The taste of metal and blood. The roughness of chapped lips. The cacophony of hospital equipment. The dizzying sensitivity of his retinas.
James licked his lips and slowly opened his eyes, careful not to be overwhelmed by the intense brightness streaming through the massive windows of his hospital room. Beyond them, an endless expanse of red sand stretched to the horizon, dotted here and there with immense gray buildings, colossal transparent domes, long connecting highways, and a hazy, orange sky illuminated by a pale yet relentless sun.
The atmosphere of the red planet he called home was thinner than Earth's. As a result, more light and radiation assaulted its surface, making it all the more difficult — agonizing, even — to keep his eyes open. And yet…
"We've done an impressive job over the years," he thought, his weak gaze fixed on the scenery beyond the glass as he lay in his hospital bed. "Originally, this planet's atmosphere was ninety-five percent carbon dioxide. Since we arrived, we must have reduced that to around sixty. Still far from ideal, but it's a start. Maybe we could achieve more significant results if we doubled the rate of..."
Suddenly, his eyes widened. Then, he clenched the pristine white bedsheet beneath his fingers.
"What the hell am I doing?"
His own thoughts filled him with indignation. Thinking about how he could aid humanity in a moment like this was, in a way, infuriating.
But of course, it was only natural for him to contemplate new technologies. After all, James was a scientist—one of the best, if not the best. So why did the thought of it unsettle him so much?
Was it because of his discoveries? The technological advancements that had allowed humanity to reach this point?
…No.
James had never cared about humanity's survival. His years of research and scientific breakthroughs were never driven by some noble desire to help others. They were fueled by a selfish hunger for conquest — by a childish dream of becoming the greatest, most intelligent man who ever lived.
He had always known this. In fact, as far as he was aware, all of humanity should have known it too.
One only had to look at his highly praised innovations to see his indifference toward the well-being of others. The fruits of his brilliance had destroyed eighty percent of Earth. Nearly wiped out life in the solar system. Forced humans to flee millions of miles away to a red wasteland dominated by nothing but sand and poison.
Humanity had teetered on the edge of total annihilation because of him. And yet, he had never lost a single night's sleep over it.
So why, then… why did this bother him now?
By chance, James glanced at the nightstand beside his bed. More specifically, at the framed photograph resting on top of it. And in that instant, he found his answer.
His eyes narrowed, and a weak, bitter smile spread across his face.
"I'm a joke…"
Truly, his discomfort had nothing to do with anything external. It was something personal, sentimental… and painfully simple.
The photograph was an old picture of three people, pressed together in an awkward embrace. One of them was James. The other two were his wife, Caroline, and his daughter, Hayley.
His weary gaze focused on the pale-haired little girl in the image—the only one of the three who was smiling, the only one who seemed happy to be there. And at that moment, his disappointment deepened.
Ah… how cold he had become.
How could he dare to spend his final moments thinking about new technology — when it was that very technology that had destroyed his family? That had torn them apart, creating an invisible, frigid, and nearly insurmountable barrier between them?
…How could he forget the people he loved the most at the very end?
Yes… A premature death was more than fair. After practically destroying his home planet, nearly driving his species to extinction, and neglecting and shattering his own family in pursuit of selfish, egotistical success, dying at thirty-eight years old seemed like the mildest consequence he could have ever received.
Lost in these grim thoughts, James suddenly groaned and clutched his bedsheet even tighter.
From one moment to the next, a searing pain erupted in his chest. His heart pounded violently, as if ready to burst. The cacophony of the machines around him grew faster, more erratic, more unbearable.
Slowly, the agony spread through his entire body like a plague. First, his stomach. Then his back, arms, legs. And finally, his head. In less than a minute, his whole body was wracked with pain, trembling, and burning, as if some hellish demon had latched onto him and refused to let go.
His ragged breathing grew heavier, more erratic. Cold sweat dripped down his anguished face.
The time had come. James could feel it.
He had long since prepared for this. He was ready to go, even with all his regrets. But before he did, there was one last thing. One final, selfish act — yet entirely unlike those of his past.
Haunted by the memories of the family he had forsaken, James forced himself to rise from the pillow.
Sitting up, he yanked out the wires and tubes attached to his body. He pushed himself to his feet, using the IV stand beside him for support. Step by agonizing step, he dragged himself toward the nightstand, enduring the scorching pain in his veins and the shrill beeping of a machine mistakenly detecting his heart's cessation.
"There it is…"
James reached for the photo frame… and collapsed.
He crashed to the cold, unyielding hospital floor with a violent thud.
The glass of the frame shattered. But despite the overwhelming pain, James never let go of the picture. He stared at the image of the family he had built—and destroyed—with what little vision remained as the darkness crept in.
His eyelids drooped. A single tear slid down his cheek.
"I'm sorry… Caroline… Hayley…"
Another tear. Then another. He coughed, the taste of blood and metal flooding his throat.
"I was a terrible husband… a terrible father…"
Another cough. This time, the blood spattered onto the floor… and onto the photo.
"…I love you both."
With a shattered heart and a failing body, he continued:
"Dad… Mom… I know you've been gone for years, but if you can hear me… just know that I love you too… and that I'm sorry…"
His mouth hung open for a moment, blood dribbling between his teeth. James let out a faint, wet chuckle — barely audible. For in his final moments, he had succumbed to an idea he had once rejected his entire life.
He had surrendered to the hope of an afterlife. The hope of seeing them again.
"…Hypocrite."
He coughed, staining the floor one last time with a thick, viscous crimson.
His eyes shut. His heart stopped. His breathing ceased.
Death had finally passed its long-overdue judgment.