Jason gets off the car. Click, click. How long has it been, since he smoked. And now, he is back at it. Life hadn't been good to him. Oh, he had a great upbringing. A rich doting father, and a suave elegant mother. Being the eldest, he got only the best in life - the best toys, the best vacations, and the bestest school.

  Only, his father fell from grace, becoming pauper overnight as the financial world collapsed. And in its wake, Jason found that the world was a much harsher place. Everyday, he would be shamed for being unable to pay the school fee. A 10 year old child, loudly announced to the school to be a "fee thief". The nice teachers all joined the bullies, chastising him and his useless father. His father who always claimed that turnaround was right around the corner, that they will all see. And his mother, who took off on a dime, not sticking around any longer than her maids.

  Eventually, he couldn't take it. Or they couldn't take him. Verbal arguments turned into brawls. The house was auctioned away. The school transferred him to the streets. Like the old days, his father and he would both leave, one for work, the other for education. Except, the father now worked as a laborer, and the kid taken in by a small gang because he could peddle to the upscale kids.

  Funny how the very same bullies came back to him for their next hit. Which he provided them. He got them the best stuff. Why? Because he didn't care. He didn't care if they died. He didn't care for prison either. Only that he would make something of himself. And so, to the prison he went. Right after turning 18, he got snitched on.

  And that sentence provided him the best education. He learned from the mistakes of so many others around him. Some tried to take advantage, but his early wealth still got him an in with the white collars. He became their messenger, then middlemen - cigarettes and phone calls and conjugal visits and dirty deeds. Jason was your man.

  Only, the more he did, the more hollow it felt. Like the life itself was a trap, designed to lull you into a sense of purpose, while discarding the true calling. No more love for the fellow humans, only suffering. Did the thousands of years of progress only happen for this melancholy.

  No, he decided, the progress always happens in waves. First, we discover a truth, a concept, a fire, a wheel, a bow. Then, we put it to war, to subjugate those we deem other, suppressing them into slavery and exploit their labor. Until, eventually, this discovery is so stale and universal, having percolated through the strata, and the towers so hollow and fragile, that the whole heirarchy comes down crumbling, whether from another discovery elsewhere, or from the massive consensus of the majority.

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  Human spirit cannot be suppressed he decided. And he found others like that. Those who planned to overthrow the current regime. To hollow it from within. To turn it upon itself. He joined them. And it was working. He knew he would be dead before the truly groundbreaking parts of the project materialized.

  And yet, he was afraid. He had been afraid for days. He was being followed. His phone was tapped. Strange van stood outside his apartment 24x7. Price was going to be their last haul. Joy insisted in helping. If only she didn't find out. If only that fucking machine didn't breakdown. If only....

  As he thought, he could see the explosion rushing him. He hadn't expected so much time. It should be over already, he thought. Yet, all he could see was that massive door spinning through the air, right at him, but slower and slower. Closer it got, slower it was, like Xeno's arrow that could never reach Achilles.

  He really did think of himself as a hero. Hadn't he been on a hero's journey after all. The time was so slow now that all motion was doubtful. He himself was turning so slow. The metal frame was pressing on his neck, ready to crush his throat and chop it off. The pressure increased, ever so excuriatingly slowly.

  Why must he be a tragic hero. Was their no justice. Moments like this must turn one religious. So slow. Please just kill me know.

  He was stuck. Everything the field of view seen a thousand times. The sound of explosion had gotten deeper until it passed his ability to hear it. The mushrooming sculpture of the explosion was still. It was pretty. He had admired it for hours. Days even.

  Jason went over each moment of his life. He recalled all the books he had read. All the songs he had heard. Anything to distract himself. All the teachings he shared with the wicked now came back to him, providing solace to his soul.

  A soft touch on his shoulder. All at once, his head flew up, the bang pushing him out of the body and far away. The cloud turning into smoke. The shrill bang there, then gone. His vision going blank.

  And then he was back, standing next to a ghostly figure grinning at him.

  "Good god boy, what an entry!"

  "Mr Price?"

  "The very same. Welcome to afterlife."