The Dying Time 2088

A child’s fingernails tapped the glass in a thin, irritated rhythm - tap, tap, pause - like someone trying to wake a dream. The sound carried through the isolation chamber as steam hissed from a vent that never quite warmed the air. Gabriel Mercer stood with his palms braced on the cool frame of the observation window, watching the boy fight his own reflection.

He was eight years old on paper. His hair had already thinned to the silver fuzz of a man twice his age, and the skin at his temples looked stretched, as if time had been pulled through a filter. His eyes were too old, too clear. When he blinked, the lashes trembled with fatigue that didn’t belong to a child.

Behind Gabriel, the Omega Guard’s corridor lights flickered once - an old electrical habit in this wing, patched too many times. The smell of antiseptic and something sour underneath it clung to the back of his throat. A fan churned air that tasted faintly metallic, like coins held too long between teeth.

Sophia Petrova’s voice came softly from the side, careful not to startle. “He’s awake.”

Gabriel didn’t turn. “How long?”

“Long enough for him to recognize the window.” Sophia’s hands were gloved, but her fingers moved with quiet precision anyway, as if she could soothe through fabric. “He’s asking for his mother again.”

On the other side of the glass, the boy’s mouth shaped words he barely had strength to form. His lips cracked at the corners. A nurse had been the first to try to calm him, but the child’s fear had turned sharp, and fear aged him faster - Gabriel had seen it in the reports and now watched it happen in real time.

The boy pressed both hands against the glass, palms leaving faint fog. His breath warmed the pane, and in that condensation Gabriel could see a smear of red where the child’s skin had split.

“Stop touching it,” the nurse hissed, not unkindly. The words were meant for the boy, but Gabriel heard them as a plea aimed at the universe.

The child’s gaze found the camera mounted above the door. He spoke again, slower this time, each word dragged out like cloth through mud. “My… mom… outside.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. Outside meant the quarantine perimeter, the line where the Omega Guard’s authority began and the Great Union’s mercy ended. Outside meant distance from anyone who could hold him.

He finally turned toward Sophia. “Is Daniel Al Noor aware of this case?”

Sophia’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes hardened. “He’s aware in the way leaders are aware when the numbers stop being numbers. He received Layla’s preliminary findings.”

Gabriel breathed once, slow, and tasted the antiseptic again. “Layla said it wasn’t a disease.”

“She said it was worse.” Sophia’s voice lowered. “She said it was a mechanism.”

Gabriel stared back at the child. The boy’s shoulders rose and fell too fast, like his lungs were trying to outrun his body. “Mechanism,” Gabriel repeated, tasting the word like it might explain everything and fail anyway.

A small intercom clicked. “Commander Mercer?” The voice belonged to Lieutenant Saied, one of his watch officers. “We’ve got another case at Dock Nine. Same symptoms. Same rate.”

Gabriel didn’t move his eyes from the boy. “How many is ‘another’?”

“Two more in the last hour.”

Sophia’s gloved hand hovered near Gabriel’s elbow, then withdrew. She didn’t touch him. She didn’t need to; he could feel her restraint the way he could feel the cold glass through his palms.

Gabriel forced himself to speak, each word placed carefully. “Keep Dock Nine contained. No public transport. No visitors.”

Lieutenant Saied paused, then said, “Yes, sir. But - ”

“But what?”

“His mother is already there. She broke through the outer line. She’s demanding him.”

Gabriel closed his eyes for half a second. In that darkness he saw the boy’s hands against the glass, the red at the fingertips, the way time had decided to chew through him. He opened his eyes again and the boy was still there, still watching.

Sophia’s tone sharpened. “They’re going to blame the Guard.”

“They’re going to blame anyone who isn’t the plague.” Gabriel’s voice came out rougher than he meant. He looked at Sophia. “We need facts. Not rumors.”

Sophia’s gaze flicked toward the corridor behind them, toward the secure doors where the Eternal Archives’ sensors had been humming since dawn. “Then we should go where the facts are kept.”

Gabriel didn’t like the way she said it. Not because it sounded wrong, but because it sounded urgent in the way someone sounded when they’d already seen the ending.

A nurse entered the chamber with a tablet, her movements clipped. She checked the boy’s vitals and then - hesitating - looked toward Gabriel. “He’s bleeding again.”

Gabriel leaned closer to the window until the cold pressed his breath back. “Can you stop it?”

The nurse swallowed. “We can treat the symptoms. But the aging - ” She cut herself off, as if the sentence was too heavy to finish.

Gabriel nodded once. Symptom control....