4:34 PM
A somber evening blanketed a city in one of the eastern states of Uncle Sam's nation. The sky looked furious, gray clouds hanging low, rolling slowly like they were holding back tears that could fall at any moment.
A light drizzle had begun, wetting the sidewalks and store windows. People hurried for shelter—slipping into cafés, bus stops, or anything with a roof. The biting cold in the air only confirmed one thing: this wasn't the right time for a stroll.
Yet one figure kept walking, moving against the flow of the crowd. No raincoat, no umbrella—just a black hoodie and long, lazy strides. The young man stood about 6'3", his black hair slightly messy and soaked, with a vacant expression that screamed of drained spirit.
Eryon Cain.
Twenty-five years old. A computer engineering graduate from a state university with a GPA high enough to raise eyebrows from professors. But unfortunately, a sharp mind wasn't always enough to guarantee a smooth life.
Just thirty minutes ago, he had received a brief email from his workplace:
"We appreciate your contributions, but with heavy hearts, we must let you go due to budget restructuring. Effective immediately."
No severance pay. No bonus. No sugarcoating. Nothing.
This was the eighth time he'd been laid off in the past two years since graduation. Not because he was lazy, late, or stirred up drama in the office. In fact, his last supervisor once told him, "If I could pay you from my own pocket, I would."
The problem wasn't Eryon. The problem was this country's crumbling economy.
After the third wave of the pandemic hit last year—followed by a trade war that showed no signs of ending—inflation skyrocketed like a missile. Prices of essentials surged. Interest rates climbed. But salaries? They stayed right where they were.
Worse yet, while its own people struggled to pay rent and watched the price of milk double in a month, the government, with a wide smile, sent billions of dollars in "humanitarian and regional stability aid" to another nation. A country most citizens probably couldn't even point to on a map.
And Eryon?
He was the perfect portrait of a so-called "future of the nation"—smart, disciplined, hardworking, but not lucky enough to be born into a family with boardroom connections or a retired general holding shares in a state-owned enterprise.
No parents. No siblings. No safety net.
Eryon had no one. His life was the sum of tireless effort and fading dreams, worn down by reality like stone eroded by the sea.
He had even considered moving to another country—trying his luck elsewhere. But the bitter truth was, the world wasn't a welcoming place anymore for those chasing hope.
The global economy was at its lowest point since the Second Energy War two decades ago. Countries were slapping sanctions on each other. Trade alliances collapsed. Natural resources were fought over like water in a desert. One small nation in the east had even fallen—not to war, but to its own people, who stormed the palace, overthrew the government, and took control.
That collapse had inspired a wave of populist uprisings across the globe—adding chaos on top of chaos.
A way out? There wasn't one.
The world was slowly melting down, and Eryon stood right in the middle of it, unprotected, directionless.
His steps finally slowed at an empty stretch of sidewalk, the city slowly freezing around him under the falling rain. Towering buildings loomed on all sides, their glass reflecting the dull glow of flickering streetlights.
The night wind carried the scent of exhaust fumes, wet concrete, and collective exhaustion. The drizzle no longer fazed him. His thin hoodie was soaked through, clinging tightly to his lean frame.
His eyes were blank.
He stared straight ahead, but his thoughts were far from here.
Until they landed on something across the street—a small corner store. Its light still glowed faintly, the front window cluttered with a mix of goods and faded posters.
And there—among old wooden shelves and barely-hanging discount signs—his eyes caught something familiar.
A coil of rope.
Hung neatly, bundled tight, as if waiting.
Eryon stared at it for a long moment. And in that dense silence, his mind started forming something it hadn't dared to say out loud.
But just then... the world shifted.
A blue light sparked right in front of his face, forming intricate geometric patterns in the air—like a hologram dropped from the sky, blocking his view of the world he was about to leave behind.
[YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED]
Eryon didn't react.
His eyes stayed dim, unmoving. He assumed it was just a final hallucination, the last flicker of a mind pushed to the edge.
But then...
Noise erupted around him.
Gasps. Whispers. Shouts of disbelief.
He turned his head slowly—and his eyes widened.
Everyone on the street... was seeing the same thing.
The blue holograms hovered in front of each person. No one understood what it meant, but everyone could read the same message:
[YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED]
[SYNCHRONIZATION INITIATED…]
[PREPARE FOR INITIAL PHASE: "THE OPENING"]
[IN A FEW SECONDS, YOU WILL BE TRANSFERRED TO THE WORLD OF 'OBLIVION ARK']
And for the first time in a very long while, Eryon didn't feel alone.
But more importantly...
He felt alive.
And somehow, the world had just given him a reason to stay that way.
The golden light grew, wrapping around him—around everyone. It shimmered like dawn breaking through storm clouds.
Then came the screams. A final, desperate chorus of confusion and fear.
And then—
Pure silence.
Billions of people—gone, just like that.