LifeTime Inc.

Mason Fleece’s eyes opened to silence for the first time in years. Screetches from his alarm clock had pulled him from dreams of rainforests and mountains every morning for the last decade. Even on weekends. Especially weekends.

Today was different, his first day of retirement. He looked to his bedside, 5:48AM. He chuckled to himself, he’d slept an extra three minutes. No need for an alarm buzzer I guess, he thought. Standing sleekly behind his alarm clock was his LifeTime clock. It was in stark contrast to his outdated one. He picked it up and examined it. Heavy, shiny, smooth, with no visible openings. One self-contained module. The display read 24 years. A small red light was blinking in the top-right corner of the display. He frowned, but quickly dismissed his concern.

Yesterday, at his leaving ceremony, he was handed his LifeTime Clock. He tried to ask casually what the red blinking meant, as his boss was trying to disappear into another meeting.

“Nothing to worry about Mr. Fleece,” he’d said, patting him on the shoulder and turning him towards the exit, “The red light just means you reached retirement. Now enjoy it.”

He let out a long sigh. 24 years was a lot of time, 4 more years than most received because of his working weekends. He’d more than earned them.

Mason hopped out of bed, he felt sprightly despite his creaking knees. All his energy could finally be focused on his own well-being. He had dedicated his entire working life to the ‘NonStop Corporation.’ At 71, he was ready to enjoy his reward. He moved into the bathroom and started running the faucet for a shave.

The eggs were sputtering in the pan when he heard the faint beeping. Mason looked around his kitchen, trying to detect the source. He moved into the hallway, and it got slightly louder. He popped his head around the bedroom door frame, louder still. It was thin and high-pitched, like a needle poking at the air. He crossed the room, reached over to his LifeTime clock, and brought it up to his ear. This was the source.

No one had mentioned beeping or notifications. It was just a reference, how long you have left. You didn’t have to do anything, just keep it safe. Mason stood perplexed for a moment, then he remembered an email about his leaving ceremony.

He went into his office and opened his laptop. He found the email, scrolled, and found ‘Extra info’ in tiny print at the bottom. He clicked on it. A new tab opened in his browser. It looked like a terms-and-conditions page. All big blocks of small text with numbers and letters next to each paragraph. He scrolled, looking for anything that might resemble beeping. He found a small paragraph on maintenance tucked away near the bottom. He skimmed through it.

The LifeTime clock must be well maintained…keep away from…each battery will last up to 10 years but should be replaced every 2 years to stay in warranty…do not forcibly remove the undercasing…a red blinking light indicates battery change is required…a beeping will sound when battery replacement is critical…don’t bathe with your…

Mason felt his body freeze. Even his organs seemed to stop whatever they were doing, looking up at his brain to see what they should do next. I’ll call them, he thought. NonStop will help me and have this all sorted in no time. After all, I only retired yesterday.

He punched in the company’s phone number by heart, and pushed the receiver against his ear. The connecting tone groaned ominously.

“NonStop,” the voice sang, “Daisy speaking, how can we help you today?” her voice was cool, and bright.

“Good morning, my name is Mason Fleece, I retired from NonStop yesterday and I have a problem with my LifeTime clock,” he said in his calmest possible tone.

“Good morning Mr. Fleece, I'm afraid as you no longer work for the company, our responsibility to maintain the LifeTime clock has expired. We suggest you visit a dealership for assistance,” she said unflustered.

“Wait…I’m sure it’s just some kind of mistake, but there’s a critical battery replacement alarm, I don’t know how long I have left…”

“As I said, this is no longer the responsibility of NonStop, unless there is another matter I can assist you with?”

“Don’t you understand?” he said sharper than intended, he gave a short exhale, loosened his shoulders, and continued, “If the battery dies on my LifeTime clock….so do I. I need your help. I just finished a lifetime of service, surely you can help me?” He finished more uncertain than he expected.

“Mr. Fleece, there’s nothing we can do. Maintenance of the..”

“Nothing you will do, you mean,” he snapped back. The line was silent. “Sorry…umm…I’ll make my way to the dealership.”

The hang-up tone sounded, and his hand dropped to his side.

He went into a momentary trance, thinking of when his battery would cut out. When he would cut out. He was brought out of his reverie by the thin beeping.

He dressed, grabbed his LifeTime clock, and placed it carefully in a backpack. It wouldn’t fit in his regular briefcase. The backpack was 10 years old and brand new, never used. He’d bought it for an expedition he’d told himself he would one day go on. Soon after he had taken on a seven-day-a-week contract. It had never happened.

He opened his laptop and searched for the nearest store. No bus routes available. A 20-minute walk. It would take him at least 35. He scribbled down some directions and marched out the door with his backpack in hand.

