5:00 PM
A boy with jet-black hair and eyes sat eagerly watching the news, his gaze locked onto the screen as reports of riots filled the broadcast. The headline below the reporter confirmed it: Another nation falls into chaos. And now, the world faces the terrifying possibility World War IV is on the table.
He smiled faintly, eyes drifting toward the clock as if waiting for something.
Then, turning back, he asked his butler,
"Where are my parents now?"
The butler forced a smile.
"They'll be back at six, sir Miguel."
But behind that smile, he hid deep worry. He glanced again at the headline.
Miguel's parents were no ordinary couple—they were renowned inventors, creators of everything from cutting-edge robots to advanced weapons. And the butler knew: if the threat was real, they wouldn't be coming home anytime soon.
He looked again at the young boy, patiently waiting to spend time with his family something so simple, so ordinary. Then suddenly, his phone buzzed.
He read the message.
His face went pale.
In a flash of panic, he grabbed the boy from the sofa.
Miguel blinked, confused.
"What's happening?"
The butler didn't explain everything.
"We must go. Now. To the bunker, young master. It's not safe here."
In the background, a bomb alert began to wail.
As they rushed through the long hallway, Miguel clung to his butler's coat, voice trembling:
"Is the war starting?"
The butler glanced out the window and there it was.
A missile.
No.
A nuclear bomb.
It was coming straight for them.
He tightened his grip around Miguel and replied, softly but firmly,
"Yes, it is... but don't worry. Me, your mama, and papa we'll make sure you're protected. I promise."
Ahead of them the bunker door.
Open.
With no time left, the butler threw the boy iside and shouted at the system:
"Close it! Now!"
[SYSTEM: Command accepted. Locking in progress.]
Miguel cried out:
"No! Wait!"
Through the narrowing gap, he saw his butler's face calm, satisfied, relieved. He had done his duty. The child he had sworn to protect was safe.
SLAM.
The door sealed shut.
The system locked.
Then
BOOM.
The ground shook violently.
Miguel pounded on the door, screaming and calling the only one who'd been there for him.
"Who's going to take care of me now? Who's going to tell me when they're coming home?"
He cried. And cried. Until his body gave in.
Hours passed. The silence swallowed him.
He looked up, barely conscious. The clock now read:
6:30 PM
Night had fallen.
Another violent tremor shook the bunker.
Miguel didn't flinch this time. Too tired. Too broken.
Above him, a crack in the ceiling damaged from the first impact split open.
A piece came loose.
Pak.
He fell to the ground.
And then
He saw something.
Polished shoes.
That familiar voice:
"Tsk tsk, young master. It's cold. Let's get you to bed."
Miguel smiled faintly…
And drifted into slumber.