[ WP ] A way to beat terminal diseases has been newly discovered . A suicidal person can `` exchange '' themselves to save a terminally ill patient from disease/death . The only requirement is they must meet face to face to agree beforehand .

`` So you're the one,'' he said. His bald head reflected the impersonal fluorescent glare of the hospital lighting. 
 
 I nodded. `` That's me,'' I said. 
 
 He smiled. It took effort, I could see that. The lines that aged him told a story as if his face was a page from a story that ended too soon. `` And you have nothing to live for?'' He asked, his breath escaping from his fading lungs; his voice incidental. 
 
 I shook my head. `` In honesty, I said, no. My story is n't the important one here. What about you? What do you live for?'' 
 
 `` I want,'' he started. His frail voice descended into a racking coughing fit. `` I want...'' 
 
 I offered him a glass of water and rubbed his back. `` It's OK,'' I said. `` I'm here.'' 
 
 `` I want to stop the White Genocide.'' 
 
 `` And I'm here to - wait, what?'' 
 
 He passed me the water back. `` Those damn blacks,'' he said. `` They're destroying the country. Someone has to stop them.'' 
 
 I stayed very still, hoping that maybe - just maybe - his vision was based on movement. It turned out it was n't. `` The... white genocide, you say?'' 
 
 `` You've only got to turn on the TV,'' he said. `` Go ahead. Turn it on. See the future that those fucking anti-white bastards have wrought upon us.'' 
 
 Dutifully, I turned on the TV. It was a re-run of Full House. I looked over at him, hoping he'd have changed his mind by now. 
 
 He waved a hand, aggressively. `` Change the channel.'' 
 
 I did. It was a Taylor Swift music video. 
 
 `` Again! ^stupidsonofabitch.'' 
 
 I did. 
 
 `` What's this?'' he asked. 
 
 `` Breaking Bad,'' I said. `` It's good. You should... should *have*... watched it.'' 
 
 He gestured at the screen. `` Who's he? The darkie?'' 
 
 `` I...'' I said. `` He's a drug dealer.'' 
 
 He snapped his fingers. `` Ah! Ha! See?'' 
 
 `` Yeah,'' I told him. `` But they kind of all are. It's probably not representative of whatever point you're trying to make.'' 
 
 A coughing fit. `` Forget the TV. You read the news?'' 
 
 `` Of course,'' I said. 
 
 He pointed a gnarled finger at me. `` You've seen them, then?'' 
 
 I nodded. `` I guess,'' I said. `` I mean... yeah. I've seen black people. On TV.'' 
 
 He looked satisfied. `` So you know what I'm talking about.'' 
 
 `` Not really,'' I said. `` No.'' 
 
 There was a moment of silence between us. It was uncomfortable, in that we were clearly at odds on this issue, but comfortable - in that he was n't fucking talking any more. 
 
 `` So...'' I said, eventually. `` I think I'm going to go.'' 
 
 `` You've found something?'' He asked. `` Something to live for?'' 
 
 I caught myself shaking my head before I even said anything. `` No,'' I said. `` I'm just... I'll try next door.'' 
 
 He coughed, spluttered, raged! `` Race traitor! Race traitor! You'll be sorry about this! I'll be back! You should know better. It's goddamn propaganda, filling your brain! You know who the good guy here is? You know who the good guy is?'' 
 
 I opened the door. `` Here? In this case? Yeah, dude. I know. It's cancer.''
