Tony Carter opened his eyes slowly, still sleepy. As he lay on the bed, his body felt heavy, like he had just been pulled out of a deep sleep. Raising his head, he looked around the room. The walls were muted gray, with a single bookshelf stacked with physics journals, old research papers, and a few worn-out novels he never had time to finish. Against the far wall, there was a desk cluttered with scattered notes, an A.C.E 3000 laptop, and a half-empty cup of cold tea from the night before. Above it, a whiteboard was covered in scribbled equations and diagrams. His mind overflowed with memories of long nights spent on theoretical work.
Tony got up and slid his legs into the slippers beside his bed. He turned his head to look at the bedside clock—6:33 a.m. His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. "Good morning," he muttered to himself.
He glanced out the window, and something felt off. No distant hum of traffic. No birds chirping. No subtle creaks of the building. Just silence.
Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, he pressed the power button. Nothing. The screen was black—dead. He frowned. Strange.
Pushing aside his unease, he slipped on his robe and shuffled into the kitchen. His routine was automatic—grab a mug, fill it with tea, turn on the radio. But the moment he twisted the knob, there was nothing. Just static. Tony stared at the radio. He twisted the dial again. Still nothing.
Frowning, he moved toward the TV remote on the small table in the sitting room, picked it up, and powered on the television. A flat blue screen stared back at him. No signal.
His unease deepened. He walked to the apartment door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway. Empty. No sounds. No movement. The building felt dead.
Quickly, he rushed back into his room, threw on some clothes, laced up his boots, and grabbed his jacket. Snatching his car keys from the small table in the sitting room, he dashed out, descending the stairs.
He stepped out into the street, he stopped cold.
Cars were abandoned at odd angles—some with doors open, but no one inside. Some still running, yet empty. He walked past a cab with the meter still ticking, but no driver in sight.
Crossing the street, he entered a coffee shop. Half-eaten meals sat on tables, cups of coffee still steaming. But no people.
He stepped back outside, looked left, then right. His gaze landed on a newspaper stand that had been knocked over. At this point, he wasn't even sure what day it was anymore. He bent down, picking up one of the scattered newspapers.
October 18, 2098.
The headline read:
"Aegis Corp—What Are They Hiding?"
He raised his head, scanning his surroundings. Where the hell is everyone?
His pulse quickened as he jogged toward the nearest payphone. Snatching the receiver, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out a coin, and jammed it into the slot. He dialed.
No ring. No dial tone. Just dead silence.
His mind raced for explanations. A freak evacuation? A gas leak? A biological attack? But if that were the case, why was everything still running—except for the people?
Only one place could have answers.
Without hesitation, he sprinted back to his apartment building, threw open the garage door, and jumped into his car—a Lumina SX, a 2093 electric sedan powered by an advanced high-output powertrain that produced 1,000 horsepower and could accelerate 0-60 mph in under five seconds.
With a sharp reverse, he sped out of the garage, weaving through empty streets. After a few minutes, he reached his destination—Aegis Corp.
Parking in one of the empty spaces, he stepped out, still scanning his surroundings in confusion. The silence was suffocating.
He entered the building, moving swiftly toward the private elevator—the one that led deep into a classified underground facility where Aegis Corp conducted top-secret Quantum AI experiments.
Inside, everything looked as if it had been left untouched. Unfinished coffee cups sat on desks. Jackets were draped over chairs. But there were no people.
Heart pounding, he rushed to his lab door, slammed his access card against the scanner, and watched as the screen flickered. A soft beep. The doors slid open.
Tony ran inside, heading straight for the power console. Flipping the switch, the system whirred to life, casting a cold blue glow across his face. His breath hitched as the main screen booted up.
A single line of text blinked:
REALITY INDEX: 0.0001%
Tony's fingers hovered over the keyboard, his mind reeling. He didn't know exactly what it meant.
But one thing was clear.
This wasn't an accident.
Something had gone horribly, terribly wrong.