Dual Realm Exchange System

BANG!

Damian Baines slammed his palm against the desk, causing the insurance form between them to jump beneath his hand.

Pain immediately flared through the left side of his body, sharp enough to tighten his jaw, but he refused to show it.

His face was already twisted with anger, and the last thing he wanted was to give the woman seated across from him another sign of weakness.

Myra Gates, the head of Human Resources for Apex Meridian Logistics, merely adjusted her glasses.

She glanced at Damian’s hand, then at the unsigned insurance claim lying on her desk, before raising one carefully shaped eyebrow.

"There is no need for this agitation, Mr. Baines. I understand that you are concerned, but I am simply not in a position to approve this claim," Myra said.

Apex Meridian Logistics was one of the largest shipping and distribution companies in the Western Hemisphere, handling the movement of goods for countless manufacturers and e-commerce platforms across the world.

Its warehouses never slept, its trucks never stopped moving, and its quarterly profits continued rising.

Unfortunately, the same efficiency that made the company powerful had also stripped away much of its humanity.

Inside Apex Meridian, employees were not people with families, injuries, and limits.

No, they were merely numbers assigned to shifts, productivity targets, and operating costs.

Damian had known this for years, but still, some part of him had foolishly believed that nearly breaking his ribs beneath a collapsing shipment would be enough to make the company acknowledge that he had been hurt while working.

Apparently, even that was asking too much.

"I was injured inside one of your warehouses because a damaged support rack was never repaired," Damian said, forcing his voice to remain controlled.

"The supervisors were warned about it twice. Nothing was done, the rack gave way, and several crates fell on me. The only reason I am sitting here instead of speaking through a lawyer is because my employment contract requires me to complete the internal claim process first." Damian added with a cold glance.

Myra’s expression darkened slightly.

"Our supervisors are among the most experienced in the industry, Mr. Baines. I find it difficult to believe that such a serious oversight could have occurred under their supervision," She refuted in a firm voice.

Damian stared at her, then laughed.

It was not a pleasant laugh.

It was the sound of a man realizing that the person before him had no intention of acknowledging reality, no matter how obvious it became.

"Is that so?" Damian asked.

He stood and pulled up the left side of his shirt.

Five years of warehouse work had burned away most of the softness his body once carried, replacing it with lean muscle built from loading freight, moving pallets, and spending long shifts on his feet.

Under different circumstances, he might have looked healthy if not for the bruise covering his left side which ruined that impression.

A dark purple and sickly yellow color spread across his ribs and abdomen, the discoloration so severe that even Myra briefly recoiled, though her reaction lasted less than a second.

By the time Damian lowered his shirt, she had already recovered her carefully constructed expression of professional sympathy.

"That certainly appears painful," Myra stated with an empathetic look.

Then she continued in a more neutral tone. "However, injuries of this nature can also result from improper lifting posture or employee carelessness. Fortunately, the company has a subsidized medical package available for situations where formal liability cannot be established."

She opened a drawer and removed another form.

Under the right lighting, the bright smile she gave him might even have appeared compassionate.

"Apex Meridian will cover thirty percent of your immediate medical expenses. In exchange, your remaining leave days will be reclaimed, and you will agree to complete a minimum of one month of overtime work once medically capable." Myra continued animatedly.

Damian looked at the form, then looked at Myra.

Thirty percent...?

In exchange for ALL his leave days, none of which he had even used this year, and a month of additional labor?

They had injured him, denied responsibility, and were now offering to sell him help using his own time and body as payment?

The young man’s fingers slowly curled and for one dangerous moment, Damian imagined reaching across the desk and wiping that expression from her face.

He imagined making her feel even a fraction of the helpless anger sitting inside his chest.

Then, the image of his mother appeared in his mind and Damian forced his hand open.

He could not afford to be arrested nor could he afford to lose his job before he found another source of income.

More than anything else, he could not allow one moment of rage to leave his mother alone.

He picked up his insurance form.

"I’ll see the company in court," Damian said coldly.

They both knew it would not be Myra sitting across from him if that day ever came.

Apex Meridian would send lawyers, delay proceedings, dispute evidence, and bury him beneath paperwork until he either surrendered or ran out of money.

Myra smiled anyway.

"You are entitled to explore every legal option available to you, Mr. Baines," she said in an encouraging tone.

Damian left without another word, closing the door hard enough to shake the glass in its frame.

Only after he was gone did Myra’s smile disappear.

