Tick. Tick. Tick.
The irritating clock echoed in the silent breakroom. Arthur glared at the crumpled termination notice as if hoping for a change. The words blurred as water gathered across his iris, but the result couldn't be clearer.
"Three years of breaking my back for this company, and they can't even give me a week's notice?" Arthur muttered, tossing the paper onto the table. His voice was hoarse, his throat dry from the hours of pretending he wasn't falling apart in front of his staff.
His phone buzzed. A single notification popped up.
[Reminder: 5th Anniversary Dinner with Clara]
Arthur's lips tightened. Clara—his gorgeous, impossibly out-of-his-league girlfriend. She'd always said she loved him for his "kind heart" and "reliable personality." But what kind of future could he offer now?
Still, he had a plan. Tonight, he'd propose. He'd spent months saving for the ring. Maybe… maybe this would fix everything.
...
Arthur booked an expensive restaurant that wasn't to his taste, but he knew Clara always bookmarked this place. So he went all out. Dim lighting, private rooms, and dishes with difficult-to-pronounce names. Arthur sat across from her, the ring burning a hole in his pocket.
"Arthur," Clara said, her voice unusually firm.
He froze. The way she looked at him—it wasn't the warmth he was used to. It was pity.
"Arthur… I think we need to talk."
Though her gentle smile remained, the words coming from her lips made his body tremble, a fire growing within, yet also like someone grabbed his heart and crushed it into a bloody paste.
"Arthur, I can't keep doing this. Every day feels heavier—like I'm sinking, and you're just… standing there, pretending we're not drowning." She'd avoided his eyes then, but her voice didn't waver. "I need more than apologies and promises you don't even believe in."
She gazed at him with a half smile, her bag sliding along the table with a white medical package inside, yet Arthur barely noticed.
She pushed her plate aside, untouched. Her face looked pale—even under makeup—and when she stood, there was the faintest hesitation, a wobble in her step. Arthur blinked but brushed it off.
'She's just tired. Right?'
Clara insisted that there wasn't another man... and her final words helped his mind from completely shattering into pieces. "I still love you, Arthur. But sometimes... love isn't enough." Her lips trembled, showing a strange expression. Her bright eyes appeared dull, and the warmth of her lips touching his remained even minutes after she left.
"Stay healthy… and be happy, Arthur."
'Stay healthy? Why would she say that?'
The question flared in his mind, refusing to die this time. Her pale skin, the untouched plate, the way she staggered—how hadn't he noticed sooner?
"Wa... please wait!" He rushed out... only to see her car vanishing in the distance. Once again, he was too slow.
"Clara... what's going on?"
...
Arthur didn't remember how he ended up at the bar afterwards. He only remembered the burning taste of whiskey and the haze that followed.
The faint clink of glasses and muted hum of conversation blurred into white noise. Arthur leaned back against the bar, staring blankly into space, the sting of Clara's words still fresh.
He staggered out into the cold night, the icy breeze biting his cheeks and briefly sobering him. Arthur fumbled his keys as they wobbled into the car lock. He climbed into the car and flung himself into the leather seats...
"Bitch!" he shouted, his hands tightening on the wheel until his knuckles turned white. His heart pounded harder than it should have. A headache pulsed at his temples.
Out of the corner of his eye—no, the rearview mirror—something flickered.
A shape. Sharp lines and twisting patterns, like glowing veins stretching across the glass. He blinked, but it was gone.
"I fucking losing it," he snapped before shaking his head. The words only caused him to feel uncomfortable, like something crawling under his skin.
"Forge your destiny," he muttered, the words ringing hollow.
"What a load of bull—" His foot slammed on the accelerator, and the car shot forward into the quiet street.
His foot slammed on the accelerator, the car shooting forward into the quiet street.
That was when he saw it—a massive truck parked at the intersection. Its sides glowed like a beacon in the dark, emblazoned with bold letters:
[ALBION'S FALL ONLINE—A WORLD OF LIMITLESS CHOICE!]
The image of a towering black spire loomed on the truck's side, surrounded by swirling shadows and a shining sword embedded in stone. The sword seemed to glow, its light cutting through the gloom like it was beckoning him.
Arthur blinked. The screech of tyres jolted him back to reality.
"Oh, crap!"
He yanked the wheel. The car fishtailed, skidding sideways as smoke poured from the tyres. He clenched his teeth, the black spire painted across the truck's side looming closer—too close.
With a final jolt, the car slammed to a stop inches from the massive vehicle.
Silence.
Arthur's chest throbbed, avoiding the truck, causing him to panic, unable to catch his breath. His fingers trembled, sore from the tight grip, as he stared blankly at the glowing letters on the truck, his heart still trying to escape his chest.
"...Well," he muttered, leaning back against the seat, "at least I didn't die."
He barked out a laugh, shaky but genuine.
Then his dashboard lit up—every warning light flashing red. Smoke began curling from the hood.
"Oh, come on!" He slammed his head back against the headrest.
The hazard lights clicked rhythmically, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Flash.
Arthur blinked, his vision swimming.
Flash.
He wasn't in the car anymore. He was standing in a dimly lit room—a funeral hall. The air smelled faintly of lilies and old wood polish. Rows of chairs filled the space, half of them empty.
At the front, a closed casket rested beneath a portrait. He couldn't make out the face, but the faint outline of soft hair and a familiar smile made his chest tighten.
Clara?
A hand brushed his shoulder. Arthur turned, but no one was there.
Flash—!
He was back in the car, the hazard lights flickering again. His breath hitched.
"No," he whispered. "Just stress. Too much stress." He rubbed his temples, but the cold dread curling in his stomach wouldn't leave.
