The apocalypse found me the same way every other day had for the past six months in bed, staring at the ceiling and pretending I wasn't rotting from the inside out.
Most people assume that being rich makes life easier. Maybe it does. It definitely makes dying slower. You can afford better walls, softer sheets, and more distractions while you waste away doing absolutely nothing. My father's money paid for all of that and for the silence of the empty penthouse I called home.
I was twenty-one, freshly burntout from a degree I was told would be stable, friends long gone, and scrolling through job listings that didn't want me. Every night I told myself I'd start fresh tomorrow. Every morning I woke up and didn't. Somewhere between the fifth self-help book and the thousandth "we regret to inform you," I stopped pretending that I had a future.
So when the apocalypse came, I didn't panic. I didn't even scream.
I just blinked at the blue light glowing in the air above my bed and thought, oh shit I've gone mad… well its at least, something new.
Every movie about the end of the world started the same way aliens crash in America, or a zombie virus breaks out in Europe. Africa only showed up when it was time to narrate how quickly it fell. I used to joke that if the apocalypse came, the world would forget we even existed.
Turns out, I was wrong.
The world didn't forget us. It just didn't care enough to warn us.
At first, I thought I was hallucinating. The blue text hung in the air, letters shimmering like heat on tarmac.
"Hello, Earth! Congratulations your planet has been selected for integration into the Galactic Community!"
"A preliminary trial will now begin. Survive for thirty days to qualify."
"Please select your Class."
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. The words didn't fade.
For a second, I wondered if I'd finally snapped maybe my depression had bloomed into something cinematic, like schizophrenia. It would almost be funny.
Then the message continued.
"Your world currently lacks sufficient mana. Atmospheric adjustments will commence immediately."
"Please remain calm during the environmental synchronization process."
"Good luck. We hope you're not exterminated in the next thirty minutes."
That was when the floor shook.
The glass balcony doors trembled, and the sky outside flickered between blue and violet, lightning streaking across clouds that hadn't been there five minutes ago. Nairobi's skyline the towers, the cranes, the blinking adverts everything went dark all at once. A silence followed, heavy and wrong, before every phone in the city began screaming emergency tones.
I remember walking to the window in slow motion. I remember watching the world break.
People were running in the streets below, cars crashing into one another as some invisible wave rippled through the air. I couldn't hear anything but the beating of my own heart too calm, too slow as the blue text in front of me changed again.
"Class Selection Beginning."
Three options appeared.
Scout.
Healer.
Sovereign.
I hesitated. Sovereign sounded like a joke out of the novels I used to read to escape thinking about real life. Still, I tapped it. Maybe irony counts for luck in the apocalypse.
"Class Chosen: Sovereign of Soil."
"Power increases with owned territory."
I laughed out loud. Territory? I had no army, no kingdom, and barely enough motivation to get out of bed. What was I supposed to do buy more land and hope it gave me abs? I haven't made more than 60 steps a day for the past month. I ran out of breath going to the bathroom and now they expect me to gain territory? If I was going insane it should at least be a bit more relatable.
Outside, the wind shifted. Dust swirled into glowing trails that clung to the earth like veins. I felt something move inside me a low, slow pulse that wasn't a heartbeat. It spread from my chest to my fingertips, hot and alive. Oh great I thought….. I just have some weird ass parasite. My last thought before I passed out was 'oh shit. I' m going to die from space rabies.'