Washington D.C.
19:44 EDT
The president of the United States sat at his desk, signing papers he barely understood. The summer heat made it hard to concentrate, the room thick and stifling.
His phone started ringing. He ignored it.
But it kept ringing. Louder. Sharper. The sound crawled into his ears like a living thing. He tried to focus on the papers. The ringing climbed, a pitch beyond reason. His hands shook. He pressed earplugs in and waited, stubborn.
Then silence.
He smirked. Whoever had called would think he hadn't heard. He went back to signing.
And then it began again — higher this time. Impossible. The sound didn't just fill the room; it filled his skull. His eyes ached. His teeth rattled. He tried to speak, called for his assistant, but no sound came out. His voice didn't exist anymore.
Grayness crept over him. His vision failed, then his hearing, then the faint thrum of touch. He felt as if he were unravelling, every sense folding in on itself. The world didn't vanish — he did.
Until there was nothing.