* * *

He arrived sweaty and out of breath. The storefront gleamed as if it had been deep-cleaned that morning. The LifeTime logo danced across the front above the vast display window. The doors opened automatically, and he walked into the air-conditioned store.

There were more staff in brightly colored polos than customers. One pushed gently past the other and welcomed Mason.

“Good morning sir, we hope you’re having the time of your life. My name is Heep. How can LifeTime help you today?”

Mason tried to smile, but a grimace formed instead. What sort of a name is Heep? He thought.

“I need help. I got my LifeTime clock yesterday, I retired...”

“Congratulations sir.” he beamed

“..umm thanks. Here, it’s beeping, something critical with the battery. Can you fix it?”

Heep's eyes widened a little at the word beeping, and widened further as Mason took it out of his bag, and he could hear it for himself.

“Why don’t you come to the counter and we’ll see what we can do,” he replied. Mason couldn’t tell if Heep hid a smile as he led him to the back of the store.

Heep rested his hands on the counter, took the clock, and pulled out a flat metal tool. He glided it across the bottom of the module, and a panel swung open on fresh, tiny hinges.

Heep choked a chuckle.

“Well, it’s a good job you brought this in, sir,” Heep began, “LifeTime batteries are good for around a decade, and this model is a decade old. It hasn’t been changed since then.”

Mason’s stomach fell to the floor; he practically heard it slap on the shiny vinyl, along with his jaw.

“But, but…No, that can’t be right, my company keeps it till retirement, they have a maintenance facility, they look after it. They look after me…”

“Then your company can replace it,” Heep said flatly.

“No, they said I don’t work there anymore, it’s not their responsibility.”

“Do you have LifeTime insurance, sir?” Heep interrupted.

“What? No, my company…”

“Looks after you?” Heep interrupted again, setting it down, “This needs to be replaced today.”

“OK, ok,” Mason let out an explosive exhale and composed himself. “What are my options?”

“Well, if your company won’t help, and you don’t have insurance, you need to pay to get a replacement.”

“How much?” Mason asked. Heep was definitely trying to hide a smile now.

“150,000 upfront, or you can pay 15,000 monthly.”

“I don’t have that,” Mason scoffed, “All my money is in my company pension, they give me $3,000 per month.”

“Can you borrow a lump sum?”

“No, they don’t allow you to…”

“Sell your house then?”

“I rent…isn’t there another option?”

“It won’t help you.”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“You can donate years from your clock.”

“Ok, how many for a battery?”

“25. As I said, it won’t help you.”

Mason was quiet for a while, contemplating the options. He had no options. He would have to go back to NonStop and explain. Surely, speaking to his boss would clear this up. They’d look after him.

Another sharp exhale, “How long do I have left?” Mason asked.

Heep disappeared into a back room, taking the clock with him. Mason waited at the counter. His legs felt like he’d been on them all day, his knees ached. He drummed his fingers on the glass counter.

Heep emerged from the back room, apparently in no rush.

“Two weeks…give or take.” Heep's voice lacked anything resembling care.

“Give or take?” Mason asked, astounded that his life was being discussed in such trivial terms.

“Maybe a couple of days more or less. Two weeks give or take.”

Mason leaned on the counter, his head bowed, eyes closed. Part of him was relieved. He had half-expected it to be a matter of hours. But two weeks was nothing compared to 24 years.

He left the store in a daze. Mason felt like a flashbang had just gone off in the room; his eyes and ears were adjusting to the shock. He stood on the pavement, traffic rushing past him. The sun was blinding; he looked up into it, tried staring, challenging its great power. His eyes started burning; they weren’t made for this. He scrunched his eyes, shook himself, and walked to the nearest bus stop.

After a queasy bus ride, Mason arrived at NonStop’s headquarters. He went inside and walked towards the staff turnstile. He scanned his badge, but the spokes refused to budge. He tried scanning again, the scanning plate lit up red. Not its usual green. He tried a third time, turned around, and made his way over to the reception desk.

Finally, he reached the front of the queue. The receptionist beamed up at him. Her name badge glinted like it was brand new, “Daisy.” He looked up and down the counter, all faces lathered in affected smiles. He’d always thought they were friendly, but today they seemed sinister.

“Good morning, how can …”

“I need to get upstairs.” Mason cut her off, “My badge isn’t working. I’m Mason Fleece, I called you earlier. My LifeTime clock?”

“Of course I remember you Mr. Fleece, we never forget a NonStop employee. How’s retirement?”

“I need to get upstairs,” he said, enunciating through his teeth.

“Badges are for current employees Mr. Fleece. Your access was removed. You no longer work here after all.” She had a sickly smile, all melody and joy in her voice.

“I need to see my boss, there’s been a mistake...”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you Mr. Fleece. Rules are rules.” She said it as if she were sharing an inside joke with him.

