Nolan stood hesitantly on the platform, gently tapping his index finger on his right temple to pull up a small display in the corner of his vision. Seven forty-eight. Where was the train? Of course it would be late on the day he'd be fired if he wasn't on time. Punctuality was not his strength, and management had started to notice.

He and most of the population farmed for their home, and if they worked more than what they owned, it went to the following month. A handful of countries had kept cash in circulation, but the Americas had abandoned it completely for virtual currencies. There was money to be made inside of Gafford's Life and Senses Simulation, GLASS, and it connected all the countries, though no one had integrated it so fully into their daily lives as the Americas had.

Nobody wanted to be a farmer, but each family was required to have at one. If there were two farmers in the home, the additional income was converted into virtual currency. The job was created out of necessity; humanity was slowly dying of starvation. They barely maintained the population as it was, and babies were being born every day. Even limiting families to one child didn't help; people continued to have children under the radar. Each country slowly began to implement mandatory interviews before pregnancy, and complete genetic modification to ensure the best possible human specimen was heavily recommended.

There was the train. Finally. He pulled his head out of the clouds and checked the time. Twenty minutes late.

The oddly quiet, hulking machines were solar-powered but this one was still run-down. Each car had graffiti, though most of it was in grayscale. Color was a rarity, and anyone who had it wouldn't be wasting it on the side of a train car. Nolan noted the new masterpiece on the third one down had small touches of blue. He smiled.

"Too bad you can't do stuff like that," a sudden voice said.

Nolan checked for people around him; the two women also waiting were absorbed in themselves.

"Not now," he responded softly, keeping an eye on the women in his peripherals. They didn't notice him, "I just want a normal day."

"That sounds like a you problem," the voice was full of youth and sarcasm. Nolan groaned quietly, pressing his nails into the pads of his thumbs, knowing that when he turned his head, there would be a young boy standing next to him. He kept his gaze in front of him, willing the apparition to leave, "I'm not going anywhere today, you need me!"

There was a tiny touch on his hand, and he looked down to see fingers intertwining with his and a headful of messy blonde hair leaning against his arm. Nolan sighed and accepted the hand holding; sometimes he needed his hallucinations as much as they needed him. He enjoyed the odd moment of peace.

It was dramatically shattered by a loud crash and a man suddenly sprinting headlong towards the speeding train. Nolan felt his heart drop into his stomach and immediately ran after him, yelling, screaming, reaching his arms out, and stretching his fingers as far as he could until he barely managed to grab the edge of -

Nothing.

He stopped abruptly, rolling his ankle and falling to the ground, staring at his hands.

A small crowd had gathered around him.

"Why aren't you helping him?" He shouted in shock, pushing himself to his knees but his feet giving out immediately, "Go fucking help him!" Adrenaline surged through him, and he stood, looking for the man who had desperately tried to end his life. There was no one. He didn't understand. The people around him looked concerned, but most had their holographic recorders pulled up through their implanted heads-up-display.

Nolan felt the panic creeping in like vines in his gut. Don't freak out, just don't freak out, he breathed in for four counts, tried to hold it for seven but never made it past three. He saw two young men joking, recording his meltdown, and he felt his willpower give way. He squeezed his nails into the palms of his hands and let out a guttural cry that shocked the closest onlookers into taking several steps back.

"Get. Away. From. Me."

The people all looked at each other and dispersed slowly, knowing there were two distinct types of crazy. Dangerous or not.
A trickle of blood leaked from his hand from where his nails bit into skin. He felt dangerous. A monster lived inside of him, and it was starving. He yelled at the crowd, screaming obscenities and threats. The edges of his vision blurred, his whole being giving way to the devil in him. He wanted to run, ram his head through a window, break his own fingers. Every intrusive thought he'd ever had was at the forefront of his mind.

Before he could grab the nearest object to hurl at the crowd, he felt his arms being grasped and yanked behind him. He fought against the detainment but felt the quick jab of a needle in his neck. It only took a few seconds for him to feel numb around the edges, and less than a minute before he lost consciousness.