Emily lay flat on her apartment bed, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other lazily tapping at her phone screen. The ceiling fan hummed above her, slicing warm air in slow, uneven circles.
Interesting…
She scrolled down the character creation page, eyes narrowing in thought.
"Age…" she muttered. "Umm… probably eighteen?"
Her thumb hovered.
"Role…"
She didn't even hesitate. "Protector. Duh."
Emily bit her lower lip, a tiny smirk forming as she continued.
"Height… six-nine."
She paused, then nodded to herself. "Yeah. That sounds right."
Fair complexion.
Long bluish hair.
Her fingers moved faster now, confidence replacing hesitation. Every stat bar she could see—strength, endurance, reflex, intelligence—she dragged all the way to the edge.
Maxed.
I mean, who wouldn't want a strong character? she thought. Perfect. No weaknesses. No excuses.
She leaned closer to the screen, eyes scanning the final preview. The AI's silhouette rotated slowly, tall and imposing, almost too real for something meant to be a game.
"Okay… done."
Her thumb pressed CREATE.
The screen blinked.
Delivery in 24 hours.
Emily frowned.
"…Twenty-four hours?"
She scoffed, tossing the phone onto her bed. "Damn. Enough with this game—or whatever this is."
Rolling onto her side, she pushed herself up with a sigh. Her stomach growled, loud enough to remind her she hadn't eaten since morning.
"Yeah, yeah. I hear you," she murmured to herself.
She padded into the small kitchen, grabbing a half-opened bag of chips from the counter. As she ate, her eyes drifted toward the clock above the fridge.
6:12 PM.
Her heart skipped.
"Oh no—"
Emily rushed back into her room, nearly slipping as she grabbed her jacket and bag. Her evening shift. Again. She was late. Again.
The café was already buzzing when she pushed through the door, the bell above it chiming sharply. Warm air, the smell of coffee, and the low hum of voices wrapped around her instantly.
"Emily."
Her manager's voice cut through the noise.
She froze.
"Sorry—sorry! Bus was slow," she said quickly, tying her apron as she approached the counter.
He raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. "That's the third time this week."
"I know," she said, breathless. "It won't happen again."
There was a pause. Too long.
He sighed. "You okay? You look exhausted."
Emily hesitated, then forced a small smile. "Just… stuff at home."
He studied her for a moment, then stepped aside. "Clock in. And try not to disappear on me tonight, yeah?"
"Promise," she said softly.
As she moved behind the counter, adjusting cups and wiping her hands on her apron, her phone vibrated in her pocket.
She ignored it.
Whatever that was ut could wait.
"Ohh… damn."
Emily sighed tiredly as she threw herself onto the bed, shoes still on, jacket half slipping off her shoulder. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, springs creaking in protest.
She stared at the wall for a moment, blinking slowly.
What now?
After a few seconds, she reached for her phone. It was the first time she'd touched it since getting back from the café. The screen lit up, bathing the dim room in a pale glow.
Something immediately caught her eye.
At the very top of the screen—barely noticeable—was a small countdown timer.
18:00:12… 18:00:11…
"Huh?"
Emily frowned.
Must be the character I was creating earlier…
Curiosity nudged aside her exhaustion. She tapped the notification and followed it back to the site.
The page loaded differently this time.
No flashy colors. No playful UI.
Just plain text.
News & Updates
She squinted and began to read.
Your bot is bonded with you for life.
There will be other bots in this world—created with different purposes.
Some will attempt to eliminate you and your bot.
Survival depends on what you create.
Villains. Heroes. Helpers. Protectors.
Emily let out a small snort.
"They're really committing to this, huh…"
It sounded dramatic. Almost too dramatic. Like bad marketing trying way too hard to feel deep.
She scrolled down.
18 hours until your character delivery.
"Oh… yeah."
She locked the phone and let it fall onto her chest.
Guess it's not a fun little game… or whatever this is.
Emily rolled onto her back again, arms spread, eyes drifting up to the cracked ceiling. The fan above her clicked faintly with every rotation.
Same room.
Same job.
Same boring life.
Nothing ever really happened.
Her eyes slowly closed as the countdown continued to tick away—quiet..
"Lemme just sleep…"
Emily rolled onto her side, pulling the thin blanket up to her shoulders.
"Go to school tomorrow… come back home… then go to work…"
She sighed softly, eyes closing.
The countdown on her phone kept ticking in the dark.
Morning came in all the worst ways.
The alarm didn't ring.
Sunlight stabbed through the gap in the curtains, hitting her eyes like a punishment.
Emily groaned and rolled over—then froze when she saw the time.
"WAIT—WHAT?!"
She shot upright, heart racing.
"Crap, crap, crap!"
She stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over her backpack, yanking on jeans and the first hoodie she could find. Her hair was a mess, fingers running through it doing absolutely nothing to help.
She grabbed her phone—12 hours remaining flashed briefly at the top—then stuffed it into her pocket without thinking.
No breakfast. No time.
She slammed the apartment door behind her and sprinted down the stairs, shoes half-tied.
Outside, the street was already alive.
And the school bus was pulling away.
"No—no—NO!"
Emily ran.
"WAIT—WAIT!"
Her bag bounced painfully against her back as she chased it down the block, lungs burning. The driver didn't look back.
"Seriously?!" she yelled, slowing to a stop as the bus disappeared around the corner.
She bent over, hands on her knees, gasping.
"…Great. Just great."
With a defeated sigh, she straightened and checked her phone. Another bus wouldn't come for at least forty minutes.
Late either way.
She walked the rest of the distance, shoes scraping along the sidewalk, mind drifting. The same thought circled again and again.
Nothing ever changes.
The school hallways buzzed with noise when she arrived—lockers slamming, laughter echoing, teachers already shouting for students to hurry.
Emily slipped through the doors, head down, hoping not to be noticed.
"Emily!"
She winced.
A teacher glanced at the clock. "You're late."
"Sorry," Emily muttered. "Bus."
The teacher sighed but waved her through.
"Don't make a habit of it."
Too late, she thought.
She slid into her seat near the window just as the bell rang. Her notebook stayed closed. Her eyes drifted outside, watching clouds crawl across the sky.
Boring.
Useless.
Then a folded note landed on her desk.
You look like death.
Emily didn't have to look to know who it was.
She turned slightly. Jane sat one row behind her, chin resting on her hand, lips curled into a small grin.
Emily rolled her eyes and scribbled back.
Nice to see you too.
Another note.
Late again?
Emily nodded once, barely noticeable.
After class, Jane caught up to her in the hallway, matching her slow steps.
"Rough night?" Jane asked.
"Always," Emily said.
Jane studied her face. "You okay, Em? You've been spacing out lately."
Emily hesitated. Then shrugged. "Just tired. Work. School. Life."
Jane hummed. "Same. But hey—at least we're surviving."
Emily gave a weak smile.
"Yeah. Surviving."
As they walked, Emily's phone vibrated in her pocket.
She ignored it.
For now.
Neither of them noticed the countdown had dropped to 11:47:03.