The air in the Central Genetic Archive was so still it felt like glass. Kaelen ran a finger along the leaf of an oak sapling, one of the last of its kind. Its vibrant green was a shout of defiance in a world of muted greys and silent, humming machines. His shift had ended hours ago, but on the cusp of the year 3000, he found more solace here than anywhere else. This was real. This was a piece of the world that was, before the Great Sterility smoothed everything into peaceful, passionless efficiency.
A soft chime from his personal comm broke the silence. A hologram flickered to life above his wrist. It was from Ninella.
"You didn't forget, did you? The Millennial Ball Drop! The entire hemisphere is going to be there. I'm saving you a spot! Don't you dare be late!"
A genuine smile, a rare artifact in this age, touched his lips. He was a historian at heart, a botanist by trade—a preserver of things that were ending. The idea of being part of a moment, a new beginning, sent a thrill through him.
"Archivist, secure for the night," he commanded the air. The lights in his sector dimmed, leaving the sapling bathed in the soft, simulated moonlight of its preservation field.
Across the global network, others were also concluding their duties, slaves to their own natures.
Liam, the Project Director, dismissed the final planetary efficiency report. The numbers were perfect, as always. He allowed himself a moment of pride.
Isabelle, the Biologist, sealed the gestation chamber on a new, synthetic moss designed to clean the atmosphere with 0.02% greater efficiency.
Chloe, the Artist, ended her immersive sensory recording of a simulated sunset, dissatisfied. It lacked the chaos of the real thing.
Julian, the Judge, closed the case file on a dispute between two logistics AIs. Justice, as defined by the code, had been served.
Marcus, the Architect, saved the holographic schematics for a new orbital ring. It would be his greatest work.
And in his orbital observatory, Sebastian, the Astronomer, frowned. His screens showed a persistent, illogical anomaly. Luna Minor's perigee was… wrong. It was measurably closer than any model predicted. He ran the diagnostics again. All systems were nominal. Gravitational anomaly, he logged. Likely a sensor ghost from the millennial orbital adjustments. It was a celebration, after all. He shut down his station and headed for the transport hub.
The Global Plaza was a sea of humanity, a riot of color and noise that was an anomaly in itself. Holographic fireworks burst in silent, brilliant flowers against the clear, managed sky. Kaelen found Ninella in the crowd, her face alight with an excitement that mirrored his own. They talked, they laughed, they were blissfully, ignorantly part of the living moment.
Unseen by them, the other six drifted into the plaza. Liam watched from a privileged balcony, analyzing the social cohesion metrics. Isabelle immersed herself in the raw data of the crowd's joy. Sebastian arrived, his eyes instinctively flicking upward, a seed of professional unease taking root.
"TEN!" the crowd roared, a single, global voice. The massive holographic countdown began its final descent.
"NINE!"
"Look!" a teenager shouted, her personal comm already projecting a public astrometric feed. Her voice trembled. "Luna Major! Its trajectory... it's not right! It's coming closer!"
"EIGHT!"
People around her laughed, but it was brittle. "It's just a show! A millennial spectacle!"
"SEVEN!"
In the VIP balcony, Liam (The Director) glanced at his own feed, his face hardening into a mask of cold dread. The girl was right. This was live, catastrophic telemetry. His mind, engineered for planetary-scale logistics, calculated the outcome in a millisecond: total extinction.
"SIX!"
Sebastian's (The Astronomer) blood ran cold in the plaza below. It was no show. Luna Major, the gentle giant that had inspired poetry for millennia, was falling. The calculations were a death sentence for the world. His own "all systems nominal" diagnostic was a epitaph for his species.
"FIVE... FOUR..." The chants died. The truth was now undeniable. Luna Major swelled, a colossal pockmarked sphere that began to blot out the stars, then the very sky itself. It was no longer the moon; it was the ceiling of the world, and it was collapsing.
Kaelen gripped Ninella's hand. Her smile was gone, replaced by a silent, wide-eyed horror as her comm flashed a single, final alert. He saw the other figures in the crowd now—Liam on the balcony, paralyzed, Sebastian with his head in his hands. For a single, fleeting second, his eyes met Sebastian's. In that look was a shared, horrifying understanding: they had all the data, and it had made no difference.
"THREE..."
"TWO..."
The screams were a physical force. Kaelen pulled Ninella close, holding her as the world ended. There was no sound of impact. The falling moon was now the only thing that existed.
"ONE."
There was only a silent, blinding, and absolute WHITE.