The history was always there, the future was drifting away, but everyone is living in the present's rule, trying to better themselves or, like most people, just wasting their time.

 Kane was in the group who had no choice but to avoid idling. He was a bottom feeder, not even a supporting character in someone's successful life. He was just a human who was broken by the world after he made choices. Some of those decisions did not really matter in the grand scheme of things, but only a few bad choices are needed to start a series of events leading to having no future, a death-like present, and a history of regrets.

 And that's Kane's current situation. Every day, he wallows in regret as he remembers what could have been done better, drowning the thoughts of just ending his life. It was a mystery to him why he has not already done that.

 While removing his apron, he addressed his supervisor, "Boss, I'm leaving." His tone was almost robotic, not the usual relief or tiredness of finishing a shift. Before Kane reached the exit, the supervisor called him, "Kane! Do you want to do extra hours this week?"

 Without even turning around, he gave a quick, affirmative response. The supervisor nodded approvingly, not caring about the lack of mannerism, before turning back to his tablet and ignoring the annoyed looks of other workers. Most of them were immigrants who wanted to establish themselves, making money-making opportunities much sought after, even with the workload.

"Zombie prick," one of them said as he threw meat into the grinder with a bit of unnecessary force.

"Too biased! He always gives him a slot for extra hours," another grunted in agreement.

"If you want similar treatment, be as hardworking as him," an older man said plainly as he took off his gloves.

"Who wants to be like him? He's just a weirdo. I even heard he was accused of murder and was only released two years ago." You could feel the malice and the intention of ruining Kane's reputation despite having no interaction worthy of such emotions.

 The older man just shook his head. Although he felt disdain for such behavior, he inwardly did not completely disagree. In his eyes, Kane is just an empty husk, meaninglessly hardworking since he knew Kane spent any extra money on buying drinks.

***

 Kane, oblivious to any of this, was walking the streets absentmindedly. His instincts dragged his legs to the alcohol store, and the moment his foot touched the ground, a greeting came his way.

"Kane! Right on time as always. I already prepared your order, the usual," the clerk, named Daan, welcomed Kane with happiness, as Kane was his favorite—or, more accurately, his biggest individual client.

"Okay." Although not shown, he was quite appreciative of Daan's services. It saved him time and energy—not like there was anything to be done after, but nonetheless, it was nice to have quick service.

 Entering his home with two bags of drinks after pushing the spring-loaded door, 'Freaking stiff doors.' Everyone in the building complained to the landlord about the quality of these doors. It took more than reasonable effort to open them, which proved annoying when carrying groceries or anything else. Not to mention, you needed to keep pushing until they were fully opened; otherwise, they would start closing quickly.

 Kane lives in a studio apartment with minimal furniture. Everything was organized and clean. Those who know him would be surprised, as the impression he gives is definitely not implying tidying his house is important.

 After mechanically going through his routine—filling the fridge, showering, washing clothes, and preparing dinner—he sat on the couch with a plate of fried chicken and rice, two cans of beer. He never had a problem with his appetite, which he found weird considering the daily heavy drinking.

 Switching on the TV, he absently flipped through the channels, eating and drinking as he went, until something made him pause.

"Breaking news: A tragic event unfolded today. A 30-year-old male was discovered dead in his apartment. Preliminary analysis suggests it may have been a suicide by overdose…"

 'Suicide…' He considered this option many times, but for some reason, he just did not do it. He had nothing worth living for; no one would miss him if he disappeared right now… well, except Daan and the meat processing plant supervisor.

 He was lost in thought until something stole his attention. He noticed, behind the reporter, the street's building was very familiar. "Isn't this where I live?" As the confusion started to mount, the reporter brought a neighbor to be interviewed.

"We have a neighbor here who appears to have known the victim. Could you please introduce yourself and explain your relationship with the deceased?"

 The neighbor was someone he knew—a 27-year-old young woman. She had quite an appeal with her fit body and cute face, bronde hair, and blue eyes that now looked teary. "My name is Sasha, and I live in the same building. We meet in the morning when he comes back from doing night shifts in the meat processing plant or in the evening when he finishes day shifts. He always complained about how tiresome the work…"

 Many questions were running in his mind. At first, he just thought it was someone else who died in his apartment building, but no one but him had a similar job as far as he knew. He did not notice this in the beginning, but from the background, he could see the fading sunset… He quickly opened the window—almost the same sky and horizon colors showed it was a little bit earlier than what was shown on TV.

"What the hell is happening? And… why am I sober?" He just realized the most uncanny thing: he was completely awake, which should be impossible from the alcohol he drank and the drugs mixed within.

 He sat down again and watched as Sasha emotionally talked about him. Since when was our relationship this close? He was quite sure that he never talked to her more than one sentence.

"Maybe a lucid dream." Kane relaxed his body on the couch and gulped the beer can empty. He could feel it—his mind, his body; he could feel both of them clearly. No numbness or heavy thoughts weighing on him like he usually experienced. He hadn't felt that in a long time. His lifestyle had slowly killed the volatility of his emotions—drinking, drugs, routine work.

 After a bit of contemplation, he focused on the news again. They had already reached the end of the segment after the reporter bade the sad Sasha farewell. Now thinking seemed meaningless, as there were only a few options he could think of. He was either having a very realistic lucid dream or finally going crazy.

 The next logical course of action was to gather more information, and he already decided where to start. He wore his jacket and headed out. While going upstairs, he questioned himself: Why am I this calm? There was no uncontrollable behavior or mingled emotions. In fact, this was the most serene and awake he had ever felt in a long, long time.

 Soon he reached his destination—Sasha's apartment. If there was someone who might tell him something useful, it should be her, right? He rang the bell and waited, but there was no response. He tried a few more times, but still nothing.

 Frowning, he decided to leave, but mid-turn, it hit him. 'There is no noise.' From the moment he left his house, there was almost absolute silence surrounding him, but because he was lost in thought, he missed it. That, and the sound of his footsteps and the bell, were audible.

 After a bit of thought, he faced the door again and knocked at the door with the intention to see if there would be some noise, which there was, but unexpectedly, it also made the door open a bit.

 Taking a step back, he raised his vigilance. "Hello? Sasha?" He received no answer. Not repeating himself, he backed up and started walking down the stairs, slowly at first, but then he accelerated.