Infinity + 1 Chapter 3

 INFINITY + 1 

CHAPTER 3

Connecticut, 1956

The night was heavy, the kind of night that pressed against the windows and made the air feel thin. Alex Raymond, famous creator of the sci-if comic book series “Flash Gordon”, sat at his desk, the lamplight pooling over his drafting board. His hands moved with a restless energy, charcoal smudging the edges of his fingers. 

He was chasing something new, something raw. The idea had come to him in a flash, as though it had been waiting in the dark corners of his mind: “To Live and Die on Mars.” It would be bold, unflinching. A story of ambition and ruin, of men who reached for the stars and found only dust. He sketched feverishly, the lines sharper, the shadows deeper. His art was evolving, shedding its old skin. He could feel it. This would be his masterpiece.

The clock ticked past 3 a.m. His eyes burned, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The world outside was silent, but inside his head, it roared. Visions of grandeur filled him. He saw his name etched in history, his work immortal. He saw the future, a thousand readers holding his comic, their eyes wide with wonder. He saw himself standing on a stage, accepting an award that hadn’t been invented yet. The weight of it all was intoxicating. He laughed softly, a sound that echoed in the empty room.

Robin Chandler found him like that, hunched over his desk, his hair disheveled, his shirt stained with ink. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. “You’re going to kill yourself,” she said. Her voice was light, but there was an edge to it. She had seen this before—the manic energy, the sleepless nights. She knew where it led.

Alex looked up, his eyes bright but distant. “I’m close,” he said. “I can feel it. This is going to change everything.”

Robin sighed. “You need to rest. Come on. There’s a party. Just for an hour. Clear your head.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering back to the drawing. The Martian landscape stretched across the page, barren and beautiful. A lone figure stood in the foreground, his face turned toward the horizon. Alex had poured himself into that figure, into the curve of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. He didn’t want to leave it. But Robin was right. He needed air.

They left the house just before dawn. The sky was a deep, bruised purple, the stars fading. Alex’s sports car, a Studebaker-Packard, gleamed under the streetlights, sleek and dangerous. He slid into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel. Robin climbed in beside him, joking and laughing feverishly.

The engine roared to life, and they sped down the empty highway. The wind tore at their hair, the world blurring around them. Alex’s heart raced, his mind still half in the Martian desert. He could see it so clearly—the red sand, the endless sky. He could feel the weight of the story, the power of it. It was more than a comic. It was a legacy.

---

Queens, NY, 2018

Sixty-two years later, the night was just as heavy. Ramon Atila sat in his apartment in Queens, the glow of his computer screen casting long shadows on the walls. He had been awake for two days, his mind racing. The synopsis was almost done: To Live and Die on Mars.” It was perfect. A story of ambition and ruin, of men who reached for the stars and found only dust. He had poured everything into it—his fears, his dreams, his failures. It was raw, unfiltered. It would change everything.

His phone buzzed. He ignored it. The words on the screen consumed him. He could see it so clearly—the red sand, the endless sky. He could feel the weight of the story, the power of it. It was more than a comic. It was a legacy.

The phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with Maria’s name. Ramon stared at it, his hand hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to be pulled away from the screen, from the words that were pouring out of him like blood from a wound. But the buzzing didn’t stop. It was insistent, demanding. He picked up the phone.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice flat.

“Ramon,” Maria’s voice came through, soft but urgent. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Where have you been?”

“Working,” he said. His eyes flicked back to the screen. The cursor blinked, waiting. He had so much more to write. So much more to say.

“You haven’t answered my texts. My calls. I was worried.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “What do you need?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. He could hear her breathing, shallow and uneven. “Ramon,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Ramon didn’t respond. His mind was elsewhere, on the red sands of Mars, on the immortals standing at the edge of eternity. He could see them so clearly. They were waiting for him.

“Ramon?” Maria’s voice broke through the silence. “Did you hear me? I’m pregnant.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice distant. “I heard you.”

Another pause. Longer this time. “That’s it?” she asked, her voice rising. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” he asked. His tone was cold, detached. He didn’t mean for it to sound that way, but the words were out before he could stop them.

“I don’t know,” Maria said, her voice cracking. “Maybe something like, ‘Oh my God, Maria, this is amazing.’ Or, ‘I love you, and we’re going to figure this out together.’ Or even, ‘This is a lot to process, but I’m here for you.’ Anything, Ramon. Anything but this.”

He didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on the screen, the words blurring together. The immortals were calling to him, their voices faint but insistent. He couldn’t let them go. Not now. Not when he was so close.

“Ramon,” Maria said, her voice breaking. “Please. Say something. Anything.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said finally. His voice was hollow, empty. “I’m not… I’m not ready for this.”

“You think I am?” she shot back, her voice sharp now. “This isn’t exactly how I planned things either. But it’s happening, Ramon. And I need you. We need you.”

