"Jesus Christ," Chris muttered.

"Don't blaspheme," Gavin said. Neither man looked away from the TV.

A medley of horns drew Jon to the window. The traffic light was green, but the cars weren't moving. "Do you think it's real?" he asked. A man in a business suit bolted down the sidewalk, loosening his tie before dropping it to the curb.

Gavin leaned back in his chair. "You think a major corporation would announce a drug that ends aging, then say 'gotcha?'"

"No more cancer..." Jon's phone rang in his pocket. The caller ID said, "Mom."

Gavin's phone buzzed too. He tapped the screen and scanned a text. "They're freaking out at the hospital."

"This is big," Chris said, eyes wide like the headlights on a Hummer. "I wonder what Twitter's saying." He pulled a laptop from under his chair, closed his Minecraft world, and opened his browser. "'Vaccine,' 'T4,' and 'Immortality' are already trending," he said. "'This shit is blowin' up fast."

"'The Vaccine is too expensive to produce in large quantities,'" Sam repeated. "Of course it is."

"Here we go," Gav said. "The construction worker's gonna talk politics!"

"Do you pay attention to pharmaceutical companies? Do you know how much they charge for simple pain killers? And this drug can cure cancer! Who do you think will be able to afford it? Not me. Not my wife. Not the men I work with."

Chris scanned social media and read the responses out loud. "'Does this make us vampires? #DreamsComeTrue #Vaccine.'"

"I'm sure the cost'll drop eventually," Jon said.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Sam replied. "In the meantime, do you know what this is gonna do to the middle and lower class?"

"That doesn't mean it's not a good thing—"

"The problem isn't the drug itself. The problem is that it's privatized. A single company holds the fate of the world in its hands. They can charge anything they want and people will pay."

Chris read another Tweet. "'Man is a selfish creature and the Earth is a small patch of land. #TooManPeople #EndOfTheWorld #Vaccine.'"

"What's the alternative?" Jon asked.

Gavin leaned forward. "Sam wants the taxpayers to share the cost of The Vaccine, and he wants the government to distribute it."

Sam shrugged. "Immortality is an inalienable right—"

"An inalienable right?" Gav scoffed. "You only learned about it five minutes ago!"

"Give this technology to the government and we can fix our healthcare system overnight. If we leave it to a private Japanese corporation, it will never be affordable. Only the rich will have it, and the poor wont just be poorer, they'll be sicker and they'll die younger." Sam's boyish demeanor was fading as his muscles clenched beneath his shirt. "This doesn't bother anyone else?"

"I didn't think about it like that," Jon said.

"Didn't your grandpa used to rant about this stuff?"

"Grandpa was a cynic," Gavin added.

Jon kicked him under the table. "A cynic who paid for our college."

"I thought you haven't heard from him since you were kids?"

Gavin's phone buzzed again and he shoved it in his pocket. "He left when I was eleven. We assumed he was dead until he sent us graduation cards with tuition money."

"'Does this mean no more menstrual cramps? #OMG. #Vaccine."

Gavin rolled a poker chip between his knuckles. "The problem is simpler than Sam's doomsday socialist predictions—"

"Call me a socialist again, you right-wing bastard."

Sam's jeer was playful, but Gavin remained serious. "The problem is that it's happening too soon."

Jon stared at his brother with disbelief. "If a drug can stop people from dying, how can it be released too soon?"

"No afterlife? No morality! #GodHatesTheCure. #Vaccine.'"

"Look where the rest of the world is," Gav replied. "We can't even cure the common cold, much less cancer or AIDS. We have a good grasp of the human body, but we're still struggling with the brain. Hell, pot is still considered a Schedule One drug. But now—almost overnight—a group of entrepreneurs claim they can fix nearly every disease and put an end to aging? In terms of biology and technology, a cure on this scale is thirty years down the road. But somebody figured out a shortcut."

"'Hang in there, Grandma! #HurryUp #LifeIsBeautiful #Vaccine."

"What about social security?" Sam asked. "Or the school system. Health insurance. Life insurance. World politics. Overpopulation. If we increase the security of our bodies, terrorists will need stronger weapons to—"

Chris slammed his laptop closed. "Enough bitching. Let's play poker!"

Gavin gathered the cards. "Humans are trying to play God, but they don't possess his divine understanding. We can't see the big picture."

"Pokerrr," Chris moaned.

Sam adjusted his chips and finished his beer. "When it's offered to everyone—when my wife and my coworkers can afford it—then I'll support it."

Jon had been circling the pros and cons since the report ended, but he could no longer deal with the cynicism. "If you say immortality will hurt the lower classes, fine. I'll agree that's a bad thing. If you tell me that playing God is dangerous, I won't argue. In fact, I even agree that life extension is a shitty idea... I wouldn't be who I am today without my brush with death." His chest was beginning to heave and he paused to calm his heart. "We can rant about the political and philosophical problems all night, but until you've had a needle pulling fluid from your spine at twelve years old... until a doctor comes in your hospital room and tells your family you only have a year to live... I don't want to hear you're elitist complaints about a real-life cure for cancer."

The room fell silent. Sam nodded and looked away. Gavin squeezed Jon's wrist. In the stillness, the men could hear the muffled prayers from a woman next door.

