Arthur's reflection gazed back at him from the mirror. Gaunt cheeks, pale skin, high cheekbones and silky black hair; a courtesy to his late mother's Korean ancestry. His long dexterous fingers, fingers perfect for surgery, as many of his professors had told him, clutched a razor in a vice-like grip as he deftly manoeuvred it to get at a piece of stubble that stubbornly refused his careful administrations.

At 6-ft 1-in in height, he was tall but not overly so, and yet with a chiselled physique built with a religious dedication to his health and an obsession with Muay Thai, he stood out in a crowd. Overall, it created the impression of an imposing yet friendly individual, seeming average yet anything but, as if he did everything he could to set himself apart, yet tried to not seem too conspicuous. A man of contradictions, unsure of who he wanted to be or one who had forgotten who he was.

In this case, it was neither; Arthur knew exactly who he was. In excruciating detail, sadly. A fool and an idiot; someone so lost in his pursuit of money he had almost forgotten why he wanted it so much in the first place. Until the universe had decided to remind him in the form of a phone call that took the proverbial ship from under his feet and left him drowning in an ocean of regret and remorse, haunted by the ghosts of his past mistakes.

It had taken six months of counselling to get him back on his feet, along with the help and support of his friends and colleagues, who had his best interests at heart and yet didn't know the sins he bore. They couldn't see the terrible burdens he carried on his shoulders, the sickening secret, only a distraught young man who had lost the last of his family.

But ultimately it was the realisation that nothing Arthur ever did would make up for his mistakes, that brought him out of his depression. Nothing would make up for the callous disregard with which he had tried to make money, uncaring and blind to how his actions would affect others.

A goal initially born out of a selfless desire to pay for the expensive treatments his sister required for her defective liver, Arthur had slowly but steadily devolved from there into the broken man he now was. At the end of the day though, there was nothing Arthur could have done differently. There was very little a fifteen-year-old child could do in America to make the thousands of dollars a liver surgery would require, and despite the seemingly impossible goal that had lain before Arthur, he had risen to the daunting task with no complaints. Life had been a cruel teacher and he knew better than anyone else how little the world or anyone for that matter cared for his struggles.

And yet nothing he had done was ever enough. No job, no thievery, no fraud, and so Arthur inevitably started to steadily lose himself in his desperate hustle for wealth as his sister's medical treatments progressively began to get more and more expensive. Arthur had quickly left the underpaying, barely-legal cafe job he had and started working for his local gang. That was the start of the mistake that would claim the life of his sister three years later. The illegal jobs he had taken started to quickly pay fewer dividends, and so Arthur had been forced to take on riskier, more dangerous jobs to pay for his sister's medication.

Like most stupid decisions in life, everything had seemed to be going well for a while. His sister had slowly but surely been making a recovery and he had money to spare, enough that he had somehow managed to leave his criminal life behind him. Arthur had even managed to get into a prestigious medical university, driven by the first-hand experience he had on the devastating effects of illness; a great achievement for someone like him, an orphan of 9-years. That was until everything came crashing down like the fragile deck of cards his life had become. A hurricane in the form of a phone call that quite literally woke him up from the delusions he'd been living. It came from the Los Angeles police department and it taught him that everything had a price.

He had initially feared that his past had caught up with him and they’d found out about the illegal drug operations he’d used to run. If only that was what they called for. With the razor at his cheek, Arthur began to vividly recall the moment 6 months ago that had sent him spiralling into depression.

“Is this Arthur Ward I'm speaking to?” An overly feminine voice had queried when he’d answered the phone during lunch break.

Confused, Arthur had replied in the affirmative, returning the woman's question.

“This is the Los Angeles Police Department.” she’d replied.

Arthur remembered how his heart had dropped when he heard that piece of information and all the ludicrous ideas that had come to him in his panicked state. He’d briefly even considered a one-way flight country. Somewhere he could conveniently disappear to. The next few words the policewoman had spoken quickly made sure he wouldn't consider doing anything of the sort for a long, long time.

“There's been a school shooting at your sister's Institute,” she’d informed him gravely, “ I’m afraid to say that your sister was hit by the shooter as he was feeling the scene.”

Arthur's breath had caught when he heard that and he’d had to sit down, afraid that he’d pass out if he remained standing. He'd felt nauseous and rapidly began asking questions.

