Scene: Moments after Rick crushed a man beneath the van's tires. The road ahead is empty. For now.
Rick's fingers tightened on the wheel.
"The old me," he thought, knuckles paling around the cigar.
"The one I swore I'd never be again. The one who solves problems with bullets... and burns bridges with blood."
Ash crumbled down near the van's gearshift, whispering away like everything he once tried to bury.
"I tried. For Tobey. For the family I lost. Tried to be better. Softer. But maybe…"
He stared straight ahead.
"…maybe that man was never real."
Outside, the world kept rushing by—quiet fields, fractured rail lines, smoke still coiling far off in the sky like the past refusing to stay dead.
Then they reached it.
A junction—twisted metal paths splitting three ways beneath an overhead signal bridge. Some rails were rusted. Some, freshly disturbed. One still hummed like a train had passed not long ago.
Rick pulled the van to a stop. His expression didn't change.
Deadpan.
Cold.
He stared at the junction like it owed him answers.
Like if he stared long enough, maybe it would confess something.
Then he turned to 777—eyes sharp, ready to speak.
But 777 was already leaning over a cracked terminal screen, patch cord running from his wrist interface to a makeshift sensor spike.
Without looking up, he muttered, "Already scanned the three right tracks."
Rick blinked. Just once.
Then gave a slow nod.
The van idled quietly at the heart of the junction—like a beast deciding which path to stalk next.
The rails hummed beneath them as they followed one of the tracks deeper into the gray, overcast morning. It didn't take long before a crumbling station came into view—half-swallowed by fog and time.
"We've got a station up ahead," Rick muttered from the driver's seat.
He eased the van to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Then he glanced sideways.
"If you're done with your emergency ramen, we can start."
777 was still chewing, mouth smeared like a toddler left unsupervised.
"Yeah—done," he said through a slurp, wiping his face with a worn handkerchief. "Let's go."
They stepped out.
The weather hit like a bad omen—wind rushing sharp across the concrete, gray sky pressing low like it wanted to crush something. The chill wasn't just cold. It was wrong.
They entered the station—half-lit, mostly silent. The air felt like it hadn't moved in weeks. No footsteps. No chatter. Just a forgotten place with no reason to still exist.
They sat down on an empty bench like two ghosts waiting for a train that might never come.
777 cracked open his laptop and connected it to a weathered orange-and-white device—heavily modified, the original branding completely worn off.
Cables clicked into place. Signals jumped.
Then 777's eyes lit up.
"Rick, we got ourselves a jackpot," he grinned, voice dripping with mischief. "They're running on public-grade Wi-Fi."
Rick gave him a quiet nod and stood.
"Check if their cameras are slaved to the same network," he said. "If yes, you know what to do."
"On it," 777 replied, fingers already flying across the keys.
Rick gave him a quiet nod and stood.
"Check if their cameras are slaved to the same network," he said. "If yes, you know what to do."
"On it," 777 replied, fingers already flying across the keys.
Rick wandered toward the vending machine.
His boots echoed off the cracked floor tiles, but his mind wasn't in this place. It was somewhere else—drifting backward through the haze of better times. Times with 777. The good ones. The messed-up ones. The moments where they weren't running from ghosts or dragging mimic blood through gravel.
A small smile cracked across Rick's face—thin, tired, but real.
He slid coins into the vending slot. The clink echoed sharp and lonely in the hollow space.
Rows of drinks blinked behind the scratched glass.
His hand hovered over the usual: some knockoff energy blend that tasted like battery acid and bad choices.
But… his fingers drifted.
Toward something else.
A can with a bright blue label.
Not his style.
Too sugary. Too sweet.
But—
Tobey's favorite.
Rick stared at it. Frozen.
"Damn this memory," he muttered, voice low, half-laughing. "I don't even know if it's real. Or just something I made up to survive."
His hand stayed on the button.
Then clicked it.
The can dropped with a soft thunk.
Rick bent to pick it up—and the second he touched it, she came back.
Shalit.
That mock-angry face she made when she saw Tobey sipping it on the couch, cheeks puffed out like a cartoon villain demanding a taste. Rick had handed her one, barely holding back his laughter, and the two of them—Tobey and Shalit—had chugged it like synchronized hamsters.
That moment felt like it lived in another timeline.
Another Rick.
Another world.
He straightened, can in hand.
Didn't crack it open.
He just held it for a second.
Like it was proof those memories were real.
Even if there was a possibility they weren't.
Rick stood there for a moment.
Then, without a word, he bought three more cans of the same drink.
He walked back toward 777.
"What's the progress?" he asked, voice level.
"Cracked two firewalls already," 777 replied without looking up. "What do you got there?"
Rick reached into the bag and casually tossed a can toward him.
"See for yourself."
777 caught it with both hands, staring at the label.
His mind lagged for a second.
"Did he just toss me a soda?"
"Is this actually Rick? The Rick I know?"
He peeked over the can's rim.
Yeah. It's Rick.
But not like before.
Rick sat beside him. And then—the unthinkable.
He cracked open a can for himself… and drank it.
The fizz popped faintly between them.
777 stared.
"The man who only drinks coffee and battery acid just sipped sugar water next to me. Either he's finally changed… or the world's about to end."
Rick muttered, mid-sip, "Man, this is actually good. Guess I've got one more drink now. Beside coffee and energy drinks."
777 blinked. Then smirked.
"Yeah. That's Rick."
Just a different one.
Rick turned, sensing the stare. "What?"
"Nothing," 777 shrugged, then cracked open his own can. Took a sip.
They sat there like that for a few seconds—two soldiers pretending they weren't broken.
The drinks fizzed gently.
The screens blinked.
The station was still quiet.
But something…
Something was already going wrong.