The office was mostly empty by then. Most people had already gone home, or maybe they were too scared to stay. Someone had spilled coffee on the carpet hours ago, and the smell had turned bitter and sour. I remembered the last conversation I had. Something about unpaid overtime. Funny. None of that mattered now as I swung open the exit to the office room.
I stumbled down the stairwell, fiddling with the phone in my hand. My fingers traced the cracked glass to the search bar. I thoughtlessly typed away: 'Apocalypse Round'. The first thing that popped up was a timer. It had a bright red background with curved edges, and white numbers in an alarming font.
[Time remaining: 00:00:28]
Twenty-eight seconds. Twenty-eight seconds was all 6 billion people on Earth could spare. My hand ran through my unprofessionally-dyed red hair. My fingers tore apart the binds of malnourished hair strands. The black pants I was wearing were tight and uncomfortable, and they certainly didn't help with the tension. I'd been in this stairwell a hundred times, but never long enough to notice the lack of air conditioning. I was sweating, goddamn, who designed this stairwell? My hair was already trashed, it didn't need salty water pouring down it. I was holding a manila folder, so I used it to fan my face. It relieved a very small amount of tension. The fluorescent lights above me buzzed faintly, flickering every few seconds like they were nervous too. I wondered if anyone else was hiding in their own stairwell somewhere, trying to find a private place to panic. The walls smelled faintly of damp concrete and detergent. My footsteps echoed too loudly for me to feel safe.
Even though I was alone and there were no windows in this tall concrete chamber, I could feel the world holding in its breath, waiting. There was nobody on Earth, awake or asleep, who wasn't on the News or staring at the same timer I was. In fact, I was sure nobody was sleeping. After all, their lives were being bet on a dice roll.
[Time remaining: 00:00:03]
[Time remaining: 00:00:02]
Each beep drilled into my skull. One step closer to my fate.
[Time remaining: 00:00:01]
And then the timer vanished. I gritted my teeth, praying. Though, I knew the chances were low. 1000 people? There were 6 billion people. I tried to laugh off the fear, but I could not.
A blue system message popped up in front of me. I turned off my phone, sliding it into my pocket. This was the start of the 164th game.
[Hello, everyone]
There was a high-pitched voice that in any other situation would be cute. An 8-bit illustration of a white furry creature with two small yellow horns was talking to me through the blue holographic screen.
[We have decided who the 1000 incarnations will be.]
The furry goblin graphic nodded its head.
[To all those who have been chosen…]
The Dokkaebi opened its eyes. Black Sclera and Red pupils.
[I wish you all the blessing of the story.]
The screen expanded, shifting into a gigantic list of names arranged in alphabetic order, first name, last name. The results were here, but I was still holding my breath. I had to wait until I had absolute proof that I was safe in order to breathe again. So I scrolled down.
W… X… Y.
I sifted through the 1000 names for a good minute, before finally exhaling. I was safe, wasn't I? My name wasn't there. Not this time. My knees almost gave out. I let out a laugh. It was dry, ugly, and half-choked. Not one of my greatest laughs. Maybe this was my reward for being no one. Maybe this was what survival looked like: luck disguised as invisibility.
But from the corner of my vision, my eyes landed on a very certain name.
It was a name nobody could remember, it was a name that belonged to a human who might as well just not exist.
[983. Choi Yuna]
I was the next victim of The Apocalypse Round.