“You have to face facts, the system was put in place to cope with the current state of national healthcare. Let’s not put any more stress on your children Mrs. Andrews. This is better for everyone.” The insurance specialist was practically whispering into her ear, not wanting the others to hear.

Stephanie spoke louder so that they could all hear. “I can’t have that many visits to the hospital, can I? We can’t just fudge the numbers a little to give me a little more time? The last time I visited the doctors was because of stress. Should that even count as a doctor’s visit?”

The insurance specialist’s nametag, “Mr. Martin,” almost hit her in the face as he took Stephanie’s temperature by scanning her forehead. “That would be fraud. A medical visit is still a medical visit. There’s no way around it. We have to get you ready for the euthanasia.“

Her family sighed at the word and moved in closer but likely knew that there was nothing they could do either. Little Abbey was too young to be seeing this but Stephanie asked that she be here, as this might be the last time she saw her alive. Russ stepped in and waited for Mr. Martin to move out of the way so he could lean down and probably say something like “this is how it’s supposed to be” or “we’ll have to endure without you.” They had their troubles in the past but she never imagined he could be so casual about this. Instead, he said, “It’ll be OK. It’ll be over soon.”

Abbey and Joann had the sour taste of vinegar on their faces and held each other closely, offering pitiful moans and nothing more. But how could they speak? Seeing their mother in a hospital bed, ready to be sent to the slaughter and knowing that her mandated death would greatly improve the gene pool of future generations. She watched her daughters’ faces and could have ripped the face off of Mr. Martin as he made check marks on his tablet.

He saw this subtle ire and responded. “I know this isn’t easy but you know what happens when you meet your allotted medical expenditure. This situation is no different from the others who are waiting in the euthanasia room right now. They’re waiting for you to arrive to initiate the process. Once the process starts—” She turned away and stopped listening when her son appeared in the doorway. He had a furled brow and what she had always described as “angry lips” but she could have kissed him and held him all the same. It wasn’t her fault she was in this dire situation, or at least not completely.

“Adam,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Hi, mom.” he pushed in through his father and Mr. Martin and grabbed the hand railing of the medical bed. “You said you’d never leave us.”

“There’s nothing I can do. I should have done more for my health. I should have…”

“They’re going to kill you!” Adam started shouting. “You didn’t do anything wrong! You’re getting out of here. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll stop anyone who tries.” Mr. Martin grabbed him by the arm.

She saw the anger rooted deep within his eyes. “Don’t be like that. Don’t be like them. You believe they’re killers. Adam, I don’t want you to have any part of this. I don’t want you to end up like they are.”

He wrenched his arm away, “Like them? Like killers? Fine, I won’t have any part of this.” and stormed out.

Stephanie had her hands out, attempting to calm her fleeing son, but she couldn’t and she wept for it. Mr. Martin looked at his watch and tablet, making several more check motions. “It’s time to go. Say goodbye. You will be read your last will and rights in the sleeping room.”

Everything became a blur in her last few moments. The lights that were overhead and the paintings on the walls were smudged with tears. She hasn’t even been given any drugs yet. In a few seconds, or it might have been minutes, she was led into a room, a room she never thought she’d see. Muffled patients lined the wall in columns but they weren’t gagged. They were muffled from sedation and their faces appeared numb and drooping. She wondered what they were trying to say, looking into the rows of subdued patients. She didn’t care to count them. Everything seemed so pointless.

The nurse had a similarly placid face. Stephanie leaned forward and whispered, “You don’t have to do this. These people…will be on your conscience.”

The nurse was preparing a syringe and appeared to contemplate her words but didn’t show any other reaction. “These people will help power this facility. Without your biofuel we would have to rely on public money and that would be wasteful spending.”

Stephanie nodded. Of course, their bodies, once converted to simple biomass, would provide electricity but when she saw the chutes at the end of the room, she felt her throat tighten. She barely was given time to say goodbye to her family and even less time to cope with the end of her life.

The sedation fluid entered her IV, along with several other chemicals that would help break down her body once the gas was pumped into the room. She found it odd that they had medical equipment at the ready, as if they would save anyone’s life today.

She rested her head on the pillow and listened to the moaning. A man next to her was writhing, his mind not yet ready to lose his body. He turned to her, and with a glistening, empathetic stare told her that this was how it had to be. That this was the right thing to do. It was either this or die of medical bills and debt. She told herself this was a blessing.

But as the insurance specialist entered the room all of the patients started moaning louder. She wanted to join in the chorus of groans but she didn’t know what for. It was a symphony of final pleas and pathetic whimpers. She fought against the sedative like the others were doing but it was too strong. Her vision became a milky haze as she leaned towards the specialist as he made his way around the patients, checking their state and swiping on a tablet. He was making the final preparations.

The toxin that would dissolve her internal organs was slowly creeping down the IV tube. It was like watching a clock ticking down to midnight. A clock seeping with poisonous seconds. The specialist was behind them, making his way towards the chutes. He started unlocking them and opening their doors. She could no longer feel the nausea in her stomach and she was thankful for it because it eased her into a state of emptiness and coldness. He walked past her stretcher and turned only slightly before continuing towards the door. She was too numb to reach out.

The chorus of moans continued, until the door was closed and they were shut in. The lights dimmed. They no longer needed it. But the patients didn’t stop. They were screaming in agony behind paralyzed throats. She imagined what it was like to be dead. She looked at the IV tube one more time before closing her eyes.

And when she did, she was rocked alert by an explosion directly beneath her. The IV bag tipped over and pulled itself from her vein. Nurses and specialists were running by the window as the ceiling lights flickered. The door swung open and a figure came rushing in. When he came to her, he was panting, kneeling on shaky knees.

“Mom. I came back…I came back for you.”

“Adam.” She moaned. Her son’s hands tried to nudge her awake.

“We have to get you out of here. I did what I had to do.”

“Did you…?” She was energized by adrenaline, and a fear for her son’s mental state. The explosion likely had injured the workers, possibly even killing them. She had lost him. Even though he was dragging her stretcher out of the room and he was beside her he felt so far away.

He was speaking frantically but she couldn’t hear. She almost didn’t want to hear, or witness her own child, a boy who had so much innocence, fall from grace. His gray eyes were now filled with such hatred and retribution. He would spend the rest of his life harboring her, running and hiding from the authorities. She let out a moan, a desperate, guttural moan that peaked when he took her into the elevator. The doors closed as she became trapped in a box with her own son, a murderer and an anarchist. She couldn’t comprehend what was worse, the death of others for the sake of a better, healthier society or the death of a few to fight the system that wanted to murder thousands more. She didn’t care to know and cursed humanity for authoring this paradox in the first place.