, garbage, scraps, everyday objects, and turning them into something new. Something useful.

  It had made the world feel full of potential. It was the reason he had told everyone in elementary school he was going to be a scientist. He wanted to invent. He wanted to create.

  That was before he grew up. Before reality hit him with the cold, hard truth of how expensive dreams actually were.

  He abruptly changed the channel, cutting off the cheerful music.

  "We can't watch this," he muttered.

  "Oh, come on," Mike groaned. "It used to be your favorite show."

  "Stop it. That’s ancient history."

  Mike chuckled. "Yeah, right. We really need to find a better list of movies or something."

  Tyler settled on a channel just as the opening credits of an action movie began to roll. He tossed the remote aside, grateful for the distraction.

  They watched in silence for a while, the explosions on screen filling the void in the room. Halfway through, Tyler got up and threw together a simple dinner. They ate on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, until the credits rolled and exhaustion finally took over. They collapsed into the single cramped bed they shared, passing out almost instantly.

  The sound of a voice cut through Tyler’s sleep like a knife.

  He woke with a start, the bed empty beside him. He heard Mike pacing the floor, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was different, sharp, formal, professional.

  "Yes... absolutely. I understand."

  Mike hissed through his teeth in excitement, balling his fist and punching the air.

  "What is it?" Tyler mumbled, rubbing the grit from his eyes.

  Mike spun around, his face glowing. "Remember those jobs I was talking about?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I got a call. Actually, I got a call from both of them."

  "Whoa," Tyler sat up, his eyes widening. "Both?"

  "Yeah. I'm planning on attending two interviews on the same day. I want to see exactly how much they both pay so I can pick the winner."

  "Wow," Tyler said, and he meant it. "That's... that's great, man."

  "Yeah," Mike checked the time on his phone and scrambled toward the bathroom. "I’ve got to take a shower. I’ve got to leave in twenty."

  Tyler watched him go, a sudden thought striking him. "Oh, that means you're going to talk to your current boss? About me being your replacement?"

  Mike froze halfway to the bathroom. He didn't turn around immediately. When he finally looked back, his smile was tight, not quite reaching his eyes.

  "Yeah. Yeah, I will. Don't worry, I didn't forget."

  He quickly shut the bathroom door.

  Tyler sat there in the silence. He smiled slightly, trying to hold onto the happiness for his friend, but it was being eaten away by a cold, sinking truth.

  He’s not going to ask.

  Tyler knew it. He could feel it in the hesitation, in the way Mike had avoided his gaze. His boss was probably rough. Mike knew the answer would be no. Why ruin his own exit by asking a favor for a deadbeat roommate?

  Tyler lay back down, pulling the thin blanket over his head to block out the morning light. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself back into the dark.

  When he woke up again, hours had passed. The apartment was silent.

  He dragged himself out of bed, made it with mechanical precision, and showered. When he dressed, he reached for a set of clothes he hadn't worn in a while, a simple black and white tracksuit.

  It was cheap polyester, but he liked the patterns. It was the same outfit he’d been wearing a year ago, back when he met Mike.

  Walking into the living room, the memory washed over him. The construction site. The dust, the noise. Mike had been the new hire, clueless, clumsy. Tyler had been the one showing him the ropes, teaching him how the tools worked. They had bonded over cheap lunches and shared complaints. They had moved in together as equals.

  Now, Mike moved from job to job, climbing a ladder that Tyler couldn't even reach.

  Tyler felt a familiar twisting in his gut. Guilt. Envy. It used to be sharp, a stabbing pain, but now it was just a dull, numbing ache.

  I'm a parasite.

  The thought wasn't new. It was a constant hum in the back of his mind. He was a man, for crying out loud. He needed to do something.

  He thought about the construction site. He could go back.

  His stomach turned at the thought. He remembered the foreman shouting at him, the way the other workers looked down on him like he was dirt. It was a humiliation he had sworn never to return to. But now?

  *Even if it hurts,* he muttered to the empty room, *it’s still something. At least I wouldn't be sitting around. Maybe then I could actually be useful around here.*

  He walked to the wall and slid down it until he hit the floor, pulling his knees to his chest.

  Mike was friendly. He was patient. But he was human. Eventually, he would get tired of carrying Tyler. He would move on. Everyone moved on. Everyone eventually left him behind.

  *I should be thankful he’s endured me for this long.*

  Tyler stared at the floor, his vision blurring. He hadn't cried in a long time, but suddenly the dam felt weak.

  “You’ll never be anything.”

