Chapter Six:

“Suffocating Hope”

Melbourne, Australia was suffocating.

Lucinda stepped onto the blistering pavement, thick with the scent of sweat and asphalt. The city pressed in from all sides, a living, heaving thing of noise and motion, suffocating in its own weight. Every breath was dry, clinging to her throat, but she kept moving. The sun baked the pavement, turning the air to fire in her lungs. Sweat gathered at her temples, but she barely noticed it anymore. Thirst was constant, gnawing, but manageable.

She had learned to endure.

The streets swarmed with bodies, the tide of humanity restless, pushing, always moving. People lined up at ration stations, waiting for their daily allotment of water, eyes sunken, lips cracked. The strong shoved past the weak. The desperate clung to what little they had.

She moved past a man slumped against a crumbling wall, his arms wrapped protectively around a half-empty bottle of murky water, his fingers tightening around it whenever someone passed too close, as if it were worth more than gold. His ribs pressed sharply against his skin, his eyes hollow, lips cracked and peeling, as if he had long forgotten what it was to feel full.

A child tugged at her sleeve as she passed, his face streaked with dirt, eyes wide with silent pleading. She reached into her satchel, fingers closing around a ration bar. It wasn’t enough, but it was something. She pressed it into his hand before moving on, not waiting for thanks.

The air inside the medical camp was worse. Heat and sickness clung to every surface, bodies packed into makeshift cots, the scent of death and decay coating the back of her throat. The overworked fans hummed uselessly, stirring nothing but misery.

She rolled up her sleeves, moving with refined efficiency between the sick. She paused beside a young woman, barely older than herself, her face gaunt, her breath shallow.

Lucinda knelt beside her, brushing damp hair from her forehead. "You're burning up," she whispered, soaking a rag in the last of this woman’s clean water and pressing it against her burning skin. The woman barely reacted. "You're going to be okay," Lucinda said, even though she knew it wasn’t always true.

She sat there a moment longer, gripping the girl’s hand until the worst of her tremors passed, then forced herself to move on. Some were too far gone, their bodies ravaged by dehydration, fevers burning them from the inside out. Others could still be saved. She pressed cool cloths to foreheads, checked pulses, forced precious sips of water past parched lips.

She worked in silence, because words wouldn’t help them. Only action.

"Luci!" The sharp call yanked her from her focus. She turned to see Dr. Linus, his sleeves rolled up, sweat beading on his forehead as he adjusted a mask over his nose. His usual sharp gaze was duller today, weighed down by exhaustion. "We lost another eight this morning. No space left to move them."

Lucinda swallowed. "Where did you put them?"

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Outside. Wrapped them up, but you know how it is."

She knew. The dead didn't get burials anymore. Not here.

"People are signing up for The Dive in droves," Linus muttered, pulling off his gloves. "Not just patients. Staff. Had three nurses walk off yesterday." He paused, studying her. "You ever think about it?"

Lucinda stiffened. "Not seriously."

He gave a hollow laugh. "Yeah. Me neither." But the way his fingers twitched, the way his eyes lingered on the massive advertisement shining through the hospital’s makeshift window, said otherwise. "One of these days, there won’t be enough of us left. Then what?" But then, a voice broke through the suffering.

"Miss?" The voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. Lucinda turned to see an elderly man on a cot, his eyes dull but still holding onto something, hope, maybe. "You're too young to be stuck here with us."

She forced a small smile. "I wouldn’t be anywhere else."

He coughed, a rattling sound that made her chest tighten. "The Dive," he murmured. "Everyone talks about it. They say it’s better than this. Better than dying here."

Luci sat beside him, pressing a cool rag to his forehead. "Do you believe that?"

His lips twitched. "I believe... people will believe anything when they're desperate enough. Doesn't mean it's real. Doesn't mean it's right." He closed his eyes, breath slowing. "But sometimes... believing is all we have left."

Lucinda stayed by his side until his breathing steadied again, then rose, the weight in her chest heavier than before. She had spent so many nights convincing herself that what she did mattered, that her hands, her work, were enough to keep the world from collapsing. But how many times had she sat by a bedside like this, whispering reassurances she wasn’t sure she believed? How many more would she watch slip away, knowing there would always be another, and another, and another? The weight of it all was suffocating. And in the back of her mind, she wondered, if she left, would she finally be able to breathe?

“Luci.”

She turned. An older nurse, Marla, wiped a damp cloth across her own brow. “Take a break.”

“I’m fine.”

Marla’s eyes were sharp even with exhaustion. “No, you’re not.”

Luci swallowed hard. The walls felt closer. The heat, the unending suffering, the quiet acceptance of death, it was pressing in, day after day, a weight she never fully shook.

She stepped outside, into the dimming light. The sky was streaked with orange and violet, beautiful despite everything. She pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breath.

Then the sky came alive.

A massive projection bloomed above the city, distorted by the rising waves of heat. Gameweaver’s face materialized, flawless and serene, her voice wrapping around the streets like a lullaby.

“There is no need for sickness. Slowly suffering till the end. Why suffer? Escape the pain, the despair, the fear of the end. Enter a world where illness is a memory, where no one suffers, where the weak can be strong again. The Ultimate Dive awaits you.”

Lucinda stared at the towering image, at the sea of upturned faces below. She could feel the longing radiating off them, the quiet, desperate hope. People whispered. Some cried. Others simply stood, unmoving, caught in the dream of escape.

A voice at her side. Marla. “You ever think about it?”

Lucinda’s throat was dry. "What?" She wanted to scoff, to say she had never even considered it. But that wasn’t true, was it? The thought lurked in the back of her mind at night, creeping in when exhaustion made her weak. What if she could leave? What if she could stop fighting a battle she was never going to win? And if she did... was that cowardice, or just survival?

Marla gestured up. “Leaving.”

She shook her head, as if the thought had never crossed her mind. But it had. It was impossible not to wonder. To imagine a place where there was no hunger, no thirst, no death. A place where she wasn’t watching people slip away, day after day, knowing she could never save them all.

Marla sighed, wiping her brow with the back of her hand before looking away. Her gaze passed over Lucinda for another moment, something unreadable in her tired eyes. "You should."

Lucinda remained, watching as the projection promised a cure to suffering, a promise of salvation.