Arin sat in silence, watching the wall clock tick. This was the fifth time he'd come to the office this week. He was used to it by now. He had memorized the patterns on the clock: the brown border, the thin designer needles, time ticking away like always.
As he blacked out staring at the clock, a burly man donned in black walked out. With an amused smile, he said,
"Mr. Arin, the board has concluded the meeting for today. We're sorry, but we can't hear you out. Please come tomorrow."
Arin expected this, but he had hope — hope that they'd stop punishing and finally listen. As he turned to walk away, the man added with a smirk,
"Just a suggestion. I know you know this already, but the board's not gonna hear you out. You've outlived your usefulness. All your inventions were revolutionary... but they're in the past. You're no longer the best scientist in the firm. Your ideas are comical now. Just go home, old man. The firm doesn't need your nonsensical theories — or your kind. Come back when you've built a weapon we can use in the war."
Arin stared at him. He could hear the mockery in his voice, the occasional scoff. He had served this firm for years. It was what it was today because of his inventions — because of him. But at the end of the day, he was still a poor commoner with "lower" ancestry, unworthy in the eyes of these capitalistic, rich fools.
Rage bubbled inside him. He wanted to pummel the smile off the guy's face, but he had neither the muscles nor the money to pay for the hospital bills.
Ungrateful bastards.
"You should probably work on that smile," Arin muttered with a grin. "If I ever invented something like that, I'd call it a _Bitch-Repeller_."
He walked off. He could hear curses flying behind him, but he couldn't care less. He'd seen worse.
Outside, he hopped on his bicycle — Marcus, as he called it — and pedaled slowly along the footpath. It was strange to see a nearly fifty-year-old man riding a bicycle in an age of fast electric bikes and hovering cars, but he enjoyed the view... and his bike.
The ocean waves crashed rhythmically onto the sand. Birds flew across the glowing orange sky as if heading through a portal to heaven. Every time Arin thought about ending it all, this was what stopped him — the beauty of the world. He could never get enough of it.
He rode for hours — a trip that could've taken minutes by local train — and he loved every second.
When he reached home, he parked Marcus at the side. His house, though modest by modern standards, was luxurious by those of a few decades ago. The firm had paid him just enough to buy it. It was his.
He slumped on the sofa and turned on the TV. The anchor showed footage of missiles attacking a nearby city. It was normal now — homes came with bunkers and reinforced walls. The world had gone to shit, thanks to the fools at the top.
He was exhausted. Maybe from years of hard work and patience. Maybe from the long ride. Maybe both. He fell asleep.
A massive explosion shook the house. Arin jolted awake, unable to open his eyes. Pain surged through his body like acid burning his bones. He'd never known pain like this.
With great effort, he pried his eyes open.
The burning TV greeted him. The walls had collapsed. Flames licked every surface. His house was ablaze.
Among the debris, he spotted the remnants of a missile. Two emblems scorched into its side.
One — the enemy nation's.
The other — black, sleek, unmistakable.
The Firm's.
"Hah… how poetic," he coughed.
The missile had been _his invention_. An explosive he created when he had no choice — the only thing that kept him fed. He had felt the guilt for years. It had finally caught up with him.
As his life slipped away, he scanned his memories for something good.
There was nothing.
The poor hated him for his knowledge — they called him pretentious. The rich despised him for being poor. He had no friends, no lovers, no childhood.
Just… sunsets.
He remembered the sun melting into the ocean, the birds flying into heaven's gate. That was the only thing he ever loved.
Maybe if he had another chance, he'd teach these capitalistic assholes a lesson. Hit them hard. Tell them he deserved to live, too.
His eyes caught a shattered headlight through the smoke.
Marcus.
The only companion he ever had, dying with him.
He smiled.
"...So long, Earth."