Snail Racing and Heart Racing

The hum of hospital machinery blended seamlessly with the soft light of holographic displays as Mark stepped into his father’s room. Dean H. lay propped up on the bed, his salt-and-pepper hair disheveled but his smile firmly in place.

"Marky boy," Dean greeted, his voice gruff but warm. "You didn’t have to come all this way. I’m fine."

Mark raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the holographic readout hovering beside the bed. "Yeah, Mum told me that holo gambling all this past years caught up to you that just screams I am fine. She told me that you didn't gamble this time but be honest what were you betting on this time?"

Dean chuckled sheepishly. "Virtual snail races. They’re oddly hypnotic."

Mark stared at him, deadpan. "Snail races. Really setting a high bar for the family name, Dad."

"Hey, they had helmets and everything!" Dean defended, holding up his hands.

Mark’s mother, Evelyn, entered the room carrying a small container of soup. Her no-nonsense demeanor immediately filled the space. "Helmets or not, Dean, you’re lucky the hospital systems flagged your vitals. You were one bad bet away from a complete neural fry."

Dean groaned. "Yeah, yeah. I’m already getting the responsibility lecture from the doc-bots."

Mark snorted, leaning against the wall. "You mean the bots whose only job is to save your sorry hide from yourself?"

Evelyn placed the soup on the tray. "Well, if they don’t straighten him out, I will." She turned to Mark, her expression softening. "Thank you for coming, sweetheart. He listens to you more than anyone."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don’t make me sound like some rebellious teenager."

"You’re literally sneaking into virtual casinos from a hospital bed," Mark retorted.

They spent the next hour trading barbs, stories, and laughs. It wasn’t perfect, but moments like this reminded Mark of why he never gave up on his father. Beneath all the mistakes and bad choices was a man who cared deeply, even if he showed it in the most chaotic ways.

As they were wrapping up, Evelyn excused herself to speak with a doctor, leaving Mark and Dean alone.

"You know," Dean began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, "I really am trying. This... addiction stuff doesn’t go away just because society says it’s obsolete."

Mark nodded. "I know, Dad. But you’re still here, and that counts for something."

Dean smiled faintly. "Thanks, kid. Means a lot coming from you."

After promising to visit again soon, Mark made his way out of the hospital. Outside, the city’s vibrant nightlife roared on. He glanced at his communicator, scrolling through messages until he saw one from Neon.

Meanwhile, across the city, Ash parked his sleek, hovering car in front of a cozy café. Layla waited by the entrance, her smile soft but uncertain.

"This place looks nice," Ash said, holding the door open for her.

"Yeah," Layla replied, stepping inside. "I heard they do great desserts."

The evening passed in easy conversation, interrupted only by shared laughter over an aggressively frothy latte that spilled halfway across their table.

"You’ve got a little..." Layla pointed at Ash’s face, unable to contain her giggle.

"What?" Ash wiped his cheek clumsily.

"Other side," she directed. "No, other oh, never mind." She leaned over, brushing the foam away with her napkin.

For a brief moment, their eyes met, and Layla felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name.

As the night wound down, they walked back to Ash’s car in companionable silence. Before getting in, Layla hesitated.

"Ash, about... us," she began.

Ash looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Yeah?"

She opened her mouth to continue but stopped herself, shaking her head with a small smile. "Never mind. Thanks for tonight."

Ash nodded, a flicker of something maybe relief? And responded almost calmly "Anytime, Layla."

Back in his apartment, Mark holo called Neon.

Neon without even letting Mark to say Hey started with "Yooooo, Soooo, you’re going to love me. I may or may not have signed up you for something great."

Mark stared at Neon through the holo call, his brows raised. "You signed me up for what?"

Neon twirled a strand of her electric blue hair, leaning casually on her desk, an impish smile on her face. "Oh, don’t get so dramatic. It’s a design showcase gadgets, ideas, the stuff you’re always building in your spare time. You’ll be perfect for it."

"Neon," Mark groaned, rubbing his temples. "You can’t just sign me up for things without telling me first!"

"I can and I did," Neon shot back, smirking. "You’ll thank me when you’re up there wowing everyone. Besides, you’ve been hiding your talent too long."

Before Mark could argue, his holo comm chip buzzed again. "Hold that thought," he muttered, switching to the incoming call.

Luke’s big smiling face filled the screen. "Mark! You’ll never believe what I just did."

Mark tilted his head, bracing himself. "Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this?"

Luke clapped his hands together. "I signed you up for the Bum Bam Blem Annual Kinetic Sculptures Art Exhibition! You’re welcome!"

Mark blinked, his jaw dropping. "Luke, are you kidding me?!"

"You’re always making those incredible kinetic sculptures," Luke continued, undeterred. "They deserve to be seen, Mark! And it’s a huge opportunity."

Mark sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Luke, you know that art is my thing, not yours. Why don’t you submit something of your own?"

Luke chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah… about that. My last piece is still, uh, a work in progress. But hey, you’ve got this! Submission’s in five days. Better get cracking!"

Mark groaned, disconnecting the call. Before he could even process the chaos, another notification popped up. This time, it was Ash.

Mark answered reluctantly. "Please don’t tell me you’ve signed me up for something, too."

Ash’s voice came through, calm but teasing. "Not exactly. But I might’ve told some science bigwigs about our ideas for improving flying tech. They want to meet us next week to hear more."

Mark froze. "Wait… our idea? The one we were brainstorming at like three a.m. over pizza?"

"Yep," Ash replied, his smirk almost audible. "It’s almost a solid concept, Mark. You know it is. This could be huge, maybe. This is calculated risk."

Mark slumped in his seat, throwing his head back. "Calculated what... Ash, you’ve got to be kidding me."

"Relax," Ash said, his voice turning reassuring. "We’ll go in together. I’ll handle the business talk, and you can wow them with the tech stuff. It’s our chance to finally make it happen."

Mark stared blankly at the screen as the call ended. Three big commitments, all in one week. He shook his head and muttered to himself, "Why".