She immediately picked up her office phone and dialed a number, waiting for it to ring three times before a gruff male voice picked up.

"Marcus, you’d better find a way to deal with your subordinate. I have more important things to deal with up here than to placate such lowlife characters from the streets!" Myra spat with venom, causing Marcus to grunt.

"Sure, I’ll talk to him." He said simply, cutting the call the next moment.

Meanwhile, Damian had to walk rather unsteadily due to the pain in his side, heading downstairs through the elevator.

The ride down felt longer than usual.

When the doors opened, Damian walked through the polished lobby and stepped onto the busy afternoon street.

Taxis and private cars passed before the glass headquarters, carrying people who looked as though they had somewhere important to be.

Damian considered ordering a ride, but checked the money in his account and began walking.

The public hospital was seven blocks away.

Every step stung his injury, but the money saved on transport could pay for a meal, medication, or part of another hospital charge.

His life had long ago become a series of calculations like that, where nothing was ever merely convenient and everything had a cost.

By the time Damian reached First National Hospital, sweat had soaked through the back of his shirt despite the cool air inside the building.

The hospital was old, crowded, and chronically understaffed.

Families filled the corridors, nurses moved rapidly between wards, and the smell of disinfectant could not entirely conceal the scent of sickness beneath it.

Damian waited for permission to enter the inpatient wing, exchanged tired greetings with a few familiar faces, and eventually reached Room 144.

He opened the door quietly.

The room was simple, containing a single bed, a cabinet, an old television mounted on the wall, and an open window through which the afternoon breeze entered.

An old cartoon played at low volume while his mother, Angela Baines, lay beneath a thin white blanket, her eyes closed and her breathing soft.

The anger Damian had carried from Apex Meridian began to crumble as he closed the door and sat beside her.

At twenty-six, Damian looked older than he was.

His brown hair had grown into an untidy mop, his beard needed trimming, and exhaustion had settled so deeply beneath his bloodshot blue eyes that it seemed to have become part of his face.

He had learned to hide that exhaustion from employers, co-workers, creditors, and doctors, but he never hid it from his mother.

Damian gently took her thin hand between his own.

"I’m sorry, Mom. I got hurt at work yesterday. It actually looks worse than it is, so don’t worry. The company is being difficult, but I’ll sort it out." Damian recounted cheerfully.

His mother did not answer, and she had not answered him for many years.

Even so, Damian continued speaking to her as he had since he was twelve, when life had first forced him to become older than he was ready to be.

He told her about his work, the weather, the things he had eaten, and the small frustrations of his day.

Sometimes, he even told her jokes.

He had long forgotten what her laughter sounded like, but that did not stop him from trying.

"I’m thinking of cutting my hair soon. You’d probably say it’s about time. I know, I know, I look terrible, don’t I?" Damian continued, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.

The door opened after a soft knock and Doctor Humphrey entered holding a clipboard.

He was around Damian’s age, though the clean coat, neat hair, and careful posture made the difference between their lives appear far greater.

When the doctor recognized Damian, his expression became uncomfortable.

"Mr. Baines," Doctor Humphrey greeted him.

"Doctor Humphrey? Is something wrong?" Damian asked with a frown at the sudden entrance.

Doctor Humphrey glanced at the woman in the bed.

"Yes. I’m afraid I have some bad news," He said in a deep tone.

Damian’s heart skipped a beat as he slowly stood up. "What happened?"

"The funds attached to your father’s body donation will be exhausted in three days. After that, the hospital will no longer be able to deduct your mother’s treatment costs from that account." Doctor Humphrey explained carefully.

Damian stared at him with disbelieving shock. "How is that possible? You told us his blood type and DNA made the donation valuable for research. My father only agreed because the compensation would help pay for her treatment after he died."

"That was indeed the agreement at the time," Doctor Humphrey admitted with a nod.

Then, he sighed with lament. "However, new government restrictions have affected the pharmaceutical research arrangements that supported these programmes. The hospital has lost most of that funding."

Indeed, Damian had heard about the reforms.

The newly elected government had promised to curb abusive pharmaceutical practices and reduce the cost of medicine upon victory a few months ago.

Many people across the country had celebrated at the time, Damian included as he still believed the industry needed reform to help the truly needy.

He simply had not realized at the time that the people standing at the bottom would once again be the first crushed beneath the solution.

In the battle of politics, the first casualty will always be the people at the bottom.

