Chapter 20
Last Cigarette
Before stepping into the blinding crucible, Kaelen-7 retrieves a single cigarette. He lights it with a trembling hand, the small flame a defiant spark against the overwhelming luminescence. This is his final, solitary ritual, a moment of quiet contemplation amidst the cosmic storm. It's a gesture of defiance, a last act of selfhood before he surrenders to the unknown, ready to face the ultimate truth, whatever form it may take.
He was the last of forty-four. Forty-four of the finest. Clean boots, sharp minds, lethal intent. They said we were the best, then they broke us. Forty-three went into the earth, into the fluorescent glow of their own tomb, teeth bared, fighting until numbers ceased to matter, until only one was left breathing. Me.
It should have been two. We flipped a coin, like drunks in a gutter. One would carry the weight of tags, of letters, of names. The other would stay with the sun. A fusion bomb, hand-detonated. I don't know if I won. I'm alive, still, technically speaking.
But the room eats silence whole. Shadows scream behind my ribs. I turn around, you're there. Cigarette trembling in cheap ash. Then I blink; you're gone. Dreams lie like bar mirrors, they show you, then sell you. I searched the alleys of sleep. Your name slipped through my fingers. When it was time, you vanished. To prove some brutal splendor. I never bet on miracles. I miss you before knowing. Like hunger, the first bite.
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