-Year 2097
Technology has soared beyond what anyone thought possible, turning fiction into reality. The sky hums with the low whir of hyper-energy flying cars, drawing infinite power from the sun, their sleek, metallic bodies reflecting the golden light as they drift through the atmosphere. Advanced solar batteries store energy for an entire year without overheating, making power virtually limitless—at least, for those who can afford it.
Entire floating mansions dot the skyline, their structures defying gravity through anti-matter stabilizers. Artificial intelligence no longer simply assists but autonomously governs entire corporations, manages cities, and even dictates the ebb and flow of economies. Robots, indistinguishable from humans, walk the streets, handling everything from sanitation to security. Work has become obsolete for those at the top, and laziness is not just a habit but a way of life—for the rich.
Yet, beneath the dazzling illusion of progress, the poor remain shackled to the old ways, bound to the dirt below while the privileged rise into the clouds. In these forgotten streets, where progress never quite reaches, lives a man who does not belong to either world.
His name is Seron.
---
BEEP BEEP BEEP
"Shut up."
BEEP BEEP BEEP
A hand swung through the air—SMASH.
Glass and metal shattered as Seron's alarm clock met its inevitable demise. Silence filled the dimly lit room, and for a moment, peace returned.
Or so he thought.
BEEEEZZP BEEEEZZZP
Seron's red and blue eyes flickered open, his irritation growing.
"GOD DAMMIT, I'M UP."
His voice, rough from sleep, echoed off the small metal walls of his home. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. He dragged his feet across the cold floor, approaching what remained of his alarm clock.
BEEP BEE—STOMP.
The last surviving piece of technology in his room met its end under his foot.
"Guess it's time for work," Seron muttered.
He stepped into the cramped bathroom, the sink barely big enough to hold the rusted faucet attached to it. The mirror was cracked in the corner, but it still reflected his sharp features.
He studied his face.
Pale skin—almost unnaturally so. His heterochromia eyes were striking: one red, burning like embers in the dark, the other blue, like the endless sky. His hair, messy from sleep, was a chaotic mix of white with streaks of black, as if someone had painted shadows into moonlight. He wasn't large, but his frame was lean and deceptively strong—a result of years of rigorous training.
Training, which made no sense in a world where strength was obsolete.
As he brushed his teeth, his thoughts wandered, not to the present, but to the past—to the orphanage, the adoption, and the strange habits that had shaped him into who he was today.
"Hey, Seron, come play with us!"
A boy, his clothes patched and worn, waved excitedly toward the broken playground—a single rusted slide, two swings, and monkey bars that threatened to collapse at any moment.
Seron barely spared him a glance.
".....No."
He turned the page of his book, A Beginner's Guide to Coding and Programming, an ancient tome filled with knowledge no one in the orphanage understood. No one knew where he had gotten it. Some whispered he had stolen it. Others said he had always had it, as if the book had appeared the moment he did.
The boy continued to beg, but Seron ignored him.
Minutes passed.
The boy sighed in frustration and finally gave up.
As he turned to leave, Seron casually muttered, "Did someone say something?"
The boy stormed off.
Seron was different. Smarter. Colder. Unshakable.
At the age of nine, he was adopted—not for love, but for his mind.
His knowledge rivaled that of an eleventh grader, and his ability to absorb information was nothing short of terrifying. His foster parents, an upper-middle-class couple, were fascinated by him. They asked what he wanted—toys, games, friends?
He only wanted books.
By eleven, he had finished high school. By twelve, he refused college.
Instead, he turned his focus elsewhere—his body.
While the world relied on machines for everything, Seron trained.
He worked out daily, ignoring the confused stares of those around him. Hand-to-hand combat, weightlifting, endurance—he pushed himself without reason, as if preparing for a fight that didn't exist.
His foster parents didn't understand him.
They never would.
And when they died a month before his nineteenth birthday, leaving him with a small house, some money, and a heartfelt letter that would make anyone cry…
He felt nothing.
---
Seron pulled on his black suit, the white interior subtly stitched with advanced fabric designed for protection. The outfit was formal, yet practical—a habit he had never broken.
His destination?
A mysterious game company that offered an insanely high salary. The strangest part? The owner refused to use AI.
It made no sense.
But Seron didn't care about the logic—only the opportunity.
When he arrived, he immediately knew something was off.
The building floated.
Suspended in the sky, it hovered effortlessly, as if gravity had no claim over it.
Seron stared up at it, his face unreadable.
"Rich people."
A levitator—a floating elevator—whirred beside him. He stepped inside.
As he ascended, the air around him felt denser, as if reality itself was shifting. When the doors slid open, he found himself in an eerily empty facility.
Not a single worker in sight.
Room after room, nothing but silence.
Until the last door.
Beyond it, machines hummed, working tirelessly under the guidance of a single old man.
The man was hunched over, hands moving with purpose as he crafted something small—a disk.
Seron stepped inside.
The old man looked up.
"You must be Seron."
Seron said nothing.
The old man grinned. "No questions? No introductions? Just silence?"
Still, Seron remained quiet.
"Interesting."
Seron finally spoke. "Where do I start?"
The old man chuckled. "You don't."
Confusion flickered in Seron's eyes for the first time.
Before he could respond, the old man held up the disk.
And then—it vanished.
But where it disappeared, something far worse emerged.
A black hole.
It began small—no larger than a coin—but rapidly expanded.
The old man laughed, seemingly unsurprised.
Seron, however, did not react.
No fear. No panic.
Nothing.
The old man grinned wider. "Boy, you aren't going to say anything?"
Seron's gaze remained on the growing void.
"You aren't explaining, so I won't ask."
The black hole swelled, swallowing the room, the building, the city—
And within a month, it consumed the entire world.
Seron drifted through endless blackness.
For the first time, he had no control.
And then—
He heard something.
And that surprised him.
And that was rare.