“Well the rule is you’re supposed to replace my battery every two years. Yet here it is 10 years old, ready to die and take me with it. Let me upstairs,” he demanded.

“Like I said Mr. Fleece, as you no longer work here…”

Mason turned and stormed out of the building. He walked up to a trash can, seized its edges, and tried to shake it. It stood stubbornly still. He slumped against it, slid down, and sat on the curb.

It began to rain. He felt it building, starting with light flecks, spittle, then gearing up into a downpour. He didn’t move. He let the shower wash over him, he pushed his hair back out of his eyes, and began to laugh helplessly.

He saw a delivery van with the NonStop Logo swing around the corner to his right and disappear down the side of the building. A thought crossed his mind. He stood up and followed the van’s route. As he turned the corner, he could see the van pulling into an entrance at the far end. He quickened his pace, backpack slung over one shoulder. By the time he got there, the shutters were almost down. Next to it, a man held open a door. He waved Mason over. As he reached the door, he realized it was Jean, the cleaner. Mason often exchanged small talk with him when he stayed late to work. He always took the time to ask about his family and how he was doing.

“Mason, no umbrella?” Jean said in both jest and concern, “I thought you were done with this place?”

“Almost,” Mason tried to sound casual.

“I’m only a month behind you buddy.” Jean added.

“Thanks,” Mason said as he entered and tried to shake out his wet coat, “Sorry, I can’t stop.”

Mason strode towards a set of doors and followed a series of rights and lefts down corridors, pretending to know where he was going. It was quiet; the outside world was completely blocked out. The fluorescent lighting bathed everything in harsh, cold hues.

A second set of footsteps crept in. As he turned a corner, he looked to his left. A security guard turned into view down the hall behind him. He forced himself not to run; he could hear the footsteps quicken. He too increased his pace. The security guard shouted, and Mason ran. He dove into the next available door, shut it quickly behind him, and locked it.

He turned to the room before him. There was a single desk and chair illuminated, some kind of check-in station. He snatched up the chair and shoved it against the handle. He knew it wouldn’t hold for long. Seconds later, the security guard was throwing himself at the door and barking orders.

The dark room hummed with electricity and cooling vents. He shivered in his wet clothes. There were blinking green lights everywhere, like stationary fireflies. He scouted for a light switch and flicked them on. Rows of lights illuminated, section by section, down the long room. It was much longer than he had anticipated in the dark.

Before him stood an endless room, like a wide tunnel or a passage, lined with infinite metal-grated shelves. He walked over to the nearest one, it seemed it was all the same. There were rows upon rows of LifeTime Clocks. He tried to remove one, then another. They were all locked into their charging docks. The security guard’s banging continued.

He walked down the rows of shelves, maybe he could find a spare battery. He’d have to be quick. Each shelf was identical to the first. He hurried along and found a cleared area. There was another desk and chair with a workman's lamp and tools strewn over the table.

There was a solitary LifeTime clock.

Outside of its charging module.

He recognized one of the tools on the table. He reached over, swiped the tool along the bottom. The hatch fell open. He did the same to his own and placed them side by side on the workbench. He could see a small display on the inside of both, a long line running from left to right. His was black, with a shred of flashing red at one end. The other’s was fully green. He checked the date on both batteries. His was indeed 10 years old. This one must have just been replaced; it had the current year in crisp white letters.

He collapsed into the seat and put his head in his hands. He thought through the two possible outcomes. He could swap the batteries and save himself. It’s not like he was stealing years, it would still be his LifeTime clock, but with a battery that would mean he could actually enjoy that time. However, he would also be putting someone in his position. He’d be killing them. This could be in the middle of someone’s day, without a chance to say goodbye to anyone. It could be Jean's; maybe they were getting it ready. He only has a month left till his retirement. 24 years is a long time to live with a decision like that, he thought.

Alternatively, he could walk out of there, make peace with it, and live his last two weeks, knowing he did the right thing.

His knees started bouncing; the banging at the door was getting louder. There were multiple voices screaming now. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it now. His heart was a rocket trying to launch, tangled in the rest of his organs.

* * *

Two security guards frog-marched him down the corridors and towards the exit. They didn’t make any effort to be gentle and ignored anything he said about his lifetime of service to the NonStop corporation. They reached the loading bay - no sign of Jean now - and yanked him up to his feet. They thrust him out into the alley, closing the door behind him before he could find his feet.

Mason thought about what had just happened; he thought about whether or not he’d made the right choice.

He hailed a taxi and told the driver to take him home.

“We don’t normally do journeys out that far, sir.”

“I don’t care. Charge me double. Just take me home.”

Mason trudged in through his front door. His sodden clothes were starting to rub. He went into his cupboard and took out his hiking boots, his fishing rod, all the unworn adventure clothes he had bought along with his backpack, and began stuffing them inside.