As the Martian sky marks midday, Stan thinks about his father's death.
It'd been voluntary. Nearly all death was, even back then.
His father told him it was better to "go natural"—there's such a thing as quitting while you're ahead.
Fifty-three years later, no one thinks like that anymore. His father was one of a dying breed—those willing to die.
For most people, life had become so accessible they couldn't be bothered with death.
Survival is now purely recreational—you're alive because it's fun. The circle of life is now a straight line.
The gun catches cold sweat from Stan's brow.
Stan is more afraid of facing the end of the universe than the end of
his life. He doesn't want to lose himself in eternity having fun. He doesn't
want there to come a point when a year feels like an hour. There's such
a thing as quitting while you're ahead.
A muscle contracts. A pin hits a cap. A son joins his father.
