Darkness clung to him like a shroud.
The first thing Jim noticed was the silence.
Not the gentle silence of a quiet night, but the heavy, oppressive kind that pressed down on his chest like a weight. His eyes blinked open, and instead of the familiar glow of a ceiling bulb, he was met with cracked concrete above his head. Dust drifted lazily through the air like falling ash. Somewhere distant, faint groans of metal echoed, as if the world itself was alive and suffering.
Jim sat up slowly. His body ached, stiff as if it hadn't moved for days. When his hand brushed the floor, it came back coated in grime. His gaze swept the room. It wasn't a room, not really—it looked more like a bunker, hidden deep beneath the earth. Rusted pipes lined the walls. A single broken cot lay overturned, and mold crept across one corner of the cracked cement.
His lips trembled as he muttered, "Where the hell… am I?"
It didn't take long for memories to rush back. He remembered 2025. His cramped apartment. The endless job hunt. The growing chaos in the world above. And then… nothing. A blur, like his life had been unplugged. Now here he was, waking up in what could only be described as the post-apocalypse.
Jim staggered to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him, and he pressed a hand against the wall for support. The bunker smelled of rust and mold, but beneath it lingered something sharper—a faint metallic tang, like blood. His heart tightened.
A soft hum suddenly rang in his skull. Not in the air, but inside him.
[System Rebooting… Please Wait.]
Jim froze. His head whipped around instinctively, though no one was there. His breath caught in his throat.
[System Error Detected. Repairing Core Files…]
[Reconstruction Successful.]
[Welcome, User: Jim. Your survival chances are 0.0002%. Would you like to attempt anyway?]
Jim's mouth hung open. "Excuse me? Zero point zero zero zero two percent? What am I, a lottery ticket?"
The voice—or rather, the text—wasn't heard but felt. Clear, sharp, undeniable. He knew instantly this wasn't some hallucination.
"A system? Like… those novels?" His voice cracked, half hysterical. "Did I reincarnate into a webnovel world?!"
He wanted to laugh, but the tension in his chest made it come out as a wheeze. Of course, this would happen to him. Other protagonists got god-tier cheats. He got a system that told him he was practically guaranteed to die.
Jim's shoulders slumped. "Of course! Grandpa strikes again! The man couldn't steal candy without getting caught, but somehow he managed to smuggle his bad karma into my soul! Congratulations, old man—you've officially ruined two generations!
He shook his fist at the cracked ceiling as if his grandfather's ghost were floating above. The motion made dust rain into his eyes, and he coughed, sputtering. "Great. Just great. I'm alive in 2130, cursed by a dead convict, in a moldy basement that smells like rat pee. Truly, I am the luckiest man alive!"
The System didn't bother to answer his sarcasm.
Jim rubbed his temples and forced himself to breathe. Panicking wouldn't help. "Okay, okay. Calm down. This is… fine. Everything's fine. Just gotta figure out what's happening."
As if responding to his plea, faint thuds echoed above. Heavy. Mechanical. Each impact sent vibrations crawling down the bunker walls. Jim's stomach twisted.
The system chimed again.
[Detected: Metal Crawlers – Chaotic Constructs. Threat Level: 3. Estimated survival time if exposed: 14 seconds.]
Jim's face drained of color. "Fourteen seconds? Are you kidding me? That's not survival time, that's a death countdown!"
His eyes darted around, searching for anything useful. In the corner, half-buried under debris, lay a backpack. He lunged for it, tearing the zipper open. Inside were a few energy bars, a cracked canteen, and—thank the stars—a small dagger, its blade chipped but serviceable.
It wasn't much. Against robots the size of cars, it was nothing. But at least it was something.
The mechanical stomps above grew louder, then faded again. Jim didn't dare breathe until the sound was gone. His heart pounded like a drum.
When silence returned, he slumped against the wall, clutching the dagger. He'd never felt so powerless. Back in 2025, his biggest fear was failing to pay rent. Now? He could be squashed into paste by a passing hunk of metal.
The system flickered again.
[Initializing Tutorial Quest.]
[Quest: Survive for 24 Hours.]
[Reward: Basic Metal Talent Awakening.]
[Failure: Death.]
Jim gawked. "Wait—failure is just straight-up death? What kind of scam system are you?!"
Still, his eyes lingered on the reward. Metal Talent Awakening.
Back in his old world, metal was just the stuff used for spoons and skyscrapers. But here… if the rumors about these Awakeners he had heard whispered in this inherited body's fragmented memories were true… talents were humanity's only weapon against extinction.
Jim's lips curled into a shaky grin. "Fine. I'll play your stupid game. Survive for 24 hours? Piece of cake. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully."
He pushed himself up, dagger in hand. His legs still wobbled, but determination flickered in his eyes. He wasn't just Jim from 2025 anymore. He wasn't just some unlucky soul cursed by his jailbird grandfather. He had a System. Broken or not, it was his one edge in this nightmare.
