Emily sat at her desk, the rhythmic clack of keys under her fingers a familiar comfort. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in the kind of monotonous hum that had long since faded into background noise. Outside, the city breathed in rush-hour waves—honking cars, muted chatter, footsteps in sync with the dull beat of modern life.
She yawned, sipping lukewarm coffee from her chipped mug. The spreadsheet she'd been working on for the past hour flickered on her screen, mocking her with its dullness. It was a Thursday, which meant the most exciting thing she could expect was an awkward chat in the breakroom about weekend plans she didn't have.
Nothing ever happened here. That's what she used to like about it.
And then it did.
It started as a faint hum—deep and resonant, vibrating not through her ears but in her bones. She froze, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
The hum turned into a pulse.
Then came the voice.
["ATTENTION: Planetary Inhabitants. You have 72 hours before Arrival. Choose your Class. Prepare for Battle."]
It didn't come from speakers. Not the building intercom, not a phone. It came from everywhere—and nowhere. It vibrated through concrete, through water, through skin.
Emily's mug slipped from her hands and shattered against the floor. Coffee splashed across her shoes, but she barely registered it.
"What the hell was that?" someone muttered from a nearby cubicle.
Screams erupted outside her office. Her coworkers stumbled out of cubicles, eyes wide in disbelief. Phones dropped. People were crying. Others stood stock-still, pale and unmoving.
And then the sky cracked open.
It was as though the clouds were nothing but a skin pulled tight over something monstrous. Shimmering fractures spread above like lightning trapped in glass, and through them poured light—impossible light, pulsing in hues no human language had names for.
A chime sounded.
Right in front of her—no, within her vision—a holographic screen blinked into existence. Transparent, ethereal, and yet undeniably real.
Lines of glowing blue text scrolled across it:
[SIMULATION SYSTEM INITIALIZED
HOST: EMILY LAURENCE
MANA DETECTED
CLASS SELECTION UNLOCKED
BEGIN SIMULATION?]
Her heart thundered. A cold sweat broke out across her back. She stepped backward, bumping into her desk.
"What the hell is this?" she breathed.
Nearby, someone screamed. "I can't close it! It's in my eyes!"
A man tried to swipe his screen away, but it followed his movements, anchored to his field of vision.
Emily looked around frantically. Some screens had already moved forward, showing class choices: Warrior, Engineer, Beastmaster… and something she didn't recognize. People were being forced into something no one understood.
This isn't a prank. This is happening.
Her screen blinked again. The text flashed red:
[72 HOURS UNTIL ARRIVAL. WARNING: LATE ENTRY MAY RESULT IN PERMANENT DEATH.]
Her breath caught. Her hands trembled.
Outside the windows of the office, chaos bloomed. A bus skidded across the street below, smashing into parked cars. Drones—previously part of the city's autonomous delivery system—buzzed erratically, their software hijacked or malfunctioning. Sirens wailed. A bird crashed into the glass in front of her with a dull thud.
The world is breaking.
The simulation system in front of her hovered patiently, glowing faintly.
[DO YOU WISH TO BEGIN?]
She was hyper-aware of her body—every muscle locked, every breath shallow. Around her, people were reacting in all the ways humanity could: denial, panic, rage, prayer.
She saw Janet, the quiet receptionist, clutching her screen and sobbing. Ben from IT was laughing hysterically, swiping at nothing like he was already playing a game.
The city trembled.
A shadow passed overhead.
Emily turned just in time to see something massive moving across the sky, beyond the clouds—its shape unclear, as though reality struggled to render it. A thousand alien eyes stared down at humanity, watching. Judging.
Her screen didn't wait.
It pulsed, and new text scrolled:
[MAGICAL POTENTIAL DETECTED
USER QUALIFIES FOR RARE PATHWAY
WARNING: CHOICES MADE IN SIMULATION WILL AFFECT REALITY]
A fresh wave of panic clutched her heart. She wasn't a soldier. She wasn't brave or clever or anything the world needed.
But something deeper than fear stirred in her.
A voice—her own, but steadier—whispered from within:
If this is real, if this is happening… you can't run from it.
The message repeated once more:
[DO YOU WISH TO BEGIN?]
Emily stared.
And slowly, she raised her hand.
"God help me," she whispered, then tapped YES.
There was no light. No sound.
Just the world collapsing around her—and then, total silence.