"Spare change, mister? No? Okay then, have a nice day. Missy, would you be so kind as to spare me your change? You have a boyfriend? Well congrats, hope your date goes well I guess."

  Such has been the life of Edwin Sung for the past 5 years, a lifestyle forced upon him ever since his partnership with his college friend ended in... Less than favorable terms. They were in the midst of perhaps revolutionizing the medical field - a clone bay capable of regenerating entire bodies as long as a backup copy of the patient's consciousness is present.

  It would make any terminal disease treatable by simply generating an identical, healthy body in a lab and transferring the patient's consciousness to there, aging could be reversed by implanting the mind of an old man into the body of a younger man, any physical change to the body would be instantly doable instead of requiring complex, lengthy surgeries.

  With this technology, Sung and his partner would've been instant Nobel Prize laureates.

  That is, had the research been made public. Instead, when Sung finished the last touches of the clone pod in the wee hours of the morning and went to sleep, his partner saw the opportunity, took the clone bay out for "demonstration and clinical trials", and left without a trace.

  Debt that was supposed to be paid after they commercialized their clone pod were now right outside his lab door demanding instant payment. All of the money went into the pod, and there was but a couple of cents inside Sung's bank account. It was all in or nothing, and now, there is nothing.

  Sung's lab was foreclosed and his assets seized, and without a job nor a place willing to hire him, he was forced to make the streets his new home.

  Sung hasn't heard from his former lab partner ever since. Not his research, nor his pod. Gone, like the wind. He was one step away from global recognition, but now he's just another hobo on the streets begging for money. It's as if Sung's life's gone full circle.

  In a world where hardware and low level programming was done by AI, he - an expert specifically and only on those two subjects - was someone the world didn't need. But for a moment, when his former lab partner reached out for his help with logic chips and low-level code no other AI could make work, he thought that his time finally came.

  And where did that lead him? Back to nothingness.

  As usual, after trying the bare minimum to beg for change, he slumped back into the shadows behind a dumpster in a dark, damp alley. Despite connected to a vibrant, bustling main street, this monochromatic, quiet alleyway and its decrepit hermit provide a stark contrast to the busy neon streets filled with lively teenagers with esoteric implants followed by adults with eye or brain augments and elders with hip and spine replacements.

  Despite advances in medical technology such as cybernetic implants and even nanomachines, mortality continues to be an inconvenience that plagues humanity. Sure, modern healthcare can extend one's life to 200, maybe 300 years, but the quality of life would be so low they'd rather be dead already.

  If only he didn't steal all of the research.

  Oh well. There's no point thinking about that now. What's done is done, that's what they all say right? Stop being so stuck in the past and look towards the bright future.

  Let's hear them say that again after they got their past 10 or so years of research stolen from right under their noses.

  I wouldn't be here if moving on is so easy. I'm past my prime already, while young and upstarting researchers get poached by companies the instant they step out of college, old men like me gets the cold shoulder treatment.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  That was what ran though Sung's mind every day. Despite newfound biomedical technologies and lengthened lifespans, people in their 40s and a huge resume gap of 15 years are usually not even worth a consideration by recruiters - ironically the majority of which are well over 90 years old - who favor the younger people over them.

  Out on the main street, an unusually large amount of couples are out and about. There were high school couples madly in love with each other, flirting in public like it's nobody's business. Even elderly couples who usually just stay in their homes and do whatever old people do came out to have a little walk, reminiscing about their own teenage days while looking at the youngsters smooch and hug.

  It's Christmas, after all.

  Love do be in the air, and by contrast Sung's shadow became ever the more lonely. Not that he cares, Christmas or not.

  Sung rummaged through the neighboring dumpster for leftover food, change, and other trash that might come in handy for him as per usual. Winter winds are harsh, and his usual coat got stolen by a drunken hobo last year.

  Half eaten rotisserie chicken, nice.

  Wrapping paper, seems a bit early isn't it?

  Dead corpse of a robot dog, it probably had a nice run.

  While he was going through the reeking pile of garbage though, a strangely intact and clean leaflet caught his eye.

  "Are YOU incapable of finding a job?" The leaflet read, in a tone obviously mocking whoever the reader was. In this case, Sung, who got hit by it like a truck.

  For a moment, Sung understood what women felt when being called flat.

  "This can't be anything good anyways." Sung muttered to himself as he balled up the leaflet. He dived into the dumpster once again, only to find another one.

  "A deadbeat hindrance to society that lives off of others' tax- " The second line read, but Sung tore it apart before he read the entire sentence. "Must've been some kid's idea of a prank." He wondered out loud.

  Though the writing style gave him a feeling of deja vu, Sung shrugged it off. It's just got a hint of mesugaki to it, there are lots of them around the world.

  Third time's the charm, as he dove into the dumpster one last time, and finally, after all the effort he's put into, found a third identical leaflet. "-with our INNOVATIVE mind-cloning technology-" read the third line.

  Cloning... cloning? Nobody else in the world had even come close to cloning technology when Sung and his lab partner were trailblazing down this entirely new field of bioengineering, and yet just 5 short years later this unknown scientist is claiming to have the means of cloning the consciousness of a human?

  No, nobody could do what Sung was about to finish after 10 years of gruelling overtime and investment seeking.

  Nobody.

  Except, perhaps...

  That realization was the final straw that broke the camel's back, the final peanut to lay a severely allergic person 6 foot under. At this moment, veins popping out of his temple, Sung didn't need a coat anymore.

  After 5 years, this son of a female canine finally decided to resurface. The origin of all of his current woes, the bane of his life, is now "cordially inviting you to our test facility". Sung just couldn't pass this up.

  Finally, he is one step closer to the truth behind his partner's disappearance, once he infiltrates the facility, he'll work his way up, get back his research, and ride into the sunset, that's what he'll do.

  He rummaged around his pockets and his bags that're strewn all over the roadside territory he's been occupying for the past half a decade, and managed to just barely pull out enough coins for an envelope and some stamps.

  He wettened the glue with his spit (something the pedestrians looked at with utter disgust), and with a pen he picked up on the curb he wrote down his name- actually no, scratch that - a made-up name, his address, and his gender, before slotting it down the rusty mailbox at a run down post office just around the corner.

  Barely anyone comes to send and receive mail nowadays, and the entire place was run by a single baggy old man with a spectacular handlebar mustache. "Tough times eh, young man?" The old man croaked as Sung was about to slide in his letter, "I'm sure you'll get through this, I've been through countless ups and downs but I'm still alive and kicking! Heh, heh."

  "Anywho, Merry Christmas!" The old man tried to flex his withered biceps, but all that amounted to was showing more baggy skin. A long and awkward silence ensued.

  With the letter sent, Sung dragged his feet back to his usual canopy. He thought about the leaflet again. For all he knew it could be just some random scientist's experiment, or it might just be fake altogether, and when he counted his odds of actually meeting his lab partner once again, he realized the assumption was a bit too far fetched.

  Still, the form is in, the letter will be on its way shortly, there's no turning back already. He flipped to the other side and tried to sleep.

  It has to be that guy.

  It has to be.