Barath's expression softened. "No. You've done nothing wrong." She exhaled gently, eyes misty. "I've been transferred—Caspidean Continent. I leave Sunday. If you weren't in school, I'd take you with me in a heartbeat."
Shanazer's legs buckled. She grasped the chair beside her, trembling.
"I understand," she whispered, voice barely audible. "Thank you… for everything."
Barath stood and embraced her—tight, warm, wordless. She pressed a folded cheque into Shanazer's palm.
"You were more than an employee. You gave me peace. That matters."
As Shanazer walked away, head down, breath fogging her oxygen mask, she knew it with brutal clarity—
She had just lost everything keeping her life afloat.
Six Months Later. The air in the room was dry enough to scrape the throat. Shanazer sat motionless on a cold metal stool, arms limp at her sides, right hand propping up her chin. Her skin—once smooth—was now thin and waxy. Veins spidered in greenish-blue along her bony arms. Her cheeks had hollowed out, lips chapped and split from dehydration.
It was her birthday. Seventeen today. She didn't have the strength to feel anything about it.
The room was painfully clean—bed made tight, books stacked in order, even the cracked water cup rinsed and placed by the sink. But none of that could fill the silence of a space starved of food, stripped of water, and absent of oxygen.
Her gaze hovered on the window—but her mind was far from it. She didn't see the cloudy skyline of Veena City. She saw Gandaska, the hellhole orphanage on Furydark, and the flames of childhood fear burning behind closed eyes.
What's the point of surviving if survival tastes like ash?
That thought danced cruelly across her mind, just as a loud, insistent knock pounded on the door. She didn't flinch. Another knock followed—faster, harder, commanding attention. It finally pulled her back to reality.
"Come in!" she rasped. The sound of her own voice startled her. It sounded… brittle. Like it had cracked and forgotten how to speak.
The door creaked open with a protesting squeal. The hinges hadn't seen oil in years.
In stepped Olivia—a flash of color, energy, and concern. Her frizzy dark hair bounced slightly as she moved, lips already smiling.
"Hello, Shanazer!" she sang, making herself at home on the edge of the bed. But the smile fell the moment she got a proper look.
Her friend looked like she had been drained of life, not just physically but spiritually. Her clothes hung like fabric on a scarecrow, her eyes barely opened, her breath shallow.
"Shanazer…" Olivia whispered. "You look—what's going on?"
Shanazer's eyes dropped to the floor—rough concrete, cracked and worn, scattered with the faint outline of old stains.
Then, a whisper of defiance sparked in her chest. Enough for one moment.
She raised an arm with trembling strength, sweeping it across the room. "Look at this place," she snapped. "I have no food. No water. No oxygen. No money. My credit card has more zeros than your science calculator. And the only thing that still wants me is death."
Olivia's chest tightened.
Her middle-class family wasn't rich, but they weren't this. They weren't forced to calculate how many breaths they could afford. They didn't have to watch a loved one fade into transparency.
Her thoughts swirled, panic setting in. What have I been doing while she's been dying quietly like this? Why didn't I come sooner?
Her voice barely held together as she asked, "Shanazer… how long have you been like this?"
Shanazer gave a bitter grin. "Long enough to be on a first-name basis with despair."
The silence that followed pressed like stone. Outside, engines whirred—oxygen-haulers cruising to the wealthy sectors. A neighbor down the hallway coughed violently. Somewhere above, the familiar churn of a military drone hummed past.
Oxygen was the currency now. The only real one. Controlled by the global power: OxyamCorp, protected by the world's militaries. One kilo cost a hundred coins—enough to feed ten families in the old world.
People like Shanazer didn't just die of poverty—they suffocated in it.
And yet…
Olivia's voice brightened. Her eyes sparked as a thought bloomed—half-hope, half-hurricane.
"Shanazer?" she said again, excitement surging.
Shanazer lifted her head, exhaustion in every muscle. Her friend's energy felt almost... disrespectful. Was she about to deliver a cruel joke wrapped in sunshine?
But Olivia leaned in, her voice hushed and alive. "I think I've found something. Something that might… change everything."
"Hmm?" Shanazer mumbled, her voice a dry whisper. Her eyes were glazed, expression unreadable.
Olivia pressed on, skipping the pause. "There's a woman in Syntethicus. Used to hire me years ago for catering gigs. Owns multiple hotels now. You're doing IT and electronics, right? I bet she'd be thrilled to sign someone like you for tech work."
Shanazer bolted upright, as if the hunger and dehydration vanished in a sudden gust of purpose. She began pacing, fists clenched, eyes sharp again. "Are you serious?" she asked, breath quickening. Her voice cracked—but her spirit didn't.
Olivia leaned back, grinning wide. "Do you think I came here to feed you fantasy? Come on, you know me better." She shrugged. "What would I gain from lying? I need a job too. And this woman? She treated me like family. She's real—kind-hearted, and powerful."
Shanazer's eyes widened—hope and disbelief wrestling across her gaunt face. Someone kind? In Veena City? Still?
The weight of her suffering seemed to lift briefly. "I'm in," Shanazer said, nodding fervently. "I'll do anything. Where do we find her?"
Olivia's smile flickered with joy and sorrow. She saw it again—that fire in Shanazer's eyes. Not survival… will. "She lives in Syntethicus, just behind Rosilent Park."
The name hit Shanazer like an invisible punch. Her knees gave out and she slumped onto the stool again. Rosilent Park was 15 miles away.
15 miles of polluted air. 15 miles she couldn't walk. 15 miles she couldn't afford.
But food. Oxygen. A future. Everything was behind that distance.
She clenched her teeth. "That's far. But I'll crawl if I have to. I'm in."
Olivia stood, beaming. "Yes! That's the Shanazer I like!" Then paused, tapping her temple. "Oh—right! I'll come get you at 18:00hrs sharp. Don't even think about being late."
But Shanazer didn't hear her. She was already somewhere else—inside a flicker of memory.
Two Years Earlier – The Alleyways of Veena
It was dusk. The sun sagged behind rust-colored clouds as Shanazer made her way back from Dr. Leef Barath's flat. Her shoes kicked up dust with every hurried step through the alley.
The streets were silent, save for the buzz of distant flyers and the occasional wheeze of pressure pipes. Ahead, her block rose like a crooked tooth—familiar, worn, broken.
Then—a sound. Harsh, ragged breathing. Painful. Close. Too close.
She froze.
Her body screamed: Run. But her heart whispered: Wait.
Shanazer steadied her breathing, eyes narrowing. The air smelled like stone and metal—but something else now. Sharp. Metallic.
She heard the breath again—guttural, strained.
Before logic could weigh in, her feet were moving, guiding her toward the nearby ruin of a collapsed warehouse. Her heart thumped loud enough to mask her footsteps. Her legs trembled—but her spine held straight.
The scent of blood stung her nostrils. Each breath she took tasted of iron and dust. A shadow shifted to her right. She turned.
And saw—