The white void stretched infinitely in all directions, yet time itself seemed to hold its breath. Those who had been transported here were, for the moment, alone with their thoughts. Some of them were already making decisions, others hesitating, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the situation.
---
"I wish for 10 billion dollars."
The words tumbled out before the man in the dishevelled business suit could stop them. His brow furrowed with impatience, hands still fidgeting at his sides as he stared at the screen. Years of living paycheck to paycheck, of mounting debts and a crumbling life—it all weighed on him like a ton of bricks. Why overthink it? The answer was obvious.
"Granted."
The screen flickered briefly before vanishing. Silence. He blinked, heart racing with anticipation, but nothing changed. Not his clothes, not the void, not even the crushing weight in his chest. He scowled and shook his head, wondering if he'd misunderstood what he'd just done.
---
Tears welled in her eyes as she faced the floating screen. The woman in her late twenties had been battling chronic pain for years—constant, unrelenting agony that stole her sleep and joy. The thought of it finally fading away consumed her thoughts entirely.
"I wish... I wish for no more pain. Ever."
Her voice trembled with desperate hope.
"Granted."
A flash, then nothing. The screen disappeared entirely, leaving her motionless in the endless white. She waited for relief to flood through her, for the familiar ache to dissipate. Seconds stretched into minutes. Nothing changed. Just quiet, endless white. Hope crumbled into confusion and anxiety, but she had already made her wish. No turning back now.
---
The young man stood frozen, unkempt hair falling across his nervous face. Jeans and hoodie wrinkled from whatever chaos had brought him here. Crisis after crisis—that's all his life had ever been. One disaster barely resolved before the next crashed down. But here, in this impossible place, maybe he'd found his way out.
His words came out in a rush: "Just... I just want things to be easy. No more struggles. Ever. Please."
"Granted."
The screen blinked out of existence without ceremony. Heart pounding, he waited for something—anything—to change. Like the others before him, there was nothing. The void remained unchanged, and panic began clawing at his chest. Regret twisted in his stomach, but the wish was done.
---
She didn't even realize her hand was moving.
The middle-aged woman stared at the screen through exhausted eyes, her face pale and drawn from years of sleepless nights. Heavy bags under her eyes told the story of endless responsibilities, of juggling more than anyone should have to bear. She'd been running on fumes for so long, never able to catch up, never able to rest.
"I wish for my life to be perfect. For everything to just be... easy. No more chaos."
The words came out flat, almost involuntary. She was too tired for hope, too worn down for excitement.
"Granted."
Stillness. The screen flickered once and vanished, leaving her in the same empty space she'd started in. She sighed deeply—not disappointed, exactly. She'd expected this somehow. The void remained, and silence filled her with a creeping sense of dread that felt terrifyingly familiar.
---
Meanwhile, Dr. Samuel Keaton observed his surroundings with scientific precision. Unlike the others, he hadn't rushed toward his floating screen. His mind was still processing the implications of what he'd witnessed in the facility—the readings, the alarms, the catastrophic failure of years of work.
The screen hovered patiently before him, unmoving, waiting. Samuel pulled himself from his analysis of recent events. Whatever had happened before, understanding this current situation took priority.
Reading the two lines of text repeatedly, he considered possibilities and consequences. The others had acted on impulse, making snap decisions. Samuel recognized the luxury and burden of his scientific training—the need to gather data before drawing conclusions. What were the variables here? What was he truly bargaining for?
Centering himself with a deep breath, he began his inquiry. For humanity's sake, for the world's sake, for his own sake—he needed answers before committing to anything irreversible.
"Where am I? What is this place?"
The screen flickered as a voice responded—calm, measured, cryptic.
"This is the Wishing Room. A place for choices. Your decision will shape your future and the future of your race."
Samuel's analytical mind immediately grabbed onto key phrases.
Return to the world—implying this was separate from reality.
Your decision will shape the future—a singular decision with potentially massive consequences. Was this a simulation? An alien intervention? A psychological breakdown?
None of that mattered right now. He needed more information. He wasn't making a wish without understanding the rules of engagement.