He closed his eyes, his hand tightening around the phone. The immortals were fading, their voices drowned out by Maria’s. He didn’t want to hear her. He didn’t want to think about the baby, about the future, about anything but the story. But she wouldn’t let him go.

“Ramon,” she said again, her voice softer now. “Please. Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I just… I can’t.”

There was a long silence. He could hear her crying, the sound faint but unmistakable. It should have broken him. It should have made him feel something. But all he felt was numb.

“I’ll call you later,” he said finally. “I have to go.”

“Ramon—” she started, but he hung up before she could finish.

The room was silent again, the only sound the hum of the computer. Ramon stared at the screen, the words swimming before his eyes. The immortals were gone, their voices silent. All that was left was the emptiness, vast and unending. He started typing again, his fingers moving mechanically. The words didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

The news hit him like a punch to the gut. He stared at the screen, his hands trembling. A child. A life. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready.

Something in his brain snapped. The walls of the apartment seemed to close in, the air thick and suffocating. He needed to get out. He needed to move.

Dany arrived an hour later, her face pale with worry. “You look like hell,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go out. There’s a club. Just for an hour. Clear your head.”

Dany leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. Ramon was hunched over his desk, the glow of his computer screen casting harsh shadows on his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a wild mess. He hadn’t slept in days. He could see it in the way his hands trembled as they moved across the keyboard, in the way his voice cracked when he muttered to himself.

“Ramon, buddy,” he said, her voice sharp but not unkind. “You need to stop.”

He didn’t look up. “I’m almost done,” he said. “Just a few more lines.”

“You’ve been saying that for hours. You’re going to burn yourself out.”

“I can’t stop now. It’s too important.”

Dany stepped into the room, his boots clicking against the hardwood floor. She stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at the screen. The words were a blur, but she caught glimpses of phrases: eternal sands, the weight of the stars, immortals on Mars. He frowned.

“What is this?” He asked. “What are you even writing?”

Ramon finally turned to look at him, his eyes wide and feverish. “It’s the future,” he said. “Don’t you see? Mars isn’t just a place. It’s an idea. A new beginning. The people who go there—they won’t just be colonists. They’ll be gods. Immortals. They’ll leave behind everything that holds us back. Gravity. Time. Death.”

Dany stared at him. “Ramon, you’re not making sense.”

“I’m making more sense than I ever have,” he said, his voice rising. “This is it. This is what I’ve been working toward. This is what I was meant to do.”

He reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched but didn’t pull away. “You’re scaring me, bro,” he said quietly. “You haven’t slept. You haven’t eaten. You’re talking about immortals and gods. This isn’t healthy.”

“Healthy?” He laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. “What’s healthy about this world? What’s healthy about sitting in a cubicle, wasting your life on someone else’s dreams? I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to be forgotten.”

“No one’s going to forget you,” Dany said. “But you’re not going to live long enough to finish this if you keep going like this.”

He turned back to the screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “I don’t have a choice,” he said. “This is bigger than me. Bigger than you. Bigger than anything.”

Dany sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not invincible, Ramon. You can’t just make yourself to survive on caffeine and ambition.”

“Watch me,” he said, his voice low and fierce.

Dany grabbed his chair, spinning him around to face him. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice firm. “You’re not thinking straight. You need to slow down. Take a break. Sleep. Eat something. You’re not going to help anyone if you collapse.”

He looked at Dany, his eyes searching his friend’s. For a moment, he thought Ramon might listen. Then he shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “Not yet. I’m so close.”

“Close to what?” she demanded. “What are you even trying to prove?”

“That I matter,” he said, his voice breaking. “That any of this matters.”

Dany’s expression softened. He crouched down in front of him. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. Just for a little while. Clear your head.”

Ramon hesitated, his gaze flickering back to the screen. Then he nodded, letting Dany lead him out of the room. But as they stepped into the night, the weight of his vision followed him, heavy and unrelenting. The immortals on Mars waited, their voices whispering in the back of his mind. He couldn’t escape them. He didn’t want to.

The night was cool, the streets empty. His car was parked at the curb, a beat-up sedan that had seen better days. He slid into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel. Dany climbed in beside him, his expression unreadable.

The engine sputtered to life, and they sped down the BQE. The city lights blurred around them, the world reduced to streaks of color. Ramon’s heart raced, his mind still half in the Martian desert. He could see it so clearly—the red sand, the endless sky. He could feel the weight of the story, the power of it. It was more than a comic. It was a legacy.

————

Alex Raymond tore down the highway in his sports car near Westport, Connecticut. Robin said something, but her words were lost in the rush of wind. Alex didn’t hear her. He was too far gone, lost in his visions. The car hurtled forward, the speedometer needle climbing. He didn’t see the curve until it was too late.

The tires screeched, the world spinning. Robin screamed. The car left the road, skidding across the gravel, and slammed into a tree. The impact was deafening. For a moment, there was silence. Then the sound of metal creaking, glass breaking. Smoke rose into the air, mingling with the scent of gasoline.

