He stared at the work he had just ruined, an unnerving smile creeping across his face.
The once sleek, responsive inventory function of Conqueror's Evolution, which he had spent countless hours perfecting, was now lost, a casualty of his own mistake.
His gaze was hollow, a mixture of disbelief and acceptance of the failure. His mind tried to process it, but the sinking feeling in his stomach only grew.
The manager, however, didn't hesitate. As the mug of coffee rolled to the ground and shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces, the manager lunged forward.
He grabbed the young man by the vest, lifting him clean off the chair with surprising strength.
"Do you know what you just ruined?" The manager's voice was low, each word clenched between gritted teeth.
The young man didn't flinch. He met the manager's eyes directly, his gaze unwavering, as if daring the man to do something.
"The Inventory function of the game," he replied flatly, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of something darker. "It was the hardest feature to implement, and now it's gone. If it stays gone, the game's launch is going to be delayed by a month — or more."
There was a strange quality to his voice, one that made the manager pause. It wasn't just the bluntness of the response, nor the weight of the words.
It was the way the young man spoke, as though he had already accepted the consequences. His eyes remained locked on the manager's, unblinking, and the manager felt a shudder run through him.
There was no fear in those eyes — only a cold, calculating emptiness.
For a moment, the manager stood frozen, staring into the young man's gaze. Something in the air felt heavy, oppressive. But whatever it was, the manager didn't know how to deal with it.
With a growl, he released his grip, shoving the young man back into the chair. The young man landed on the floor with a loud thud, but he didn't seem to care. His expression was still the same: detached, distant.
"You're going to work extra hours," the manager barked. "I want that inventory function fixed — and I want it ready within two days. No delays, do you hear me? We can't afford another setback. Conqueror's Evolution launches in two days, and nothing's going to stop it."
The manager spun on his heel, ready to walk away, but then something outside the window caught his attention. His steps faltered.
It wasn't just him who noticed it — every one of the workers turned toward the windows, their eyes widening in confusion.
In the streets below, something was wrong. The usual chaos of New York's traffic was gone.
The streets, usually teeming with cars, were eerily still. No honking horns, no engines revving, no rushing pedestrians.
The entire city seemed frozen in time.
The manager's brow furrowed, a sense of unease settling over him. But before anyone could say anything, a voice echoed in their heads, filling the room and every corner of their minds.
[Hello, humans.]
The voice was impossible to ignore. It reverberated through their consciousness, sending a strange chill down their spines.
The young man, still sitting on the floor, looked around, his eyes narrowed as he listened, while others in the office froze.
The voice was clear and precise, but there was something unnervingly cheerful about it, almost playful — like a child who had just discovered a new toy.
[You must see that white beam in the sky, right? You should be seeing it, unless you're blind, that is.] The voice continued, and the words struck everyone like a blow. No one could speak. No one could think clearly.
They could only watch as the voice's instructions played out before them.
Their gazes followed, instinctively, to the sky outside. The bustling city had quieted, and every worker's eyes were now locked on a single point: a blinding, white beam descending rapidly from the heavens. It seemed to shimmer with unnatural energy, the light bending and warping around it, like something from a dream — or a nightmare.
[When that beam hits the ground, it will bring about the apocalypse.]
Gasps of disbelief and terror rippled through the office. The words felt like a punch to the gut, and the room was suddenly filled with a buzz of frantic whispers, as if everyone was trying to find an explanation, to grasp onto any shred of hope.
But the voice's tone remained relentlessly chipper, a stark contrast to the chaos building around them.
[You might want to brace yourselves.]
The white beam continued its descent, the air around it vibrating with an almost palpable force.
It was growing closer, and with every passing second, the dread in the room deepened.
The manager, usually quick to act, now stood frozen, his mouth dry as he stared at the phenomenon outside.
Every logical part of his brain screamed that it couldn't be real — that it had to be some kind of joke, some twisted prank. But deep down, he knew. The fear was creeping in, because what he was seeing felt too real.
And then, as if time had slowed, the beam finally made contact with the ground. The world seemed to hold its breath as the blinding light flared up, a flash so bright it consumed everything in its wake.
The sound that followed was deafening. A deep, guttural rumble, as though the earth itself were cracking open.
The windows of the building rattled violently, and the floor beneath them seemed to shake. It wasn't an explosion, not quite.
It was something far worse — something that resonated through the very fabric of reality.
And just like that, everything shattered.
The beam, now rooted in the earth, sent waves of energy coursing through the city. The air around it rippled and distorted. The sky itself seemed to warp, bending in ways that defied logic.
People on the streets below screamed, running in every direction, but no one knew what to do. There was nowhere to hide, no escape from the inevitable.
Inside the office, the workers could only stare in horror, unable to move, unable to speak. The voice, still resonating in their minds, had stopped, but its impact remained.
The young man who had ruined the game's inventory function remained seated on the floor, his eyes no longer distant. They were wide open, filled with a mix of awe and terror. He wasn't smiling anymore.
It wasn't just the game that had been ruined.
It was the world.