The console clicked rapidly in Selina's hands.
Her avatar fell again. Game over.
She tightened her grip on the console and exhaled, long and heavy, before tossing it aside. She'd been stuck on the same level for nearly an hour.
Her phone screen lit up in the dim room. 3:43 p.m.
Her first class would start in an hour
The curtains were still drawn. She pushed them aside and squinted at the bright, cloudless sky. No rain, of course. That meant her professor would definitely come to class.
"Ugh," she muttered, sinking back onto the couch. There was supposed to be a group presentation later, but she hadn't joined any group, and honestly, she didn't care. It's just one activity. What's the harm?
Her phone buzzed.
Kayra: Where are you?
Kayra: Class soon!
Selina didn't reply. She picked up her console again, and the sound of button clicks filled the quiet room.
Time passed softly, almost without notice.
When she next looked up, the sky outside had turned red.
Not the gentle kind of sunset red, but a thick, viscous crimson-like blood spilling across the horizon.
At first, she thought it was just a trick of the light. But then she noticed the same color reflecting off every building, every window. Her screen glowed faintly red too, as if the sky's reflection had crawled into the room.
The color wasn't fading. It was spreading.
Outside, the world was beginning to notice.
Notifications exploded on her screen.
— What's wrong with the sky?
— Red everywhere??
— Breaking news: this is global!
News tickers filled with confusion.
"Unidentified atmospheric phenomenon."
"No forecast of red sky today."
Social media flooded with photos, each one identical, each taken from somewhere else on the globe. Japan. Italy. South Africa. Antarctica. Even the places that never saw daylight were bathed in the same terrifying red.
Across the world, scientists panicked, trying to reach governments. On one live broadcast, NASA's transmission cut abruptly into a presidential briefing.
"Mr. President, the readings are unprecedented. This—" static, then muffled voices, "—isn't a solar event. It's something else—"
Selina muted the TV and turned back to the window.
The sky pulsed faintly, as if breathing.
On the other side of the city, at the campus, Jedd leaned on the windowsill of their classroom, watching the same crimson light creep over the rooftops.
"Do you think she's seeing this too?" he asked quietly.
Kayra, seated beside him, nudged his arm. "Don't miss her too much. She hasn't even replied to me yet. Probably gaming again."
Back at her apartment, Selina set her console aside. Her phone overflowed with videos of the red sky, comments, panicked voices, news anchors trying to sound calm.
Unread messages. Kayra's name blinking.
"Where are you? Prof's here."
"Sky looks weird lol."
"Nothing major," Selina murmured. She cleared the notifications and began scrolling.
Her feed was filled with red skies. Threads speculating about the end of the world. Videos from overseas showing people staring upward. For no reason she could name, her chest tightened.
Something felt wrong.
Really wrong.
She rose from the couch and walked to the window again.
The crimson outside had deepened. It wasn't a sunset. It wasn't anything she'd seen before.
Then the flash came.
A blinding, flare-like lightning struck directly above the city.
Her vision exploded.
A sharp pain stabbed through her head, so fierce it felt like a thousand needles piercing her skull all at once. The building shuddered.
She stumbled toward the sofa, clutching her head, breath breaking into short, panicked gasps.
The tremors grew stronger. The walls rattled. Things crashed to the floor. Earthquake?
The pain made it hard to think. Still, her body moved on instinct. She crouched beside the sofa, pressing herself close to the floor, trying to protect her head.
Above her, the wooden divider tipped.
It fell, slamming against the sofa, forming a hollow space that sheltered her inside. The things that should've struck her instead bounced harmlessly off the divider's surface.
Selina groaned. Her head throbbed. The pain moved downward—face, chest, heart, abdomen—like something flowing through her veins. Her skin alternated between freezing and burning. She could feel currents beneath her skin, electric, stinging, alive.
Her vision turned white. Her body convulsed. Tiny shocks flickered under her skin like invisible lightning.
Every second stretched endlessly.
She couldn't pass out. She lived alone, if she fainted now and another tremor came…
She gritted her teeth. Not safe. I can't pass out. Not yet.
Then, just as abruptly as it began, everything stopped.
The shaking eased. The pain receded, leaving only the faint tremor of her heartbeat and the sweat clinging to her skin.