In the end, Damian could only sigh weakly and unclench his fist. "So what options are available for me, Doc?"

"That’s the thing, both the hospital - and yourself I’m sure - were relying on the funds from this for the long term, so we’ve both been shafted and have no alternatives but to cover the cost ourselves." Doctor Humphrey revealed with a helpless shrug.

Okay, so that meant he was on his own and had to foot the bill in full after three days. Damian could understand that much after struggling in society for so many years, and his heart began to sink, for he feared what came next.

"And what is the current rate for her treatment? Per month I mean?" Damian asked the question he dreaded the most.

Doctor Humphrey hesitated, glanced at Damian, then down at his clipboard, then up at Damian again.

"Well... you’d have to pay... about $15,500." He said slowly, noting that Damian’s expression became bleak.

Fifteen grand a month... Damian was only paid $3,200 before tax, barely a fifth of what he needed to foot to cover his mother’s bill.

Even if he found part-time jobs to cover, he did not know how he was going to raise that money in just 3 days.

"You have insurance, some healthcare benefits for her due to her age and some beneficial statutory laws, but they only reduce it to about $9,400 per month." Doctor Humphrey added carefully, trying to give Damian some hope.

Damian breathed out deeply and nodded. "Thanks for the heads up, Doc. I’ll find a way to make the payment no matter what."

Doctor Humphrey nodded, though neither of them knew what that way could possibly be.

After performing a brief examination of Damian’s mother, he left the room.

Damian remained seated, staring at the wall.

Three days to find nine and a half grand...

His injured side throbbed with every heartbeat.

His father was already dead, his mother could not wake, and the company responsible for his injury had offered him a fraction of his medical costs in exchange for more labor.

Yet, the world still demanded another payment from him.

Suddenly, the young man’s phone began to vibrate.

Damian almost ignored it, but the name on the screen made him answer. "Hello, Marcus?"

"You’ve caused quite a mess upstairs, kid. That bitch Myra called me personally and threw a tantrum." his supervisor said.

His gruff voice came through beside the faint sound of an exhaled cigarette.

"She did, huh? Then you know what happened at the Third Warehouse, right?" Damian replied with a sigh.

Marcus chuckled grimly. "Heh, we all know what actually happened, and we also know what the company will admit happened. Those are different things."

Damian closed his eyes. "How much can I realistically get?"

Marcus went silent for a moment. "Through worker’s compensation, perhaps fifty to eighty thousand. Maybe more if the evidence holds up."

"Court... is another matter, kid. The company can drag a simple case out for years, and you don’t have the money to keep fighting their lawyers." Marcus spoke honestly, thinking about the evils he had seen over the years.

Fifty thousand dollars could cover several months of treatment, and while several months were not forever, they were enough time for him to try a few solutions out.

"Tell me what I need to do, and put me down for overtime tonight." Damian acquiesced after taking a deep breath.

Marcus was first pleased then puzzled. "Are you sure kid? Your injury ain’t small and you have only got some simple treatment done."

Damian’s tone became gloomy. "Don’t worry about it."

His voice left no room for argument.

Damian ended the call and sat beside his mother for another minute.

Then he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"Don’t worry, Mom. I’m still here." Damian whispered firmly.

Night had fallen by the time Damian returned to the industrial district.

Apex Meridian’s Third Warehouse complex remained brightly lit, its loading bays alive with the constant movement of trucks, machinery, and tired workers.

Goods continued entering and leaving the facility as though nothing had happened there the previous day.

Upon arrival, he clocked in for overtime, and saw some of his peers who were clocking out, glancing at him with awe.

Damian shook his head to their inquiries, not wanting to explain his personal situation, simply beginning to load the contents of pallet 3B onto the nearby parked truck.

The silence was pervasive at this time of night, and Damian soon began to sweat heavily in pain since his posture was completely incorrect. He couldn’t balance his weight and the weight of the items he loaded thanks to his injured ribs, his breathing rough and uneven.

However, the issue with his mother’s bills pushed him to keep going, because he was almost done with this pallet. Once done, that was an extra overtime payment of $120, which gave him the burst of energy to finish up his load.

When he pushed the final stack of canned drinks into the back of the truck, Damian smiled weakly, feeling triumphant. However, his body was far worse off than he thought, as a simple attempt to step out of the truck saw him slip and fall face first, his head connecting with the pavement in a terrifying ’crack’ sound.

The world, which had always seemed dark to him, now became completely black.

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