* * *

Without a car, Jon was forever at the mercy of the CTA Blue Line. The route contained forty-four stops throughout the city, some underground, some elevated above the streets. He was at the Addison station now, thirteen stops north of school and home, and seven stops south of O'Hare International Airport.

Jon usually felt at home between the rails, sketching in a notebook as musicians strummed the same songs on broken instruments while the vents spewed the distinctly-Chicago stench of chocolate and pee. But tonight, the Addison station paid no respect to his routine. The people who usually waited in silence were chatting excitedly with complete strangers and scanning news on their glowing screens. The rain was only a drizzle, but persistent enough to soak the brothers as they paced the platform. Beneath their feet, fresh graffiti read, "Fuck YOLO!" Behind them, two bums complained that their favorite gas station was sold out of cigarettes and beer.

The surreal atmosphere was amplified by the anticipation of Hannah's arrival and his brother's unspoken expectations for the evening.

What would Hannah think when she saw him at the baggage claim? Would she see the scrawny little boy she met in the hospital, or an adult with a real job and ambitious goals? Their real-life interactions had always been brief and awkward... would tonight be different?

What if she didn't want to take the train all the way to his condo? What if she had plans with Gavin? What if he had only imagined their online friendship?

The last question followed him onto the train.

Gavin found a spot on the right side. Jon sat across the aisle and rested his knees on the seat in front of him. The train announced the next stop and lurched toward O'Hare.

* * *

12:05 AM. Hannah's flight had been delayed fifteen minutes, forcing Jon and Gavin to wait at the baggage claim with Joseph Lasker.

"Why is he here?" Gav whispered. "Did she tell you he was coming?"

Jon elbowed him in the side to keep him quiet. "No."

"It's a little weird, isn't it?"

Jon meandered toward the terminal entrance. Gavin sat on the edge of the carousel with a plastic sack in his hand.

Where did the bag come from? Jon wondered. Did he have it on the train?

The airport was barren. The only other people had formed a small gathering beneath the TV. The news banner read, "First Vaccine-related death?" Jon scanned the subtitles; the story of a man who took his wife off life support only two days ago, then hung himself when he heard about the miracle cure.

Mr. Lasker stood near the hall where Hannah would arrive, hands in his khakis, rocking on his heels. If Jon hadn't glimpsed the man's home life through Hannah's Facebook photos, he might have been more intimidated. Joseph Lasker was, after all, the president of the third-largest department store chain in the Midwest.

"Four years is a long time to be away from your daughter," Jon said.

The wrinkles around Mr. Lasker's smile showed his age. "I pushed for North Western since she was a baby. But Hannah knew what she wanted... and it wasn't in Evanston."

Hannah told Jon that—even after four years—she had never grown accustomed to being away from her father. By the look on Mr. Lasker's face as he waited, neither had he.

"Forgive me, son," he said, "but what's you're name again?"

"Jonathon Nightly. And that's my brother, Gavin."

"You boys were at the hospital the night my wife died."

He inhaled sharply and nodded. "Yeah. That was us."

"I caught her in bed with one of you..."

Jon's cheeks began to burn. "That was me."

"Who's dating her now?"

"N- neither of us," Jon stammered. "We just keep in touch over the internet."

"I see."

Jon realized how strange the situation must have seemed to Joseph and scrambled to validate his presence. "I've seen Hannah's artwork. She's insanely talented."

"For sixty-grand a year, she better be."

"She made a human heart out of rose petals once. She used over a hundred flowers to fill the canvas... then she filmed it for two days as the petals died and the heart shriveled."

"I've seen all my daughter's work."

"I'm sort of an artist too. Industrial design and architecture mostly, but I helped her out with a couple projects; gave her my thoughts before the big critiques." Jon felt himself slipping into an incoherent ramble, and remembered again that Joseph was a multi-millionaire.

"Architecture, eh?"

"That's right."

"There's a lot of competition in architecture."

The first group of disheveled passenger plodded from the terminal hallway, saving Jon from the rest of the awkward conversation.

Gavin opened the plastic sack and removed a bouquet of white daisies.

Damnit, Gav.

Hannah emerged from the heard of half-asleep commuters with a graceful, slow-motion swagger. Her narrow tank-top emphasized the curves beneath her open blouse; tight-fitting jeans with pink stitching, rubber band bracelets, ears pierced without earrings. The girl from the hospital had grown exquisitely into her own body and Jon noticed every detail. He suspected Gavin did too.

Hannah met her father first, not as the woman who had just graduated college, but as the little girl who fell asleep in Jon's hospital bed thirteen years ago. "Daddy!" she screamed, then dropped her bag and threw her arms around his neck.

"How are ya, princess?"

She kissed his cheek. "I thought you were at home cleaning!"

"I lied." He touched a purple streak of hair behind her ear. "What's this?"

She plucked a grey from his head. "What's this?"

"It's called salt and pepper."

She smiled, hugged him again, and said, "It's good to be home."

When the embrace was over, Hannah turned the boys. Gavin held out the daisies.

"For me?" she asked.

"Welcome home," he said.

She held them to her nose and smirked. "Thanks, Nurse Fletcher."

Nurse Fletcher? Jon thought.

Then they hugged.

And they hugged.

And they hugged.

When they finally pulled apart, Hannah had tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, boys... I'll- I'll be right back." She pressed her fingers beneath her eyes, stepped past Jon, and walked to the lady's restroom.