Owen’s Apartment, Massachusetts – 11:47 PM
The apartment was quiet; too quiet. Most of the furniture was already gone. Just a mattress on the floor, a rickety desk, a lamp that buzzed faintly, and a lone digital clock glowing red in the dark.
Owen Anderson sat shirtless on the edge of his mattress, laptop on his knees, eyes scanning the SkyNovaTech mission archive. His desk was scattered with printouts, diagrams, old resumes, a worn suit neatly ironed and hanging on the back of a chair. A single cup of black coffee steamed beside it. Even after yesterday’s rejection, he still had a last offer, if he couldn’t crack it, he would lose the roof over his head.
He’d read every press release the company ever put out. He knew their propulsion systems, their partnerships with MarsLink, and even the names of their board members. His mind was a machine tonight; precise, sharp, focused.
Yet… his heart wavered.
He leaned back against the wall, eyes drifting to the ceiling. Cracks had formed along the plaster over the years; he used to imagine they were constellation lines when he couldn’t sleep.
He closed his eyes and whispered under his breath:
“Just one chance. Just one yes.”
A moment passed. Then he sat up, clicked his pen, and scribbled a final line across his notes:
“Humans are still the only species that can dream of flying before they build the wings.”
He read it again and nodded to himself.
Owen rose, walked to the sink, and splashed cold water on his face. The reflection in the cracked mirror stared back at him: eyes tired but burning, jaw tight with resolve. He didn’t look like the boy who graduated with honors anymore. He looked like a man who had something to prove.
Suddenly a knock on the door broke his chain of thoughts, The knock on the door was loud; too loud for courtesy.
He opened the door slowly.
Mr. Callahan, the building’s gruff, balding landlord, stood there in a wrinkled brown jacket, holding a digital eviction pad that blinked red.
“Evening, Owen,” Callahan said, voice tired but firm.
“Mr. Callahan.” Owen nodded respectfully. “I know. You’re here about the rent.”
“Yeah,” Callahan grunted. "Six months, kid. Six. I went to bat for you with management longer than I should've. But the city's breathing down my neck. I can't keep this up."
Owen’s jaw tightened, but he stayed calm.
“I understand. I have a job interview tomorrow; SkyNovaTech. If I get it, I’ll be able to pay you the full six months’ worth within the next thirty days. Just give me a little more time. Please.”
Callahan looked at him; really looked at him. He’d always liked the kid. Quiet, respectful, didn’t throw parties, didn’t cause trouble. Smart as hell. But sympathy didn’t pay property taxes.
He sighed. “I believe you. But belief won’t stop the enforcement bots from sealing this unit tomorrow night.”
He raised the digital pad and turned it toward Owen.
"FINAL NOTICE OF EVICTION: 24 HOURS."
“If you’re still here after 8 PM tomorrow, the city sends a drone. They’ll force the door open and lock you out. Your stuff will be stored in a government pod for thirty days. After that, it’s recycled.”
Owen’s throat tightened. “Can I at least leave a few things here for the day?”
Callahan hesitated. His voice softened a little.
“I’ll give you until sunset tomorrow. But if the drone shows up and you’re still inside, I can’t stop it.”
Owen nodded slowly. “Understood.”
Callahan paused, eyes scanning the mostly empty apartment. “You’re a smart kid, Owen. You should’ve had your name in the sky by now. I don’t get how the world works anymore.”
“Neither do I,” Owen said, almost smiling.
The landlord turned and walked down the hallway. The footsteps echoed like a countdown clock ticking away.
Owen shut the door gently, the finality of it sinking in.
He looked around at the bare walls, the quiet corners, and the single suit hanging in the shadows.
In the corner, was a small, folded photo; a picture of him at age 10, holding a model spaceship made from broken parts, grinning in a government shelter.
“For the kid who never stopped believing,” he murmured.
He turned off the lamp. The city lights outside flickered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor.
Tomorrow would be his last try.
The last light.
And maybe… just maybe… the spark that would change everything.