“Is she ok? No- where is she right now? I need to come see her…. Wait actually… just... just give her the phone."

"Please.”

He’d paused to take a steadying breath.

“Please just give her the phone.”

His voice had caught and he’d felt the tears threatening to come out of his eyes. “I can't lose her too.” He’d whispered, unable to say anything else. His world had just been broken, the proverbial rug pulled from under his feet.

“Sir, sir. Please calm down. Take a deep breath.”

The policewoman had tried to console him, but the words were like an incessant droning in his ears. Detached, nonchalant. Just one call amongst so many others she'd made. And cold. So so, very cold.

“I’ll need you to come down to the hospital and-”

SLICE!

Arthur felt a searing pain as the razor cut viciously into his cheek. His hand spasmed and he dropped the razor clenching and unclenching his hands as he took a steadying breath, trying to get his racing heartbeat under control. You can’t do anything about it now. She's not coming back. It's...it’s not your fault. Arthur repeated the words to himself internally, the last thoughts sounding hollow even to him. A lie so loud he could hear it. In his dreams and his thoughts. Following one of his therapists' many pieces of advice, he started to recite the alphabet backwards, something that was sadly becoming far easier lately, until his mind became blessedly quiet. By the time Arthur was ready to face the important day before him, the blood on his cheek had already dried up and the shallow cut was starting to scab over. Arthur looked at the time.

7:28.

An hour before his exam. He was going to be late for his midterms. Something he'd tried so hard for. The only thing really. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

Despite his guilt-ridden state, Arthur had tried to reassemble his life after the crushing experience. He hadn't been altogether successful, though he had made a little progress. It had been six months since then and he was finally starting to move beyond his tragic past. Arthur quickly jumped into the shower, hastily dried and dressed for the day and started running towards the train station. He’d skipped breakfast of course, not sure if his nerves would be able to handle a full stomach. He barely made it in time, the train doors just about to close as he jumped onto the vehicle. Arthur definitely couldn't be late today. It would break him. Just the final nail in the coffin to finish the job.

The exam he’d been preparing for wouldn’t take itself and he didn't want to invalidate all the hours he’d spent studying by turning up late. Arthur opened up his text textbooks, hoping to cram in a few more minutes of last-second study before the exam. ‘The types and usages of anaesthesia in surgery.’ He quickly lost himself rambling text detailing the nuances of surgical procedures. The train journey was blessedly uninterrupted by any delays and he managed to arrive at the university a half-hour ahead of time.

Stepping through the iron gates into the huge premise, Arthur took a deep steadying breath. Come on, you can do this. He’d missed several lessons but had more than made up for the lost time with the hours he’d spent outside of class. His inner musings were interrupted suddenly by a high-pitched shout.

“Arthur, Arthur. Hey Arthur!”

The last call had been directly shouted into his ears, and he winced at the loud noise.

“I’ve been calling you for a minute now, Art,'' Elizabeth grumbled, a frown on her face, her hands firmly planted on her hips.

Arthur turned around to take in her short but imposing 5-ft 4 frame, smiling as he saw the familiar face of his longtime friend.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” he tried to calm her down, “I'm just so caught up in all this stress.”

Elizabeth’s frown steadily faded away until she beamed at him with a dazzling smile.

“Don't worry,” she teased, “Everyone knows you're going to come first anyway. With brains like yours, I wonder if you do anything besides studying, actually. Like how’s it even fair. You weren’t here for half the lessons and you're still going to beat me,” she complained.

Unsure as to how exactly he should reply to that statement, Arthur didn’t say anything. Taking his silence as a sign she’d said something wrong, Elizabeth quickly went over everything she’d said and her skin rapidly flushed with guilt.

“I'm sorry. I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” she tried to apologise.

“I didn't mean it like that, well I did- but- urgh, you know what I mean.” She mumbled, looking down at the ground, unable to meet Arthur's gaze.

Arthur sighed internally, taking pity on her embarrassing apology.

“Hey, hey. Calm down. I’m not a fragile minefield you need to walk around, not anymore,” he tried reassuring her.

I'm already blown to bits.

“Really? You sure.” She replied looking at him intently, guilt written all over her face.

Arthur shook his head wearily.

