On the doorstep of a bakery shop, Jackson stood still holding his pie with a hand and covering his bloody nose with another. His vision was blurry, and his warm blood stained his precious work suit. As he took a step forward into the street, still covering his nose, he sighed and looked at the sky hopelessly, "It happened again..." He cried.

He walked shamefully, wiping the blood off his nose and fixing his worn-out suit. He did not fear the eyes of the walking by, if he had a knife in his neck no one would bat an eye. Everybody walked in an isolated path, and these paths never overlapped.

And so, Jackson's tenth blackout ended. But what came after it?

Confusion, nausea, and a strong sense of impending doom that haunted him. Unlike the young one, he could remmeber a little bit of what happened. Sometimes he blamed that incident on his medication, sometimes he blamed it on his age. But he knew, he knew that what he saw was something he was supposed to never speak of again. He knew there was someone in control, an eye that inspected each thought swimming in all of these brains. He felt haunted in his own mind and it terrified him.

"I am..I am exhausted.." He sighed, noticing how cold his pie had become and the distance between him and his office. Those few steps became a deep ocean he felt too drained to step a foot into.

Routine.

Jackson thought of catching a taxi, but he investigated his pockets to find that the few coins he had were only enough to keep the electricity going for the day. He knew that skipping work that day would impose a penalty of sore hunger for days, and a man his age cannot survive this.

The ghosts of his past ran around him, trapped him in a circle and strived to pull out a tear from those old weak eyes. That is how his memories chased him. The life he owned turned into a life-long nightmare that walked with him in each step he took.

A dead wife, a jailed son and a home in the filthiest slum in the city. That was the life he was given, or to be more precise, the life he built. A sixty-five-year-old man that is shown nothing but disrespect from his subordinates and misery from his written fate. That was what defined Jackson, heavy failures and a painful daily reality that the noose would never be too tight to steal.

By the time the ghosts had already taken ahold of his mind, the grand clock ticked announcing the lunch break end for workers in the Milasic industries department in Liberty Square. Jackson gasped and dragged his heavy legs to the front door of the building, throwing his bloody handkerchiefs and accidently throwing the pie as well. He fixed his suit to hide the blood stains and rushed to the second floor, ready to hear the worst insults he could be called.

"I'm so sorry-I am late, ten-" Jackson said, looking around his crammed office to find everybody consumed by their paperwork and computers, nobody heard him, fate smiled at him once.

Jackson jumped behind his desk that tightly pinned him to the wall behind him. It was an inhumane state, but it was better than nothing. He looked beside him to greet the only subordinate he could talk to, Jacob.

"How come Willies didn't come to check on us?" He leaned to Jacob, lowering his voice in order not to be heard in this dead room where a breath could have an echo.

"He is not in Ilusia, so there is nothing to worry about." Jacob turned around and whispered into Jackson's ears, and as soon as he did so, Jackson felt a lump in his throat choking him. That was not Jacob.

Jackson sunk back into his seat and slowly felt the dizziness hit him hard. Jacob was short, overweight and bald. But this man was obviously taller with short hair and a mustache Jackson did not see this morning.

"A penalty." He told himself. "Now I understand." He thought.

Jackson hurried and took out his notebook. In this dead silence his mind was beating violently with a million thought. This time, he knew something was odd. His guts feeling assured him that the end is near.

They typed on their keyboards, wrote with their pencils and as soon as they stepped into that room, they were detached from the world that bounded them together in that room. No one could see Jackson's sweaty face and shaky hands. His racing breath might have reached their ears, but it was none of their concern. If he were to die at that moment, they wouldn't bat an eye, for that was never their job.

"Black sky..uh, f-flashing lights.." He trembled as he documented his vision. "Sirens, loud sirens too." He slowly wrote down. "Most importantly..A man." He continued.

"A man whose laughter still echoes in my ears. Black hat, blue eyes and a silver eagle brooch" Jackson wrote and slowly closed his notebook, putting it in his bag and blowing the steam out of his head.

"If only I could speak..." He sighed as a tear slipped through his barren eyes. He held his pen and fell into his paperwork, suppressing all his fears to earn a few coins to survive another day, a day he is sure he won't see, but a human's survival instinct could never give up on a human with even the slightest attachment to life.

A stray's hope. The night before.

Night in thr city was deadly. It was where thugs, climate, gang wars and addicts reaped the lives of those unfortunate enough to fall from the machine's mercy. The city was like a miser tree, only bestowing its goods to those with the highest ladder to catch them.

With a weary body and cold hands, Merit took a sip from the warm drink the owner of a small restaurant in the city's slums gave her; he was also kind enough to lend her a blanket. The alley where she decided to spend her night was cold and dark, rats found comfort in such places, but she held no fear towards them. Darkness was not a fearful thing for her, her heart was a strong one.

Having lived in the streets for so long, her eyes possessed a dark reflection of the unfairness she had seen. What this eleven-year-old child experienced could bring down a forty-year-old gentleman in the higher ups' society. The purity of the adventurous hearts the children acquired from their daydreaming is what kept her awake through the misty slums of Ilusia. That warm drink poured down a little bit of happiness into her heart, and that camera did too.

She closed her eyes, finally surrendering to the night's luring call. Her hands slowly let go of the warm drink she barely finished as the warmth finally ignited her cold body.

The streets were never safe, and so, she held her belongings tightly as she lied in the alley among the rubbish and unpleasant creatures. Another day lied ahead. Merit's aim was to visit The Steamhall market.

Those who hide from the sun.

As the ground became crowded, some found shelter underneath the infected soil. Steamhall was a lawless underground haven, a place so far away from the government's supervision. Down there, the sky was a metallic one. Thick darkness below it. The sunlight could never sneak into the long streets, the steamy factories, the crowded market, or into the tiny little houses that fell over each other.

Those who lived there were called the children of darkness. The ones who wholeheartedly chose to hide from the upper society's fulfillment, hiding from their ticking clocks and never-ending quest for industrial revolution and great development only within the government's hands.

Neckties had no place within the underground world. There, you could find the rarest machine parts that ever existed, old antiques for those who have a longing for the lost age and even robots that serve you loyally till death without keeping an eye on you to satisfy the government. It was a heaven, but only for some.

The paths cross.

Merit hid herself behind a car, anticipating a careless passing by hurrying in the morning. She had woken up with a fever and she needs to acquire enough money to buy a ticket. People passed and like a predator she kept her eyes on her poor prey that she would snatch their bag quickly and run away as soon as she can.

"All of you are dumb enough to carry a bag rather than wearing it, you all never learn!" She laughed underneath her breath as her eyes caught a vulnerable worker approaching her, she steadily took her position, and as soon as the poor worker passed beside her, she snatched their bag and darted across the street and into the alleys where she vanished.

Breathlessly, she opened the bag while still hearing the policeman's motorcycle on her trail. There she found few coins for a ticket, few handkerchiefs, a photo album, and a notebook.

"Look at you, just as poor as me. I'm sorry.." She sighed, feeling guilty. But then, she put on her hood and ran across alleys all the way into Steamhall's station with the worker's bag inside hers and her fever escaping her bones.

While a child's heart flattered, an old one sunk into disappear. Jackson stood amidst the street, looking around for his bag that was just stolen. He didn’t hold back his tears this time. He cried and fell into the closest bench. He didn't care for the money, he thought of his family's photo album. He buried his face into his palms and cried uncontrollably. The ghosts heard his call and circled around this pitiful man as he grieved his damned life. And the distance, someone held Jackson's life clock in their hand awaiting the final call.

Merit, now that she carried a man's legacy, a dark path is paved ahead of her.