4:34 PM
A somber evening blanketed a city in one of the eastern states of Uncle Sam's nation. The sky looked furious, gray clouds hanging low, rolling slowly like they were holding back tears that could fall at any moment.
A light drizzle had begun, wetting the sidewalks and store windows. People hurried for shelter—slipping into cafés, bus stops, or anything with a roof. The biting cold in the air only confirmed one thing: this wasn't the right time for a stroll.
And yet, one man walked on.
No umbrella. No raincoat. Only a soaked black hoodie clinging to a tall, lean frame. Each step was lazy, almost defiant, as though he alone had no reason to hurry. His name was Eryon Cain—twenty-five years old, brilliant on paper, broken in practice.
A degree in computer engineering. A GPA so high it once drew admiring looks from professors. But talent without fortune was a cruel joke. Just half an hour ago, his inbox had delivered another execution notice:
"We appreciate your contributions, but due to restructuring, your employment is terminated. Effective immediately."
No severance. No apologies worth believing. No hope.
It wasn't the first time—this was the eighth in two years. He hadn't been lazy, he hadn't stirred trouble, he hadn't failed his work. On the contrary, one supervisor had once whispered, "If I could pay you from my own pocket, I would." But loyalty couldn't fight collapsing markets.
Dedication couldn't shield against a nation choking on its own debts.
Eryon wasn't dismissed because he lacked value. He was dismissed because his country had forgotten how to value people.
After the third wave of the pandemic hit last year, followed by a trade war that showed no signs of ending, inflation skyrocketed like a missile. Prices of essentials surged. Interest rates climbed. But salaries? They stayed right where they were.
Worse yet, while its own people struggled to pay rent and watched the price of milk double in a month, the government, with a wide smile, sent billions of dollars in "humanitarian and regional stability aid" to another nation. A country most citizens probably couldn't even point to on a map.
And Eryon?
He was the perfect portrait of a so-called "future of the nation", smart, disciplined, hardworking, but not lucky enough to be born into a family with boardroom connections or a retired general holding shares in a multi-million enterprise.
No parents. No siblings. No safety net.
Eryon had no one. His life was the sum of tireless effort and fading dreams, worn down by reality like stone eroded by the sea.
He had even considered moving to another country, trying his luck elsewhere. But the bitter truth was, the world wasn't a welcoming place anymore for those chasing hope.
The global economy was at its lowest point since the Second Energy War two decades ago. Countries were slapping sanctions on each other. Trade alliances collapsed. Natural resources were fought over like water in a desert. One small nation in the east had even fallen, not to war, but to its own people, who stormed the palace, overthrew the government, and took control.
That collapse had inspired a wave of populist uprisings across the globe, adding chaos on top of chaos.
A way out? There wasn't one.
The world was slowly melting down, and Eryon stood right in the middle of it, unprotected, directionless.
His steps finally slowed at an empty stretch of sidewalk, the city slowly freezing around him under the falling rain. Towering buildings loomed on all sides, their glass reflecting the dull glow of flickering streetlights.
The night wind carried the scent of exhaust fumes, wet concrete, and collective exhaustion. The drizzle no longer fazed him. His thin hoodie was soaked through, clinging tightly to his lean frame.
His eyes were blank.
He stared straight ahead, but his thoughts were far from here.
Until they landed on something across the street, a small corner store. Its light still glowed faintly, the front window cluttered with a mix of goods and faded posters.
And there, among old wooden shelves and barely-hanging discount signs, his eyes caught something familiar.
A coil of rope.
Hung neatly, bundled tight, as if waiting.
Eryon stared at it for a long moment. And in that dense silence, his mind started forming something it hadn't dared to say out loud.
But just then... the world shifted.
A blue light sparked right in front of his face, forming intricate geometric patterns in the air, like a hologram dropped from the sky, blocking his view of the world he was about to leave behind.
[YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED]
Eryon didn't react.
His eyes stayed dim, unmoving. He assumed it was just a final hallucination, the last flicker of a mind pushed to the edge.
But then...
Noise erupted around him.
Gasps. Whispers. Shouts of disbelief.
He turned his head slowly, and his eyes widened.
Everyone on the street... was seeing the same thing.
The blue holograms hovered in front of each person. No one understood what it meant, but everyone could read the same message:
[YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED]
[SYNCHRONIZATION INITIATED…]
[PREPARE FOR INITIAL PHASE: "THE OPENING"]
[IN A FEW SECONDS, YOU WILL BE TRANSFERRED TO THE WORLD OF 'OBLIVION ARK']
And for the first time in a very long while, Eryon didn't feel alone.
But more importantly...
He felt alive.
Somehow, the world had just given him a reason to stay that way.
The golden light grew, wrapping around him—around everyone. It shimmered like dawn breaking through storm clouds.
Then came the screams. A final, desperate chorus of confusion and fear.
And then—
Pure silence.
Billions of people, gone, just like that.