Kael Arden had long stopped paying attention to the world outside his apartment.
The neon skyline of Hyperion City glowed faintly through his sealed blinds, bathing his cramped room in an unnatural, flickering light. The sounds of the city filtered through the thin walls: the hum of drones patrolling the streets, the faint blare of advertisements from massive holo-billboards, and, occasionally, the muffled echoes of unrest. But Kael had perfected the art of ignoring it all.
The year was 2147, and humanity was thriving in all the wrong ways. Overpopulation had stretched resources thin, and rising seas had swallowed entire nations. Food came in the form of synthetic meal packs, water was rationed, and air quality was a luxury. Wars for fresh water, fertile land, and raw materials had ravaged the planet. People didn't live anymore—they survived.
In this world, escapism wasn't just a pastime. It was a lifeline.
Kael glanced at the sleek black VR capsule in the corner of his room. It hummed faintly, its interface pulsing like a heartbeat, waiting for him.
The capsule was the only thing in his life that felt real anymore. Everything else—the overcrowded megacity, the soulless architecture program he was slogging through, even the people around him—felt like a distraction. Inside the capsule, Kael was someone else. Inside, he was VoidBuilder.
Ashfall: The Final Days was a virtual reality game unlike any other. Set in a post-apocalyptic future, it depicted a world torn apart by the Necrostrain—a virus engineered as a bioweapon that had spiraled out of control. The strain didn't just kill; it warped. Humans became the dead-yet-living, shambling horrors driven by hunger and malice. Animals mutated into grotesque predators, some as large as vehicles, with claws that could tear through steel.
The world of Ashfall was dark, brutal, and unforgiving.
Players were survivors, dropped into this hellscape to build, fight, and adapt. The game's mechanics were a perfect blend of strategy, survival, and combat. You could scavenge ruins for supplies, recruit NPCs to help run settlements, craft weapons and defenses, and fight off increasingly aggressive hordes. But the most unique aspect of the game was its realism. Resources were finite, injuries took time to heal, and death was permanent. If your character died, you lost everything.
Kael thrived in this environment. He wasn't a combat junkie or a loot hoarder. He was a builder—a player who could turn a desolate patch of land into a fortress capable of withstanding anything the game threw at him. His settlements were legendary among Ashfall players, meticulously designed to balance aesthetics and functionality.
"VoidBuilder," they called him. A name that carried weight in the game's community.
Kael grabbed a meal pack from his desk, tearing it open with his teeth. The gray, jelly-like substance inside slid onto a plate with an unappetizing splat. He didn't bother heating it up. The taste was always the same: bland, slightly metallic, but just filling enough to keep him from collapsing.
As he chewed, his eyes drifted to the stack of unfinished blueprints on his desk. They were projects for his architecture program, designs for sleek, modern buildings that would never be built. His professors called them "promising," but to Kael, they felt hollow. There was no point designing for a world that was falling apart.
He washed the meal down with a swig of synthetic coffee and turned his attention back to the VR capsule.
"Time to check on the settlement," he muttered.
Sliding into the capsule, Kael adjusted the visor over his eyes. The pod hissed as it sealed shut, muffling the noise of the city outside. A moment later, the familiar logo of Ashfall: The Final Days appeared in his vision, followed by a soothing, professional voice.
[Welcome back, VoidBuilder.]
The transition was seamless. One moment, Kael was in his capsule; the next, he was standing in the middle of his settlement.
Ash-gray clouds swirled overhead, casting the wasteland in a dim, sickly light. The air was thick with the smell of decay and ash, and the distant sounds of groaning zombies echoed across the desolate landscape.
Kael's settlement stood like an oasis in the midst of ruin. High walls of reinforced steel surrounded the perimeter, topped with automated turrets. Inside, the beginnings of his masterpiece were taking shape: a sprawling, apocalypse-proof house designed to withstand any threat. Solar panels glinted on the roof, and rainwater collection systems fed into underground reservoirs.
It wasn't finished yet. Several walls were still bare metal frames, and the second-floor defenses were incomplete. But Kael had time—at least, he thought he did.
Kael opened his in-game HUD, checking his resources. Wood, stone, and steel were running low, but he had enough for the night. The real concern was the Necrostorm warning flashing in the corner of his vision.
[Necrostorm Incoming: 3 Hours.]
A Necrostorm wasn't just weather. It was a nightmare. The storms carried with them massive hordes of zombies and mutated predators, drawn to settlements like moths to flame. Kael had survived a few storms before, but this one was different.
The timer flashed red, and his HUD began glitching. Text flickered in and out, and an ominous error message appeared:
[System Warning: Rift Error Detected.]
"What the hell?" Kael muttered. The screen glitched again, and his settlement disappeared for a split second before reappearing.
This wasn't normal.
Kael contacted the in-game support AI, but the response was sluggish and garbled.
[Support AI: All systems operational. Continue gameplay.]
"Yeah, sure," Kael said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Totally normal for my entire settlement to vanish for five seconds."
The first warning came as a low growl in the distance. Kael grabbed his rifle, moving to the top of the partially built watchtower for a better view.
What he saw made his blood run cold.
Dozens of red eyes glinted in the darkness, moving toward the settlement at an unnatural speed. Wolves—no, not wolves. They were something else, their skeletal frames twitching unnaturally as steam hissed from their joints. Behind them, the lumbering forms of zombies appeared, dragging their grotesque bodies through the ash.
Kael activated the automated turrets, and they roared to life, spitting bullets at the oncoming horde. The wolves dodged and weaved, some going down in sprays of sparks and gore, but more kept coming.
"Damn it," Kael muttered. "Not enough ammo for this."
He climbed down from the tower, heading for the main building.
The wolves hit the walls first, their claws raking against the steel as the turrets struggled to keep up. One of the defenses short-circuited, leaving a gaping hole in the perimeter. Kael sprinted to the gap, dropping landmines in their path.
"Come on, you bastards!" he shouted, firing into the horde. The zombies were slower but relentless, their rotting hands reaching through the defenses.
Kael fought valiantly, but the numbers were overwhelming. The wolves broke through, tearing into the lower floors of the house. Kael retreated to the second floor, his heart pounding.
[Critical Error Detected. Player Safety Compromised.]
"What does that mean?" Kael shouted.
The screen glitched again, and the entire settlement flickered, as though reality itself was unraveling.
Kael's avatar fell under the onslaught, the screen fading to black as the familiar words appeared:
[You Died.]
Kael groaned, reaching to take off his visor, but something was wrong. The capsule's hum grew louder, and a blinding light filled his vision.
"What the—"
And then, silence.