May 2nd, 2025
Downtown Manhattan, New York City
A young man, probably in his early twenties, rushed through the crowd like he was being chased. He wore a pale blue shirt, a pair of worn-out black trousers, and—oddly—a well-tied black necktie that didn't match the rest of his outfit. Judging by the get-up, one might think he was either heading to work or to something important.
In Jean's case, it was the latter.
"Shit… shit! I just had to wake up late," he muttered, weaving between strangers. "Please don't let me be too late."
He knew he was cutting it close—painfully close. The appointment was at 9:10 AM, and his phone read 9:00 AM. It was still a few kilometers away.
"Maybe a fire broke out or something," he chuckled to himself, trying to calm down. But his heart wasn't buying the optimism.
A zebra crossing came into view. Pedestrians strolled across as Jean picked up his pace—only for the light to flick red just as he reached it.
"Nooo! You couldn't wait five more freaking seconds? Goddammit!" he yelled, hands flying into the air.
People glanced at him like he'd lost it. Jean didn't care. He pulled out his cracked-screen phone and checked the time again—9:00 AM sharp. His face darkened.
"I'm screwed," he muttered.
Still, when the light turned green, Jean bolted forward, bumping into people left and right.
"Hey, watch it!"
"What's your problem?!"
"Argh! Are you stupid or something?!"
Jean ignored all of it. His mind was fixed on one thing: Don't be late. You can't be late. You have to make it. Sweat soaked through his clothes as he ran. His breathing got heavier, but he pushed on. His inner voice screamed like a personal trainer on overdrive.
Finally, through the morning haze and chaos, a towering 180-meter glass building came into view: Avontale Inc.
He staggered to a stop, panting like a dying animal. He checked his phone—9:08 AM.
"Finally," he whispered between gasps.
He took a moment to breathe, wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve, and stepped inside.
It was... luxurious. Gleaming floors, gold-trimmed walls, expensive lighting. It smelled like money. Jean looked around, completely stunned.
Oh f*, this place is the bomb. No wonder it's a tech giant. God—whatever's up there—please let me land this job. Please!*
Snapping out of his awe, he walked up to the reception desk. Behind it sat a woman in a sleek black suit—clearly the kind of woman who belonged in a place like this.
"Hello," Jean said, trying to keep his voice steady.
She looked up from her screen, eyes scanning him like he'd crawled out of a trash can. Her expression tightened, then shifted to a polite mask—but not before Jean caught the disgust in her eyes.
Any admiration he had for her died on the spot.
"I'm here for a job interview," Jean said. "It's scheduled for 9:10."
She sighed softly, then began typing on her keyboard. After a few seconds, her face shifted again.
"Mr. Jean Martinez, right?"
"Yes."
"It seems there's a problem."
Jean blinked. "Huh? A problem?"
"Your appointment was yesterday, not today."
"…"
His brain short-circuited.
"Mr. Martinez? Are you alright?" she asked, tilting her head with a mix of pity and something colder.
Jean swallowed hard. "Y-Yeah… I'm fine."
"In that case, I'll have to ask you to leave. Thank you," she said with a sharp smile.
Jean stared at her. A small flame of anger flickered behind his tired eyes, but he forced himself to stay calm. He turned around silently and walked away.
Behind him, he heard her mutter under her breath, "What a loser."
Jean's shoulders slumped. His steps were slow, heavy—like someone who had just lost everything in a single roll of dice.
That job was everything. My last hope. Now what? My landlord's about to throw out my stuff…
He sighed.
Maybe a miracle will happen. Maybe he'll give me more time... he chuckled dryly, but there was no smile on his face.
As he wandered down the sidewalk, lost in thought, a group of men in black suddenly surrounded him. Before he could react—
SHOVE!
One of them slammed into him, pushing him straight into the street.
"What the—?!"
He didn't even get to finish his thought. A sleek Lamborghini came out of nowhere, tires screeching, engine roaring—and police sirens howled close behind.
It didn't take a genius to know what was going on.
"F—"
BAM!
Jean's body hit the hood and flew several meters before crashing hard in front of a police cruiser.
BAM!
The second hit was worse. He felt his ribs crack. His chest screamed. His breathing became sharp, ragged—punctured lung, maybe.
Is this how it ends...?
Well... I never had anything in this fed up life anyway. So maybe this is just perfect.*
His vision began to fade. But right before the blackness took over, he saw it.
A flicker. A glow. A pulse of something not meant for this world.
> "...System... initializing..."
Jean's heart trembled.
What... is that...?
And then—nothing.