"Hmm… what should I buy?"
Li Heng stood in front of the shelf, eyeing the food prices with a dead stare. The shelves weren't exactly full, but they weren't empty either—just enough to remind you of what you couldn't afford. He picked up a cup of instant noodles, then put it back down. Even the cheap brands were getting expensive.
His stomach growled.
"Guess that's all I can afford anyway."
He grabbed a single pack—synthetic beef flavor—and shuffled toward the self-checkout. A robotic voice buzzed overhead, repeating the same old government alert: "Remain calm. Martial readiness levels have increased. Avoid unnecessary travel. Store food and water for emergencies."
He didn't even blink anymore when he heard it. These announcements had been running on loop for weeks now, ever since tensions between the global blocs had crossed the diplomatic breaking point. It was all empty words and plastic smiles on the news—until last night, when one country officially pulled out of the Peace Convention.
He paid with the last few coins in his pocket, the scanner giving him an annoyed beep before accepting the payment.
Walking outside, Li Heng zipped up his jacket against the chill. Gray clouds hung low over the city, and the wind carried the scent of burning oil and metal. Trash blew past his feet. No one picked up garbage in this part of town anymore. It was just another thing that got cut from the budget. Like schools. Like healthcare.
His apartment was a 25-minute walk from the convenience store, down cracked sidewalks and under rusted light posts that flickered half-heartedly. Surveillance drones zipped overhead every now and then, scanning for illegal gatherings or stolen tech, but nobody paid them much attention anymore. They were more bark than bite.
As he walked, his mind spiraled through its usual thoughts.
Why the hell was I born here?
Why couldn't I have just been lucky? Born rich? Born in one of those domed cities with private schools and food that wasn't powdered garbage?
Why do I even bother?
He passed by a few people huddled in alleyways. Some were kids. Some looked barely older than him. No one said a word.
Li Heng's building was a nine-story concrete block that looked like it had survived three earthquakes and then been used for target practice. The elevator had died months ago, so he climbed the stairs—step after step—until he reached the ninth floor, panting slightly.
Inside, the apartment was as gray and cold as the world outside. A small heater buzzed in the corner, barely strong enough to push back the winter chill. Peeling paint curled from the walls, and a cracked window let in a steady stream of wind.
He kicked off his shoes, boiled water in a dented kettle, poured it into the instant noodles, stirred in the chemical-flavored sauce, and collapsed onto his mattress.
Dinner.
He scrolled through his phone as he ate, watching random videos to drown out the silence. Some dumb comedy skit. A dance challenge. A cat doing flips. Then he opened the news.
Big mistake.
"Leaders of the Euro-Asian Confederation denounce Republic of Nordica's missile tests."
"President of the Pan-American Federation threatens 'irreversible consequences' after disputed satellite is shot down."
"Global tension reaches critical mass. UN meetings canceled indefinitely."
Li Heng dropped his phone on his chest and stared at the ceiling.
"I don't get it," he muttered. "Why the hell do these old men get to decide everything for the rest of us?"
No answer.
Just the wind.
He finished the noodles, threw the cup in the trash, and lay back down. He didn't bother brushing his teeth. Didn't bother checking the job listings. What was the point?
He'd worked everything from janitor to cargo hauler in the past year. Nothing lasted. Pay was a joke. Some weeks, he made just enough to afford heat. Most weeks, he didn't.
Li Heng closed his eyes.
"I'm so tired," he whispered. "I'm tired of trying. Tired of pretending it'll get better."
But he didn't cry.
He hadn't cried in years.
He just drifted into sleep.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOM
A low, distant rumble jolted him awake.
He sat up, heart pounding, and looked around. The apartment was still there. No fire. No collapse. But something was wrong.
Then he heard it.
Sirens.
Dozens of them.
He fumbled for his phone and unlocked it. His screen lit up with emergency alerts.
GLOBAL ALERT
NUCLEAR STRIKES CONFIRMED IN MAJOR CITIES. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER.
AVOID WINDOWS. PROTECT AGAINST BLAST WAVES AND FALLOUT.
THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Li Heng froze.
Another alert popped up: "Beijing, Shanghai, New Seoul, Tokyo, and Manila have all been hit."
Then one more:
"Zhonghua Sector-9 is within secondary blast range. Estimated impact in 90 seconds."
He stared at the screen.
The message blinked slowly, like it was waiting for him to do something.
But what could he do?
There was no shelter here.
No bunker.
No warning system.
Just an old concrete building and a few layers of drywall between him and annihilation.
Li Heng stood up, breathing hard. The sound of running footsteps echoed from the stairwell outside. Screams. Babies crying. Car alarms blaring.
He walked to the window and opened it.
People were scrambling through the streets, their faces twisted in panic. Some were on their knees, praying. Others were shouting, trying to rally their families. A few were frozen, just standing there.
He looked up toward the horizon.
In the distance, a growing sphere of light was rising behind the skyline. Bright. Blinding. Endless.
The sky turned white.
Li Heng clenched his fists.
He felt the heat before the sound came—like standing too close to a furnace.
And then…
The boom.
It was like the entire city inhaled and screamed all at once.
The shockwave shattered glass across the district. The ground trembled. Buildings collapsed like sandcastles. A wave of fire rolled toward them, consuming everything in its path.
Li Heng stood tall.
He didn't cry.
Didn't beg.
Didn't pray.
He just stared at the light and muttered:
"Fuck them all."
The blast hit.
And he was gone.
No heaven. No hell. Just… silence.
For a moment, there was nothing.
No body.
No pain.
No time.
Then—like a thread pulled from a tangle—his consciousness stirred.
He wasn't in the apartment anymore.
Wasn't in the city.
He wasn't even sure he was on Earth.
But he was somewhere.
And something was calling to him.
A light… not like the explosion, but softer. Warmer. It reached into him—not just his body, but his soul—and began to pull.
He didn't resist.
Li Heng had died in a world ruled by greed, war, and madness. But death was not the end.
It was only the beginning.