It was hot.
Not the weather. Just… him. His head.
His cap clung to his scalp like someone had poured sweat down the back of his neck and glued it there. Every few seconds, he pulled at the rim like it might help. It didn't. Neither did wiping his hand on his jeans—sweat came back the second after.
Too many deliveries to complete today like some guys went on delivery rampage
"Okay…" He stared at the address again. "Building B. 42."
The GPS flickered between B42 and B44. He stepped closer to the building in front of him. No number. No buzzer. Just a cracked brown door with peeling black tape across the top. The kind of building you walk faster past at night.
He raised a hand to knock. Stopped. Looked around.
No one. Just street noise, far away. A siren in the wrong direction.
He knocked.
Nothing.
"Hello?" he called.
No answer.
He reached for the handle.
It turned. Cold metal. Smooth. That's what made him pause. This building was filthy. Glass broken in one window. Paint bubbling off the wall like burnt paper. But the door handle? Clean. Like it had been polished this morning.
He stepped in.
—
The hall smelled like wet stone and plastic bags. The kind that stick to your foot if you kick them wrong. Light flickered above—cheap fluorescent. But it wasn't buzzing. No sound. Just flickering.
He moved slow.
Something about the hallway made his spine itch. Like it was too narrow. Or tilted. Or longer than it looked.
There was only one door inside.
A black one.
No label. No peephole. Just a small metal slit near the bottom like someone had ripped off a mail flap halfway.
He knocked once.
It opened without a sound.
—
A man stood there.
Grey suit. Not fancy. Just… Ironed and neat. Someone with a respectable profession. Like someone had ironed it without a person inside
"You're early," the man said.
His voice was completely normal. That was the weirdest part. It was the kind of voice you hear behind you in line at the bank.
"Package for—uh—" He glanced at the slip. "E. N. Gate."
The man nodded.
"Do you need me to sign?"
"Yes, actually," the man said.
Then he turned and walked deeper into the room.
He hesitated.
The room beyond was empty. No furniture. Just a chair. And a table with a single paper on it. Pen beside it.
He stepped in.
Something pressed on his ears the second he crossed the threshold. A low hum, like a freezer motor trapped inside a wall.
The man gestured at the table. "Name, time, and seal."
"Seal?" he asked.
The man didn't answer. Just looked at his hand like he was checking what time it was, calm, not bored . Just… like a receptionist who's had a long day but doesn't mind one more person.
He walked to the table.
It was just a paper.
But the moment his eyes touched it, something… slipped.
Name: ___________
Time: [August 1, 2025, 2:13 PM]
Seal: ARMAGEDDON
Class: [UNREGISTERED]
Task: Survive for as long as you can (if you can)
His fingers twitched.
He looked up.
The man was gone.
The room was empty.
"What the—"
He turned back to check if there were any cameras recording the 'prank'.
None
He dropped the pen.
Tried to move—
The innocent paper stared back up at him.
And his name was already filled in.
He hadn't written it. He was sure. But it was there.
Name: Vorn
He took a step back. Then another.
But the floor—
The floor was—
Wait. This wasn't the same floor. The concrete was darker. There were marks on it. Scratches. Dried—
No.
No, this wasn't the room anymore.
The table was gone.
The walls were gone.
There was something moving in the corner of the unfamiliar place he was in.
And cold air was pouring through the cracks in his skull.
He turned—fast—too fast—
And fell.
The ground hit his shoulder. Then his cheek. The air was damp. Moldy. And something was breathing in the dark.
Not him.
No it's just fear of darkness... probably
---
He opened his eyes.
No… someone else opened them.
He felt them. Wide like it was forced open, like he wasn't ready.
The light was dim, blue-ish. But not real light. It pulsed like a screen.
He tried to lift his head.
It moved like his neck wasn't his. Like it had been used by someone else yesterday, and now he was trying it on.
A voice inside him whispered: Don't look down.
He looked.
There was writing on his skin.
Glowing. Just faintly. Like it was part of him.
[SEAL: ARMAGEDDON – INITIATED]
[TIME REMAINING: 00:00:59]
No interface.
No system voice.
Just that.
A countdown.
—
"Is this a game?" he muttered.
No answer but the breathing across the room paused
The countdown hit 00:00:43.
Then—
A footstep.
—
He froze.
One hand curled instinctively into a fist. The other reached behind him. His fingers touched stone. Cold. And…
A card?
No. Paper. Thick. Rough edges. It stuck to his hand like it wanted to be there, he brought it up with his shaky hands
There was no writing.
But a mark appeared.
🩸
Just that.
Then it burned.
His palm. The heat bit like a hot nail jammed into flesh. He dropped the card—but it didn't fall.
It vanished.
The mark stayed.
And across the room—
The breathing turned to laughter.