[SYSTEM STATUS: PROGRAMMED EXTINCTION]
[LOCATION: THE BLACK CITADEL - FORMER PENTAGON RUINS]
[VIRAL METER: REPLACED BY "BIOLOGICAL DEATH CLOCK"]
The silence that blanketed the planet was not the peace of a sleeping world, but the suffocating dread of a final breath. In Dante's subterranean labs, under the frozen gaze of Sia—now a hollow vessel for data—the ultimate weapon was unleashed: The Pyramid 33 Virus, known in shadowed circles as the "Doomsday Aging Pathogen."
It was not a virus that killed with speed, but one that stole Time. Upon inhalation, the virus dismantled the hydrogen bonds within human DNA, triggering a catastrophic acceleration of cellular senescence. Within days, the young became elderly; skin withered, bones turned to glass, and hearts labored to pump blood through calcified veins. People watched in mirrors as their lives evaporated in real-time.
The Global Auction of Life: A Million Dollars for a Breath
Dante Vane stood on a balcony overlooking a smog-choked Washington D.C., holding a small vial of shimmering, translucent liquid—the only antidote in existence.
"Life was always given for free, and that is why no one valued it," Dante whispered, his voice projected to every smartphone on Earth via the mandatory Vane-Store app.
"Today, I am putting a price on existence. The antidote for Pyramid 33 is now available. The price: $1,000,000 per person. No exceptions. No installments. No mercy. Those with the capital purchase tomorrow; those without, prepare to become the fertilizer for the earth you failed."
In that moment, the world transformed into a slaughterhouse of despair. Wars erupted within households. Parents stole from their children's savings; the wealthy liquidated their servants' assets just to scrape together the million-dollar fee. Dante had turned humanity into a filthy transaction where death was the "loser" and money was the "oxygen."
The Humiliation of Uncle Sam: The Final Collapse
Deep beneath the Cheyenne Mountains, the remnants of the United States Government—the President, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and the heads of intelligence—sat in a state of paralysis. Their faces were already sagging; deep wrinkles carved through their brows and grey hair sprouted in patches. Pyramid 33 had struck the heart of the bunker.
Dante appeared on their massive tactical screens, leaning back in a leather chair with Machiavellian poise, sipping a vintage wine.
"Mr. President," Dante drawled with lethal sarcasm. "You look tired. Is it the weight of the state, or are your telomeres simply snapping?"
"Dante... please," the President whimpered, his voice cracking as he hid his trembling, age-spotted hands. "We will give you everything. The Federal Reserve, the gold, the nuclear launch codes... just give us the serum."
Dante's laugh was a dry, hollow sound that froze the blood in their veins. "The launch codes? The gold? I took those in Chapter 4. What I want now is your disgrace. I want you to go on a global live feed and apologize for every lie, every war, and every cent you stole from your people. I want you to bark like dogs for a cure. Only then will I consider selling you a dose... for a million dollars each, of course."
Tactical Despair: The "Hunger Games" of Survival
Dante employed the darkest psychological tactic: Conditional Hope. He released exactly one free dose per city every hour via drone. This caused the masses to tear each other apart in the streets for a single syringe, while he broadcasted the footage globally to prove his theory: "Man is an animal in clothes; once death beckons, he shreds his own brother."
"Look at them, Sia," Dante said, watching a crowd in New York beat a man to death over a falling drone. "The government taught them to trust the law. I taught them to trust only the instinct to survive. I'm not extorting them... I'm returning them to their true nature."
The Empire of Dust
By nightfall, Washington had fully surrendered. The Pentagon's finest, who once planned the conquest of nations, were now crawling on their knees in the bunker corridors, begging at Dante's cold, dark screens.
Dante had become the God of Time. He held the only key to the hourglass. He had made America—with all its perceived glory and steel—a mere beggar searching for a million-dollar injection in a world where money meant nothing unless it was blessed by the hand of Dante Vane.
[DEATH CLOCK: 00:00:58]
[STATUS: WORLD UNDER BIOLOGICAL HOUSE ARREST]