And he'd be damned if he let himself die in the tutorial.
Jim clenched his fist. "Alright, world. Bring it on. I've survived unemployment, dating apps, and my mom's cooking. You think some robot cockroaches are gonna stop me? Not today."
Jim's bold declaration echoed in the bunker, but the silence that followed made him instantly regret it. He winced, pressing a finger to his lips as if to shush himself. "Brilliant, Jim. Real brilliant. Why not just scream, 'Hey, murder-bots, dinner's ready!' while you're at it?"
Still gripping the dagger, he crouched low and began scanning the bunker more carefully. If he was supposed to survive for twenty-four hours, he couldn't just sit in one spot waiting for luck to run out. He needed supplies, information, and—most importantly—somewhere safer than this cracked tomb.
The System's glow pulsed faintly in his mind again, like an invisible HUD only he could see.
[Tip: Stealth increases survival chances by 72%. Recommend: Silence.]
Jim rolled his eyes. "You don't say. What's next, advice like 'water is wet'? Thanks, Captain Obvious."
The sarcasm was comforting, though. If he stopped talking, even to himself, the silence might drive him mad.
In the far corner, hidden beneath a collapsed shelf, he spotted something metallic glinting faintly in the dim light. His pulse quickened. Maybe a weapon? Carefully, he knelt and dragged debris aside, coughing as dust choked the air.
It wasn't a weapon. It was a cracked helmet, its visor spiderwebbed with fractures. Jim picked it up, frowning. The inside still carried faint scorch marks. Whoever had worn it hadn't survived.
A cold chill settled over him.
He dropped the helmet and forced his gaze away. Dwelling on dead men wouldn't keep him alive.
The bag he'd found earlier yielded little else beyond crumbs of old food, but underneath it, his fingers brushed something strange. A panel. Thin, hidden in the floor.
He froze.
Slowly, he pressed. The panel clicked faintly, and a hidden compartment hissed open.
Inside was a notebook, old and worn, its pages yellowed. Scrawled handwriting filled the first few pages:
"The world was gone when Gen-64 was successful. The AI have claimed the cities, their Crawlers infest the ruins. Humanity hides in pockets underground. If you read this, you are in one of the abandoned shelters. Do not stay long. The Crawlers sniff out life."
Jim's throat tightened.
The notes went on, listing locations of safehouses, mentions of "Awakeners," and frantic warnings about infiltration. One line stood out:
"Trust no one who claims power without scars. The AI fear what they cannot control."
Jim swallowed hard. That line might as well have been written directly to him. If people knew about his System… they'd assume he was an AI spy.
He shoved the notebook into his backpack. "Great. So not only do I have to dodge robots, but I also can't trust people. Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
The System chimed again, as if mocking him.
[Reminder: Survive for 24 hours.]
[Time Remaining: 23:42:16]
Jim's lip twitched. "You've got to be kidding me. It's only been eighteen minutes?!"
He buried his face in his hands and groaned. This was going to be the longest day of his life.
But then—another sound. Not heavy stomps this time, but faint scratching. Claws against concrete. Jim's body went rigid.
He crept toward the stairwell leading up. The bunker door was thick steel, sealed tight, but through the cracks he saw a flicker of movement. A thin, spider-like limb scraping along the edge. Red light pulsed faintly from a bulbous body outside.
The System identified it instantly.
[Detected: Metal Crawler – Variant Drone. Threat Level: 1.]
Jim held his breath.
The scratching stopped. Silence stretched. Then the drone's body scuttled away into the distance.
Only when the sound fully faded did Jim allow himself to exhale. His legs gave out, and he sank against the wall, drenched in sweat.
"Fourteen seconds, my ass," he whispered shakily. "That thing looked like it eats nightmares for breakfast."
The System pulsed.
[Correction: Estimated survival time against Variant Drone is 27 seconds.]
Jim stared blankly. "…Oh wow. What an upgrade. Thank you, almighty toaster."
For a moment, he actually laughed—hysterical and short, but genuine. If he didn't laugh, he might break.
Slowly, he steadied himself. He couldn't stay here. The notebook had been clear. This place was abandoned for a reason. If the Crawlers sniffed out life, then it was only a matter of time before this bunker was swarmed.
Jim tightened his grip on the dagger.
"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Survive twenty-four hours. Step one: don't die in the next ten minutes. Step two: find somewhere humans actually live. Step three: pray my grandfather's curse doesn't make me trip into a robot's mouth."
With that, he adjusted the backpack, tucked the notebook securely inside, and crept toward the stairwell.
Above, the ruined world of 2130 waited for him.
And for the first time since waking, Jim felt something other than fear.
It was small, fragile, and reckless.
But it was hope.