"What the fuck do you mean, you chose me?"
"I MEAN OUT OF ALL THE OTHERS OUT THERE—YOU WERE CHOSEN."
"Motherfucker, I don't wanna live forever."
"YOU WON'T LIVE FOREVER. YOU'LL JUST NOT DIE OF VIRUSES."
"And how the hell did old age become a virus?!"
"I DON'T MAKE THE RULES."
"Then who the fuck does?"
"THE RULE MAKER."
"Argh… just give me a moment to think."
Out of all the people in the world, it had to be me—the guy with the worst luck alive.
Earlier That Day
It started like any other day: me heading to school, soaking in the attention. The girls whispered, smiled, and complimented me on my looks. I mean, seriously—if there were rankings for handsomeness, I'd be number one without competition. Yeah, I relied on it. Who wouldn't, when life gave you a face sculpted by the gods?
After a short "study break" with one of the bold girls who couldn't resist, I was walking to class when it happened—a flash of pure white light shot straight into my skull.
Then came the voice. Cold. Robotic. Uncaring.
ACTIVATING IMMUNITY SYSTEM
IMMUNITY SYSTEM ACTIVATED
CONGRATULATIONS. YOU ARE IMMUNE TO ALL VIRUSES.
OLD AGE HAS BEEN CLASSIFIED AS A VIRUS.
YOU ARE IMMUNE TO OLD AGE.
NOTE: YOUR LOOKS WILL CONTINUE TO DECREASE, BUT YOUR BODY WILL NEVER AGE.
HAVE A GOOD LIFE.
The strangest part? I didn't freak out. I didn't even question my sanity. I just stood there, quiet. Later, I'd find out that was the system's doing—suppressing emotions, keeping me calm.
But when the words you are immune to old age sank in, I finally felt it. Dread. I didn't want it. Immortality isn't a gift; it's a curse wrapped in shiny paper. Watching friends grow old, crumble, and die while you remain the same—that's not living. That's torture.
And then came the final insult:
YOUR LOOKS WILL KEEP DECREASING.
That line hit harder than any bullet could. If someone like me—someone who thrived on looks—lost them, what was left?
Oh right, introductions. The name's Carl—former pretty boy, current cosmic joke.
And that was the day everything got worse. Much worse.