The first time the numbers appeared, Lin was standing in line at a convenience store.
They were faint at first—transparent, flickering slightly at the corner of his vision, like reflections on glass. He thought it was fatigue. He had worked twelve hours straight, survived on instant coffee, and slept less than four hours a night for months.
Hallucinations were not unusual anymore.
But the numbers didn't disappear when he blinked.
Probability of armed robbery in the next 3 minutes: 87%
Lin's hand froze around his wallet.
The cashier was still scanning items, bored and half-asleep. A mother argued quietly with her child near the fridge. Outside, rain tapped gently against the glass doors. Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
Lin slowly stepped out of the line.
The numbers followed his gaze. When he looked at the door, another line of text appeared.
Probability of fatal outcome if remaining inside: 62%
His heartbeat accelerated—not in panic, but calculation.
Lin had never been a hero. He didn't believe in instincts, luck, or miracles. In his world, survival was a result of preparation and correct decisions.
He walked toward the back exit.
As his hand touched the metal handle, the glass doors at the front exploded inward.
Shouts. Screams. A gunshot.
Lin didn't look back.
He ran.
In the alley behind the store, his breathing was steady despite the chaos echoing behind him. Another line of numbers appeared.
Probability of survival after exiting: 94%
Lin leaned against the wall, rain soaking into his jacket.
He understood then.
This wasn't a hallucination.
The world was changing—and it was doing so without warning, without mercy.
If the numbers were telling the truth, then strength no longer mattered.
Only choices did.
Lin straightened his back and walked into the rain.
He had preparations to make.