Outside, the glowing letters on the truck—[Albion's Fall Online]—blinked in rhythm with the hazard lights. For a moment, the letters almost looked like epitaphs on a tombstone.
Arthur shook his head and forced himself to open the door.
Whatever was happening, it would not fix itself.
...
Arthur's hands trembled as he turned the key to his apartment.
The night felt heavier now, pressing against his shoulders. He tossed his jacket onto the couch and froze.
The first thing he saw was the enormous box in the centre of the living room, sleek and futuristic, with a glowing logo etched into the surface—ALBION'S FALL VR CAPSULE.
"What the hell?"
His eyes darted to the kitchen table. A letter sat neatly beside a printed receipt for a bank transfer—$300,000, labelled under Clara's name.
He nearly tripped, rushing to the table and snatching up the envelope. His name was written in her handwriting. Perfume lingered on the paper. Her perfume.
Arthur's breath hitched as he unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning the words.
——-----------------------------
Dear Arthur,
If you're reading this, then I've already left.
I'm sorry.
You probably hate me right now. Maybe I deserve that. But I hope you can believe just one thing, and don't doubt it.
Not once did I stop loving you!
You gave up everything for me: your time, dreams and even your future. Not only that, but you never complained or brought it up in our arguments.
Somewhere along the line, something changed... I realised it was me holding you back. Arthur, I couldn't stand that thought because I'd already taken everything from you once.
So I let you go.
It wasn't fair. I know that. But I also wanted to give you a chance to start over.
The money? It was always yours. I never spent a cent. You thought you were saving me, but all this time, I was saving it for you.
And the VR capsule? I need you to trust me. Try it. Albion's Fall isn't just a game. I believe it might be the best medicine for you.
No matter what happens, I'll always be proud of you.
I love you, Arthur. I always have—and I always will.
Stay healthy. Be happy. And… don't forget me.
Yours forever,
Clara
——-----------------------------
Her scent lingered on the envelope and letter. Arthur loved Clara's perfume and pressed it against his chest, taking a deep breath and trying to control himself.
It made his chest ache in ways he couldn't name.
She still loved him.
And yet, she was gone.
His eyes drifted to the VR capsule, its soft glow pulsing like a heartbeat—steady, patient, waiting. Clara's words echoed in his mind.
"Find something worth living for."
His grip tightened on the paper. "I already did," he whispered.
The weight of the envelope—the money, the job offer, the carefully laid path—felt heavier now. She planned this. She planned all of this.
Arthur set the letter down, smoothing the creases as if doing so might stop the way his hands trembled. Why didn't it feel like a permanent goodbye?
The capsule hissed softly as he touched its surface.
Warm. Almost alive.
Clara's voice played in his head one last time. "Albion's Fall might be exactly what you need."
Arthur let out a shaky breath and stepped inside.
The hatch was sealed shut with a quiet hiss.
And just before the world faded to black, he whispered:
"I'll find something, Clara. I promise."
Arthur stepped inside the capsule, its curved walls humming softly. The faint glow of its control panel pulsed as the hatch sealed shut.
For a moment, he just breathed.
Then the screen lit up. A system message and phrase appeared in glowing letters.
[UWMA-Unit 0: Booting Up]
"Until We Meet Again."
Arthur's chest tightened. His fingers brushed against the screen, and the glowing words reflected faintly in his eyes.
"Clara…"
A soft chime echoed, and then—
[Initialising startup sequence. Welcome, Arthur]
He froze.
It wasn't just her voice. It was her voice—clear, gentle, and real.
"Clara?" His voice cracked. "What is this?"
No response.
The system tone shifted, flattening into something colder and mechanical.
[Calibrating neural link. Please relax, Arthur.]
Arthur flinched. The way it said his name—it sounded human, familiar, like the way Clara used to say it. But the rest? Emotionless.
"Clara, talk to me."
The capsule vibrated gently as the interface booted up.
[Albion's Fall Online—Initializing…]
And then—
"Arthur… promise me you'll be happy."
His breath hitched. This time, it wasn't mechanical. It sounded like her again—soft, pleading, alive.
But the voice shifted instantly back to its pre-programmed calm.
[Welcome to Albion's Fall]
Arthur clenched his fists. "No… no, that wasn't the system. That was—"
The screen dimmed. The capsule hissed, locking him into position as light surrounded him.
And then the world disappeared.
.
.
.
Meanwhile... in another location.
"Young Lady, please enter the Medical Pod."
The voice came from Aria, her assistant—calm, professional, and efficient. Yet the slight crease in her brow betrayed something deeper. Pity? Worry?
Clara ignored it. She didn't have the energy to care.
Her bare feet brushed the cold floor as she stepped toward the pod—a sleek, metallic capsule labelled.
[TOF-Unit 00].
"To Our Future."
Her fingers lingered against the smooth surface, tracing the engraved letters. Her reflection stared back—pale, hollow-cheeked, and bald. The faint lines of IV ports and sensor patches ran along her arms like veins of glass.
A ghost.
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat and climbed inside.
The interior hissed softly as the hatch sealed, the sterile scent of antiseptic mixing with the hum of machinery. She flinched as the connectors clicked into place—plugs snapping into her spine, shoulders, and wrists with mechanical precision.
Aria's voice filtered through the speakers. "Neural sync in progress. Relax, Young Lady."
Relax?
Clara closed her eyes, her breath unsteady. Her mind wandered—back to Arthur, to the letter, to the ring she knew he'd never get to give her.
Would he hate her for this?
No. He'd be angry. Hurt. But hate?
"Not Arthur," she whispered. Her voice trembled. "He'll understand. Someday."
The light pulsed and her vision began to fade. The last thing she heard was the capsule's soft chime—mechanical, sterile—nothing like the voice she'd left behind for him.