Act I
I wake up to the familiar scent of my 1x1 apartment.
The air is thick—almost suffocating.
My thin blanket sticks to my sweaty skin.
I look up. Same view. Same silence. The same overwhelming, tiny bit of space I call home.
I sit up lazily, not bothering to look out the window.
What's there to see, anyway?
I drag my feet across the cold, metallic floor.
The holographic clock on the wall doesn't flicker. 11:59 PM. I furrow my eyebrows. Maybe the clock's battery is dead?
I shuffle to the kitchen and open the refrigerator.
Dead. No hum, no light, nothing.
Is there a power outage?
I sigh, heading for the bathroom.
The same poster stares back at me, looming:
[DOMES are our liberty. Perish the conflict and long live DOME civilization.]
I still don't understand why they slap the international catchphrase on the bathroom door of all places. Maybe they thought I'd recite the DOMES monologue while taking a piss.
I sigh again.
What am I doing with myself?
After finishing my morning routine, I make my way to my desk and sit on the rough and cold surface of the chair.
For some unknown reason, I decide to scroll through my old writing drafts.
When I first started working in the marketing industry, I lost both the time and the will to write books.
Not that I'm complaining. I'm actually part of the lucky group that doesn't have to dig up scraps for a living.
Today's my first day off in ages. When I open my folder, there's just one file:
"The Road to Freesia." I cringe.
How corny… The silence is loud. I close my laptop and make my way to my closet. I put on the only pair of clean pants and shirt I have. I decide to go look for why there's no electricity. At least that makes something out of my day off. I arrive on the receptionist floor. No one… My feet drag on the floor as I look around the surrounding area. There is really no one. I make my way to the front tinted doors. Putting my sweaty palms on the door bar, I push it and open it…
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[Human civilization was about to go extinct 193 years ago because of the exhaustion of natural resources. But Leoniel Hangcliff, the head scientist of the International Global Science Institute, proposed the idea of DOMES: encapsulated megacities that provide every product we need for our survival digitally. People of status build ecosystems underground, new technology, and a new way of life. In the whole world, only 17 DOMES exist. With that come new worldly rules: a restriction on reproducing, new unity concepts, and with each different DOME came different virtues. Some DOMES are new, and some are old. Some are more strict, and some completely defiant. Some see violence and others don't. It is always said that war comes upon the people who seek it. In short, elderly people say that nothing has changed, and nothing ever will.]
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I take a step outside. The air blows at my face. It smells… different, almost lively but not in a good way.
I look up at the DOME ceiling— …W-w-what!?
A crack appears at the height of the DOME's limit.
What's happening?
Buildings turn to dust, the air reeks of death, and people are running left and right.
My eyes flash, and I instinctively grab a young woman who's running.
"What's happening?" My heart pounds. Each second feels longer and longer. She looks no younger than 18, her hair a mess, and she pants heavily. She acts frantically. Her mouth opens, but as she's about to talk, I feel a pained sensation in my ears. I'm about to ask her to repeat, but she slips out of my hands and keeps running.
I look behind me and see a mob of people coming my way.
Before I can even process what's going on, I'm pushed forward by the number of people. My heart is racing as I try to pace myself to people's speed. I suddenly find myself running in the same direction as the other people not knowing where I'll end up. It turns out that the large number of people were running towards rescue trucks.
I try to keep up with the crowd; my lungs tighten at the sound of children crying. With all my might, I try to look back, but I'm just pushed further on by the crowd.
People push, cry, trip, and get back up again. A man in a gray jacket shoves past me, clutching a metal suitcase like it's his last breath of air. A woman screams for her child, but her voice is swallowed by the noise.
The plaza ahead glows in a pearly white light—rescue trucks. The government ones. The kind no one's ever seen up close unless something catastrophic happens.
I push through bodies, elbowing my way forward. The metallic scent of the air mixes with sweat and smoke, clouding my mind. The megaphones attached to these trucks speak out loud:
"Remain orderly. Proceed to your nearest collection zone. DOMES management is in full control."
No one even spares a glance.
An officer in a white exo-suit waves people forward. "Move! Move!" he yells, his voice muffled through his mask. The trucks' rear doors are open; right then, a pack of civilians push themselves onto it. I grab onto the railing and hoist myself up.
Someone shouts behind me, "There's no more space!" but I don't let go. My fingers dig into the cold steel. The officer looks at me, then looks away. For some reason, it felt as if he had something to say but couldn't…
The doors slam shut, and the truck jerks forward.
I'm inside.
The air is heavy, filled with the sound of crying and the stench of fear. A woman next to me mutters prayers under her breath. The man across from me stares blankly at the floor, whispering the same annoying phrase over and over again - "DOMES are our liberty."
Outside, through a slit in the metal wall, I see flashes of blue light. Then - the earth shakes again. The truck swerves hard. People scream. I clutch the seat to keep myself upright.
"What's happening?" someone yells.
No one answers.
I glance through the tiny slit again.
Above the skyline, the DOME's glass is fracturing - the artificial clouds glitch and split, revealing something beyond. Not light... but movement. Slow and massive, like the world outside the dome is breathing.
The crack widens. Dust and debris rain down. The truck speeds up.
"STAY CALM , " the officer yells as he clutches himself to a metal bar for dear life.
I sneak another glance outside. My eyes widen as I spot a faint but present shimmer in the sky.
After 15 minutes of driving , the officer stops the truck and lets everybody out. The officers first let the ladies and children out before the men. My bruised feet touch the fresh soil.
I look up to see the shimmering beads of light hanging from the sky. I've only read about them but have never seen them. Suddenly, I feel a sharp sensation on my knee. I look down to see a shard of mirror.
In the reflection, the sky isn't the same as the one above me.
In it, there's light - white and shifting .
The wind changes direction, brushing cold against my skin. Everyone else keeps moving abruptly around, but I just stand there, staring down at that reflection.
The truck suddenly honks, making me drop the piece of glass.
The trucks start moving again, honking a second time for survivors to get on. I tear my eyes away and climb back in, pressing my back against the wall. My hands won't stop shaking.
No one talks. The engines roar.
Outside, the DOME falls apart piece by piece -
and for the first time in my life, I see the night sky.
But it doesn't feel like freedom.
It feels pressuring and urging.