Atlas Corluth's life was a relentless slog from one, crappy and unfulfilling, day to the next. At 25, he was suffocating under the weight of expectation and responsibility at his job in "the city that never sleeps".
As a Software Developer for a high-pressure, "cutting-edge" robotics firm, he lived his life one Sprint or Death March to the next. It was a constant blitz to create new and novel designs for robotics systems management and control, come up with fixes for problems, and generally re-code something that worked correctly in its first iteration but was rejected by some corporate dick-bag that couldn't tell the difference between working code and breathable air.
He was convinced that they would suffocate if their assistants didn't regularly remind them of how breathing works.
In truth, even with a wage that would be fantastic in most other parts of the country, he was barely scraping by in New York City. He desperately wanted to move but between rent, food, a sky-high car payment, and various other expenses, saving up money was simply impossible. Between that and the near-constant 16-hour shifts with no days off, even the thought of moving was nothing more than a self-deprecating joke.
Today, like most other days, Atlas flopped down onto the recliner in his combined living room/kitchen. The folding dinner tray set up in front of him had some cheap, off-brand microwave dinner on it, a plastic fork stuck into the... meat? Well, it looked like meat, anyway.
With the TV playing, the volume lowered to a level that did nothing but add background noise to the room, he sat there slowly eating. "I'm pretty sure this has the nutritional value of cardboard..." He mumbled to himself.
His apartment was small. Boasting an unimpressive combined kitchen-living room, single bedroom, and bathroom. Even being as small as it was, it still cost him an eye-bulging $2500 per month. That didn't even include things like utilities and internet.
The silver lining to such an expensive apartment was the provided furniture. None of it was cheap. A plush, deeply cushioned recliner, with real wood comprising the kitchen table, coffee table, and dresser in his room. The bed was memory foam and his bedroom sported a single, deep walk-in closet. Even the lighting was tastefully done.
In other words, his shitty little apartment enjoyed pretending that it was nice. Small solace for the fact that his neighbors were noisy, inconsiderate pricks who had no concept of needing to sleep for work. Initially, he had tried to confront them about the noise, but that only resulted in them getting louder, as if the very thought of being quiet during the night would kill them.
He sat there, in his recliner, for several long moments while contemplating the nature of impotent rage; as if deciphering its origins would innoculate him against it. Sadly, personal revelation evaded him in the same manner that someone who hated him, personally, would evade him. Prick...
Sighing, he stood up, moving the dinner tray to the side, grabbing the thin, plastic container his food had come packaged in and tossed it out.
After putting his running shoes on, he made his way out of his tiny little apartment, fumbling with his keys so he could lock his door. While he was trying to manage that, someone moving in the hallway, just at the edge of his peripheral vision caught his attention.
Looking to see who it might be, he saw that no one was there. He squinted his eyebrows in confusion for a moment before brushing it off and locking his door.
He had a bit of a routine he followed. Work, run, gym, run, shower, sleep. Every day, without fail. After eating, he ran to the Gym, worked out, and ran back home. His job was so sedentary that he'd start to ache if he didn't do something to improve his physical health.
Thankfully, his run to the Gym was uneventful. Oddly, though, he felt like the run was more taxing than he normally did. He wasn't Mr. Olympic or anything, but he was in decent shape. It really shouldn't be all that tiring of a run. Still, everyone has their off days. Chalking it up to exactly that, he set out to complete his workout.
Today was one of his heavy set days, so he was sure he'd be pretty throttled by the end of it. High weight, low reps, three sets per exercise. Today was upper-body focused.
However, much like his run, he found himself running out of gas. He ended up having to stop only halfway into his workout routine. "What the fuck? Might have to go see the doctor... If I ever get a day off." He mumbled to himself, through heaving breaths.
It took him several long minutes of controlling his breathing to come back to a semi-normal state. During that time of trying to steal as much oxygen as possible, he could have sworn he'd seen the shadows shifting, despite him being surrounded by static lighting.
For a moment, he thought he was about to pass out. Still, he'd run here and still had to make it back home, so once he managed to catch his breath, he set out to get back home. The trip home was significantly more difficult than the trip there, forcing him to stop several times to catch his breath again.
By the time he managed to practically crawl through the door, his vision was swimming and sweat was pouring off of him like he'd just run a 24-hour marathon. Slowly, he managed to strip his soaked, sticky clothing and clamber into the shower.
At first, the hot water seemed to help; working away the stress and tension in his muscles. After a few minutes though, his left arm started to feel numb and a lance of white-hot pain erupted in his chest, staggering him as he clutched at his heart.
In the confines of his shower, with barely any room to move, this caused him to stumble and fall. The last thing he saw was the edge of the tub as it slammed into his face, causing his mind to fall into darkness.
Off in the corner of his bathroom, an ethereal figure seemed to manifest into the world, if only partly. Her transparent form was barely visible at all. Her expression, as she witnessed this, was completely unaffected. More than that, she seemed to almost welcome this turn of events, a small smile slowly drawing across her lips as her visage faded away; as if she was never there.