“Yes, yes. You don't have to worry anymore; you and Mathew both. I've told you so many times already,” Arthur sighed, exasperated, “I'm not that little kid you always had to take care of anymore.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Elizabeth replied, a familiar grin returning to her face.

“You won't get me out of your life that easily.”

Arthur sighed, again. He seemed to be doing that a lot today. Elizabeth suddenly grabbed his coat sleeve and began enthusiastically pulling him towards the university gates.

“Liz. Where are you going? Exams in half an hour,” Arthur protested, half-heartedly trying to escape her grasp.

“Exactly.” She called back carefully enunciating each word. “Half. An. Hour; we’ve got loads of time left.”

“This is why you've always been late for everything," Arthur retorted in frustration.

Elizabeth continued walking, seemingly oblivious to his protestations.

“Stop being such an old man.” She eventually replied, her voice quieter, shaking a little, “There’s this new cafe I’ve been dying to try out and I skipped breakfast today.”

Arthur could feel that something was wrong from the way Elizabeth was speaking but he still voiced his annoyances.

“And. What's that got to do with me?” He asked, pulling himself free of her grasp.

Arthur suddenly shivered. It felt like someone had just walked over his grave and a cold chill crept down his spine. Almost like he was under the scrutiny of a microscope, every cell and facet of his DNA up for observation. The moment passed as soon as it came but it left him with an acute sense of discomfort.

“I’ve waited long enough for you to open up,” Elizabeth interrupted his inner musings.

“You said you’d tell me why you kept blaming yourself for your sister’s death. It's stupid, you know. It's not your fault a crazy bastard decided to shoot up a school.” She shouted angrily.

Arthur was a little taken aback by the strength of her response. He did vaguely remember something along the lines of a promised explanation whilst enamoured in a medication-induced high, but he’d thought that Elizabeth would have forgotten all about that by now. The damn idiot had the best memory for remembering the most useless things.

“Where’s all this coming from,” Arthur eventually replied.

“It’s not like it really matters now anyway,” he added, instantly regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Elizabeth was a real stickler when it came to your given word and she was positively livid that he was being so dismissive about something she obviously considered a big thing. Arthur sighed again for the umpteenth time that day. Things just weren’t going his way today.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur prepared himself to tell Elizabeth about the dark secrets he carried with him. Not all of them, never that, but enough to satiate her curiosity. A lie and a truth, something to take the sting away and keep him out of a jail cell. If she didn’t want to know him anymore after hearing what he was about to say, Arthur couldn’t blame her. Even he was sickened with himself, after all. Preparing himself to lose one of his oldest friends, Arthur looked down at the ground and began to speak.

“It’s because of the gun he was using…” He mumbled, quietly, waiting for the inevitable tirade of questions that would no doubt follow his ambiguous statement.

Arthur felt the familiar twinge of horror as he recalled the sight of the murder weapon the police had retrieved from the crime scene. It wasn’t something Arthur would ever forget. After all, that wasn’t the first time he had seen that particular pistol. Its unique model had a particular charm to it, along with the scuff marks depicting its history. No, that honour belonged to a time nine months prior when he had held its cold steel in his hands.

When he had sold it.

Arthur looked up in surprise when the expected questions didn’t arrive. Why wasn’t Liz asking him anything? It was then that Arthur saw a scene that would stay with him for the rest of his life. A huge airliner, about to crash down, the horizon around it alight with the smoke of numerous fires.

Elizabeth couldn’t ask him anything.

Of course, she couldn't.

After all, she was gone, simply disappeared without a trace. Poof. As if she'd never existed in the first place. Before Arthur could even begin to panic at the craziness of what was going on, he went flying through the air, soaring eleven feet away from where he'd been standing. Arthur didn’t feel anything as he fell back to the concrete with a juddering crunch, the structure of his ribcage now an interconnected mess of flesh, bone and tissue. He’d lost all feeling long before then, all sensation gone the second the massive truck had crashed into him.

Delirious and dying, Arthur struggled to keep his eyes open as crimson, hot blood flowed from a particularly nasty gash on his forehead. A concussion was the least of his issues, however, considering the fact that his insides were mixing in a disgusting soup of blood, half-digested food and excrement, interlaced with a topping of pebbles.

As his vision flickered, Arthur saw a strange blue message suddenly superimpose itself over his eyes. He barely even registered what it said.

SYSTEM INITIALISING...