Alex Raymond died instantly. His body was broken, but his face was calm, almost serene. In his mind, he was still on Mars, standing on the edge of eternity.

————

Dany said something, but his words were lost in the rush of wind. Ramon didn’t hear his friend. He was too far gone, lost in his visions. The car hurtled forward, the speedometer needle climbing. 

The BQE stretched out before them, a river of asphalt cutting through the dark. The city lights flickered in the distance, but Ramon barely noticed. His hands gripped the wheel, his foot heavy on the gas. The car roared forward, the speedometer needle climbing. Jay-Z’s “Show Me What You Got” blasted from the speakers, the bass thumping through the seats. Dany sat beside him, his knuckles white as he clutched the door handle.

“Yo, Ramon,” she said, his voice sharp. “Slow the hell down, will ya? You’re drivin’ like a maniac.”

He didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the road, but his mind was elsewhere. Mars. The red sand. The endless sky. He could see it so clearly—the immortals standing on the edge of eternity, their faces turned toward the stars. He was one of them. He had to be.

“Ramon!” Dany’s voice cut through the music. “I’m serious, man. You’re goin’ too fast. You’re gonna get us killed.”

He glanced at Dany, his expression distant. “We’re fine,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

“Fine? Fine?” Dany snapped. “You’re doin’ 90 on the BQE, swervin’ like a drunk, and you think we’re fine? You’re outta your mind, Ramon. Pull over. Let me drive.”

He shook his head, his fingers tapping the wheel to the beat. “I can’t stop now. I’m so close.”

“Close to what?” Dany demanded, his voice rising over the music. “What the hell are you even talkin’ about?”

“The future,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Don’t you see? Mars ain’t just a place. It’s a new beginning. A chance to leave all this behind. The immortals—they’re waitin’ for me. I can feel it.”

Dany stared at him, his fear giving way to anger. “You’re not makin’ sense,” she said. “There ain’t no immortals. There ain’t no Mars. There’s just this car, this road, and you’re gonna get us both killed if you don’t slow the hell down.”

He didn’t answer. His foot pressed harder on the gas, the engine screaming. The city lights blurred around them, the world reduced to streaks of color. Jay-Z’s voice filled the car, the lyrics pounding in their ears. “Show me what you got, show me what you got…” Dany’s stomach churned, his mind racing. He had to do something. He had to stop Ramon.

“Ramon,” he said, his voice steady now. “Listen to me. You’re not thinkin’ straight. You ain’t slept. You ain’t eaten. You’re not in control.”

“I’m more in control than I’ve ever been,” he said, his voice rising. “This is it. This is what I was meant to do.”

“No,” Dany said firmly. “This is what’s gonna kill you. And me. And for what? Some idea? Some fantasy?”

He turned to look at Dany, his eyes wild. “It’s not a fantasy,” he said. “It’s real. More real than anything else. Don’t you get it? This is my legacy. This is how I live forever.”

Dany reached out, grabbing his arm. “You ain’t gonna live forever if you crash this car,” he said. “Now slow down. Please.”

He shook her off, his jaw tightening. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m so close.”

The car hurtled forward, the speedometer needle pushing past 90. Dany’s fear turned to desperation. He had to make him stop. He had to make him see.

“Ramon,” he said, his voice breaking. “Think about Maria. Think about the kid. You really wanna leave ‘em behind? You really wanna die like this?”

For a moment, he hesitated. His grip on the wheel loosened, his foot easing off the gas. Dany held his breath, hoping he would listen. Hoping he would stop.

But then his eyes hardened, and he shook his head. “I don’t have a choice,” he said. “This is bigger than me. Bigger than you. Bigger than anything.”

The car surged forward, the engine roaring. Jay-Z’s voice filled the air, the beat pounding like a heartbeat. “Show me what you got, show me what you got…” Dany closed his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what was coming. He could feel it in the way the car shuddered, in the way the world seemed to tilt. He wanted to scream, to fight, to do something. But it was too late.

The tires screeched as the car left the road, skidding across the gravel. Dany’s world spun, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. He heard the crash before he felt it—the sound of metal crumpling, glass breaking. Then there was nothing but darkness.

The tires screeched, the world spinning. Dany screamed. The car left the road, skidding across the gravel, and slammed into a barrier. The impact was deafening. For a moment, there was silence. Smoke rose into the air, mingling with the scent of gasoline.

Ramon Atila died instantly. His body was broken, but his face was calm, almost serene. In his mind, he was still on Mars, standing on the edge of eternity.

---

The two men, Ramon Atila and Alex Raymond, died as they had lived—chasing something just out of reach. Their stories ended on the same night, sixty-two years apart, under the same heavy sky. The world moved on, but their visions lingered, etched in the red dust of a distant planet.

AtilA