For a long time, she didn't move. She just breathed.
When she finally crawled out, her limbs were heavy, her face pale and slick with sweat. The room was a mess — toppled books, fallen shelves, broken glass. She stared at the chaos for a moment, blankly, then by the time she managed to stand, her legs felt like lead. She reached for her backpack, moving automatically. "Disaster prep," she thought numbly. A few clothes, instant noodles, toiletries, flashlight.
Her body trembled, weak but still alive.
She put on her hoodie and mask, tied her hair back, and stepped out of the apartment.
In the hallway, people were emerging from their units, whispering, pale-faced. She joined them, descending carefully to the ground floor.
By the time she reached the ground floor, a crowd had already gathered. People huddled together, staring up at the still-red sky. Some whispered to each other.
One man laughed nervously to someone nearby, clutching his laptop like it was a life raft. "Honestly, this thing is my priority. Everything else can collapse, but not my laptop," he joked.
The other smirked, shaking their head. "You're ridiculous… but okay, keep hugging it then."
Others murmured about windows rattling, shelves tipping, the ground shifting beneath their feet.
The conversation drifted in hushed tones, all focused on the quake—but no one had an explanation for the crimson sky.
Selina sat quietly in the corner, scrolling through her phone.
Her blockmates were sending frantic messages. They said the quake struck while they were just being dismissed. A few students suddenly collapsed in pain, writhing on the ground. Some were even unconscious.
Her fingers paused. She had felt that same pain. It wasn't just her.
The screen flooded with updates: videos, live reports from across Cebu. Some showed people collapsing mid-street, clutching their heads. Others screaming.
Further down her feed, a livestream caught her eye.
The footage was shaky. Someone running, screaming in the background. At first, she thought it was another prank until she saw him: a man in tattered clothes, laughing, fire blooming in his hands.
Flames erupted where he pointed, swallowing a parked tricycle in seconds. Selina froze. The place behind him, she recognized it. Metro Colon. Near her university.
The fire grew. Screams erupted. The live ended.
Selina's hands tightened around her phone. Her reflection in the screen looked pale and still. Something was happening. Something beyond earthquakes or science.
She looked up. Across the crowd, a man in a white uniform, a medical student, probably from the school next door, was staring at her. His expression was unreadable.
Their eyes met for a moment before she looked away, pretending to scroll again.
More updates poured in. Buildings collapsing. Hospitals evacuating patients. Churches falling. Injuries everywhere, but fewer deaths than expected.
Someone forwarded a photo of the water under the CCLEX bridge receding, a bad sign. Panic spread through group chats. Older people whispered about omens and the end of days.
Then the rain began. Heavy, violent rain that blurred the world into a wall of mist. The sound swallowed everything. Beneath the rain, something else hummed, a low vibration, deep and alive, like the growl of an awakening machine.
She froze.
It sounded again, faint but real.
Through the glass, she could see nothing but rain. People began climbing back upstairs. The man in white passed her by without a word.
Selina pulled her hoodie tighter and waited for the stairwell to clear. She didn't trust the elevators. Her unit was only on the fourth floor anyway.
Inside, she cleaned what she could and sat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The pain still echoed faintly through her limbs. It wasn't just her, it was a collective event.
Her phone kept buzzing. Reports, updates, confusion. A video from Davao, ceiling tiles falling, students crying, a faint white light flashing across the footage before the feed cut.
Outside, in the storm, the world was shifting quietly. Plants reached for the rain. Wild animals howled. Pets clawed at doors, desperate to go outside.
Then, without warning, something changed.
A thin shimmer spread through the rain, curving like glass, transparent, smooth, enclosing the city in silence. A transparent dome had began to form.
Cebu City was sealed.
And not just here. Satellite feeds showed Manila, Davao, and other cities around the world covered by similar domes.
The city fell silent. No engines. No chatter. Even the air grew still.
Then came the hum.
A vibration underfoot. Lines of light rippled across the red-tinted sky, geometric and cold, like circuitry forming above the clouds.
A deep chime echoed across the world.
And a mechanical, playful voice spoke inside every mind:
"Welcome, residents of Cebu City. You are now officially registered. From this moment on, your existence will be recorded. Your names, visible above your heads, will serve as identification in upcoming events. Now then… let's begin the fun, shall we?"