Arthur was sure he would choose to die if an apocalypse ever happened. He never understood why those MCs in novels would try so desperately to survive and suffer endlessly.
He'd consumed countless tales of desperate survivors, heroic last stands, and humanity's indomitable will, yet he found himself asking: why the struggle? Why cling to a world crumbling around you? When a particularly zealous colleague once asked him, "Arthur, what would you do if the world ended tomorrow?" he'd replied, without hesitation, "I'd probably be the first to go."
He meant it. He imagined himself simply lying down, letting the inevitable consume him. After all, what was there to fight for?
His life had always been a flatline. Four years of corporate drudgery had polished any remaining edges of excitement into a smooth, dull sheen. An orphan shuffled from one foster home to the next, he'd never had a consistent address, let alone a consistent friend. Hobbies? Passions? Those were luxuries for people with lives that had texture. His was a beige wall, stretching endlessly. The only reason he hadn't ended it himself was a simple, inconvenient truth: he was too scared to die.
Tonight was no different. The fluorescent hum of the office had finally given way to the oppressive silence of the empty streets. Another soul-crushing overtime shift, another unfulfilled evening stretching before him. He kicked a loose pebble, watching it skitter into the gutter, a tiny, meaningless trajectory. Just like his own.
Then, a [DING!] echoed not in the air, but directly in his skull, vibrating against his very thoughts. A shimmering, translucent blue screen flickered into existence directly in front of him, hovering impossibly in the empty air.
> [Welcome, User. The System has integrated.]
> [Earth Protocol: 'Survival of the Fittest' initiated.]
> [Dungeons will appear. Monsters will descend. Challenges will arise.]
> [Survive. Kill. Gain Coins. Adapt or Perish.]
> [Your personal status window can be accessed by thought command: 'Status.']
Arthur blinked. He poked at the blue screen, his finger passing through it as if it were a mirage. "What...?" he mumbled, his voice flat. He'd seen weirder things in his sleep-deprived delirium. Was this some elaborate prank? A new AR game he hadn't heard of?
Before he could process the sheer unreality of it, a deafening crack rent the sky. The very fabric of the heavens seemed to tear open, revealing not stars, but a swirling vortex of sickening green and black. And then they poured out – grotesque, multi-limbed creatures, shrieking and clawing as they descended. Simultaneously, the ground began to ripple, cracks appearing as if an invisible hand was squeezing the planet, and from those fissures, shambling, rotten figures began to claw their way out.
Arthur's eyes widened, a rare jolt of genuine, primal shock momentarily overriding his usual numbness. This wasn't some fantasy novel. This was real. Screams erupted from distant buildings, quickly turning into gurgles. People, moments ago enjoying their mundane evenings, scattered like desperate ants, their cries of terror sharp against the monstrous roars. Chaos, sudden and absolute, swallowed the city.
Then, the shock faded, replaced by something else. Not fear, but a profound, almost weary recognition. Oh. This was happening. And with that realization, his earlier thought solidified. He didn't want to suffer.
Arthur stood perfectly still. He watched it all unfold, a detached observer at the end of the world. Monsters devouring screaming humans, buildings collapsing, the sky bleeding green light. He felt… nothing. No fear, no panic, not even a flicker of curiosity. Just a profound, almost weary recognition.
This was it. The end.
A guttural snarl ripped him from his thoughts. A shambling, decaying figure, unmistakably a zombie, lurched towards him, its vacant eyes fixed on his unmoving form. It extended rotting fingers, a low growl rumbling in its chest.
Arthur simply closed his eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "Finally," he whispered, a strange sense of relief washing over him. "A fair fight."