  His aunt’s voice echoed in his memory.

  “Just like your father.”

  He remembered his uncle’s hand, the stinging insults. Clumsy. Idiot. You ruin everything you touch.

  Tyler let out a wet, broken chuckle. "They were right."

  He rested his head against the wall. "Maybe... when that accident happened... if I had just gone with my parents... if that 'miracle' hadn't happened..."

  *I wouldn't have to live like this. I wouldn't have to feel this.*

  The tears were right there, burning behind his eyes, but he gritted his teeth. He wouldn't let them fall. What was the use? Crying wouldn't pay the rent.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up. The morning sun was filtering through the window, hitting the kitchen counter. Something was shining there.

  He sniffed, wiping his face, and stood up. He walked over to the sink.

  There, sitting on the edge of the porcelain, was the necklace.

  He stared at it. "He left it again."

  Mike hadn't been lying. He really didn't think he needed it anymore.

  Tyler looked down at the tarnished metal. He had heard the story a hundred times, the great-grandfather, the wives, the legacy of luck. But he realized, with a start, that he had never actually touched it. Mike always had it around his neck.

  He reached out, his fingers hovering inches above the chain.

  It felt cold against his palm. He looked at it, the round golden pendant with a cream-white pattern of a four-leaf clover.

  He smiled, looking at it. "A four-leaf clover, huh? I'm guessing that's supposed to give me luck."

  He looked at it, imagining himself wearing it. Going through that door. Finding a job. Managing to actually buy a car, maybe even get a girlfriend. Becoming rich.

  He shook his head, the fantasy crumbling. It felt stupid. If anything, he’d just gain enough money to survive on his own.

  He leaned his back against the wall, the necklace still clutched in his hand. "Who knows? Maybe luck really does exist."

  Suddenly, the golden pendant shimmered.

  Tyler narrowed his eyes. It wasn't a reflection of the sun. The pendant began to glow from the inside out. It warmed against his skin, turning hotter and hotter until it was searing.

  "Ow!"

  Tyler hissed and dropped it.

  The pendant hit the floor with a heavy thud. But the moment it made contact, the floor shifted. It reacted as if he had dropped a stone into a still pond, a ripple spreading outward from the metal.

  But it wasn't water.

  The floor instantly broke apart into thousands of blue, square pixels.

  "What the hell?"

  Tyler scrambled backward, pushing himself away from the center of the room. He watched in horror as the ripple hit the walls, the door, the furniture. The solid world dissolved, everything shattering into a swarm of shifting blue squares. They shifted and flowed like liquid light.

  "What the hell is going on?"

  He turned his back against the wall, but even that was turning into light behind him.

  Suddenly, a blue, translucent panel materialized in the air before him. The text was sharp and suspended in the nothingness.

  SCAN COMPLETE.

  SPECIES COMPATIBILITY EXCEEDS 90%.

  "What... what is this?" Tyler stammered, stumbling back.

  The text flickered, vanishing instantly. It was replaced by a new line, flashing violently.

  ERROR. SPECIES IDENTIFICATION ERROR.

  Then, it fractured.

  ERROR. ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.

  It didn't stop. The panels began to multiply. They popped into existence, stacking over one another, cascading like a waterfall of warning signs. ERROR. ERROR. They filled his vision, blocking out the swirling blue light, sealing him in a cage of flashing text. The sheer volume of it was dizzying, a chaotic assault on his senses.

  Tyler clutched his head, his breath hitching in a throat that felt suddenly too tight. He felt a scream tear its way out—raw and terrified.

  "Ahhh!"

  He spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Instinct took over. Run.

  He bolted toward where the door used to be. The furniture, the couch, the TV, the table, was gone. Everything had dissolved into the swarm of blue squares. The room was just a shifting, liquid void.

  *I have to get out of here!*

  He sprinted through the nothingness, his eyes fixed on the memory of the exit.

  A new panel materialized directly in his path, hovering in the air, impossible to avoid.

  USER IS ABOUT TO BE TRANSPORTED IN 3...

  2...

  *I have to get away!*

  Tyler’s eyes widened, the white showing all around the iris. He lunged forward, his hand extending, fingers clawing desperately for a doorknob that no longer existed. He grasped at empty air.

  ...1.

  The motion stopped instantly. The blue pixels vanished. The walls, the floor, the dirty dishes in the sink, everything snapped back into solid reality. The room was silent. The morning sun continued to filter through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

  But the apartment was empty.

  Tyler was gone.