The following day, the sun rose over the capital not with a bang, but with a suffocating silence. The morning seemed to be normal, with coffee shops opening and transit trains humming, but underneath the city's heart, the nervous system had been severed out.
By 9:00 AM, the whispers started and it all started at the Ministry of Finance, staff stood huddled in the lobby, staring at an elevator bank that refused to move.
The Vice President's floor was dead, no security, no secretaries, not even a stray piece of paper on the desks. It wasn't just that the men were missing; it was as if the very idea of them had been erased from the building.
"Are we in the same building or did we wake up in the wrong planet?" One employee asked.
"I tried to call his private line," one junior clerk whispered, her face ashen.
"The operator said the number doesn't exist, not that it's disconnected that it never existed! Have we been dealing with ghosts?"
