The world as we knew it ended five years ago. In the year 2050, Earth was a graveyard of its former self, shattered and broken. Only 30% of humanity remained, scattered across the ruins of once-thriving civilizations. What brought us here wasn't a singular disaster—it was a relentless cascade of catastrophes.
It started subtly, almost forgettably—a snowstorm too mild to be significant. But then came the landslides, burying villages in minutes. Heatwaves followed, scorching the land, turning fertile soil to barren dust. Storms, floods, earthquakes—nature unleashed her fury in rapid succession. Then came the virus.
It spread like wildfire, turning people into monsters—mindless, soulless creatures driven by an insatiable hunger. Zombies. The outbreak was swift, brutal, and devastating. In mere months, entire nations fell, their streets overrun with the undead. For those who survived, life became a constant struggle, an endless battle against death.
But not all survivors were ordinary.
Amidst the chaos, a mutation began to surface. A small fraction of the population, about 29%, developed abilities far beyond human limits. They became known as the Players.
Each Player was unique. Some wielded strength that could shatter steel; others moved faster than the eye could follow. Some bent fire and lightning to their will, while others healed wounds with a touch. They became humanity's defenders, warriors who fought to reclaim a dying world.
The Players were humanity's last hope. But even their strength wasn't enough to undo the damage. As they slowly began to wipe out the undead, another disaster struck—one that would change everything.
The Black Hole
It appeared without warning, a swirling void in the sky. Unlike any black hole known to science, it didn't pull matter into its abyss. Instead, it brought something out.
From the depths of the black hole came the Monsters—living, breathing horrors that made the zombies look like mere nuisances. Towering beasts with razor-sharp claws, grotesque abominations with too many limbs, shadowy figures that moved faster than the eye could see. They were alive, intelligent, and infinitely more dangerous.
Humanity, already on its knees, was thrown into chaos once more. The Players, who had begun to turn the tide against the zombies, now faced an even greater enemy.
Two days ago, humanity triumphed over the black hole—the so-called last dungeon. The tide of zombies was wiped out, and the Monsters from the black hole were finally gone. You'd think it would be a reason to celebrate, right? Fireworks, laughter, maybe a collective sigh of relief echoing across what's left of the world.
But no one really cared. At least, not in the way you'd expect.
I didn't either.
My name's Jiya, and I live in what I call home—a two-storey box of a house made of reinforced metal. It was built to withstand the apocalypse, and trust me, it has. It's not much to look at, but it's mine.
The house is small, cramped even, though it was originally meant for a family of four. That thought used to sting—thinking about who this place was supposed to shelter, who it was built to protect. But now, it doesn't matter. I'm the only one here. Always have been, at least as far back as I can remember.
This place is my fortress. The strongest metal scavenged during the worst years of hell-on-earth makes up its walls. Zombies, Monsters, even the worst storms couldn't breach it. The windows are hidden behind steel shutters, and the doors are locked with more bolts than anyone could count. Not even the Players—the so-called saviors of humanity—would get through without a struggle.
Inside? A mess. But it's my mess.
Shelves stacked high with canned food, bottled water, ammo—everything I could hoard and scavenge over the years. The air smells like a mix of metal, oil, and dust. I've patched up this place so many times it feels more like a machine than a home. The generator hums faintly, powering the bare essentials: a flickering lamp, a crackly old radio, and a laptop that looks like it's held together with nothing but duct tape and sheer stubbornness.
It's not much.
But it's enough. For me, it's enough.
Jiya lounged on her battered old sofa, half a bowl of stale popcorn in her lap, while The Dawn to Dusk flickered across the wall from her clunky projector. She knew the lines by heart, but the routine brought comfort, a momentary escape from the dull hum of her existence. The apocalypse had come and gone, but boredom? That was eternal.
Until it wasn't.
A flicker caught her eye. A faint shimmer in the air right in front of her, like the fabric of reality had hiccupped. She froze, staring at the tiny black dot that had suddenly appeared in the middle of her living room.
"What the hell…?" she whispered, leaning forward.
The dot grew, swirling, pulsing, expanding with every heartbeat. Black mist seeped from its edges, twisting like tendrils in the air. Her stomach turned as an all-too-familiar crackling hum filled the room.
"Oh no. No, no, no, no."
Her mind raced, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. She vaulted over the back of the sofa, crouching behind it like a kid playing hide-and-seek. But there was no play here—just cold, gut-wrenching fear.
The black hole.
Her fortress of a house suddenly didn't feel so indestructible. Sure, the walls were reinforced, the shutters locked tight, and the doors bolted like a bank vault. But none of that mattered if something came out.
"They said they wiped them all out," she hissed to herself, her voice trembling. "The Players, the last dungeon… it was supposed to be over."
She peeked over the edge of the sofa, her heart sinking as the black hole expanded further. The swirling darkness seemed alive, hungry, a thing that had no place in her tiny sanctuary. Her breathing quickened as she stared at it, the realization sinking in.
"If Monsters come through…" she whispered, gripping the edge of the sofa. "They're going to tear this place apart. Or worse—tear me apart."