Ripped apart by a cyborg is not one of the creative ways I want to die.

We go to the vending machine and there are options ranging from single ride for $2.25 to an unlimited pass for $89.00. “I guess a day pass is enough, but I’ll just get the monthly pass. I can leave the card for Scarlett and encourage her to go out and use it instead of hanging around the apartment.”

I tap all the buttons and pay, and my first MetroCard slides out. It’s yellow with blue lettering in what I think is that same Helvetica font I used for so many school PowerPoints over the years. I had originally planned on framing this MetroCard along with any other NYC mementos. I hope Scarlett puts it to good use.

I swipe my way in at the turnstile smoothly.

“You’re a natural,” Orion says.

We wait on the platform with other riders. There are beams with chipped paint. Posters along the wall that have been graffitied by an artist with a penis obsession. An overflowing trash can. I’m surprised I don’t see any rats up here like they’re waiting for the train too, when I remember that they’re mostly down on the tracks. I want a closer look at the train tracks, but I know better than to be a Decker who ignores the painted yellow lines at the edge of the platform, signaling for everyone to keep their distance at risk of falling in. I press my back to the wall so someone can’t accidentally knock me in—or even intentionally. I wouldn’t put it past anyone after having a gun fired at me.

“Should I have stayed home?”

Orion doesn’t even look puzzled. “We can go back if you want.”

“It’s not what I want, but it feels like the smarter choice.”

“Then let’s go.”

I’m dragging my feet back toward the turnstiles, thinking about how I can be home in five minutes. I pause at the emergency exit gate. “I’m freaking out.”

“I get it.”

I almost tell him that he doesn’t, except he does. Orion has lived with this panic for years. No, he’s never known for a fact that his death was certain. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t questioned every little choice he makes. “What’s the point of Death-Cast calling if you’re too scared to live?”

Orion doesn’t have some immediate joke. It’s like he has some inner detector that lets him know when I need to be distracted and when I need to be engaged. “This is your End Day, Valentino. Only you can make the call on what to do.”

The train rumbles as it begins pulling into the station.

“How do I know what’s worth it?” I ask.