Yugan wakes :
The rain woke me up. It started as a drizzle. Oh shit—my mind feels a little clearer now. It's raining in Chennai. I fucking hate rain. Wet Chennai makes everything worse. I'm hungry.
I see my Rolls Royce parked nearby. The same one I puked in. It smells terrible. I don't even want that shitty car, even though it looks shiny and fancy from the outside. I feel like pissing on it—haha. I don't even know why I think like this. Maybe it's because I've always hated luxury stuff. Things poor people like me could never reach.
The rain is getting heavier now. I think that car has an umbrella built in. I remember watching something about that on YouTube. Yeah, a soft, weightless, old-style umbrella. But why the hell would they add something like that to such an expensive car? Must be a rich man's thing. I'll never understand..
I want to stand on the Rolls Royce and piss right on the glass in this rainy, stormy weather—haha. That piss feels divine. I haven't peed in hours, and now it feels amazing. Standing on top of that luxury car and pissing on its mirror—no rich kid with billions would ever do that. But I can—because right now, I'm the king of the world—haha.
But I'm starving. The liquor I drank last night is making it worse. I need food. There's a motorbike parked nearby. In this weather? I don't want to miss the chance to ride it. I'll take it.
The bike isn't safe, but speeding through the rain feels too good. No cops around to catch me. And I'm hungry—really hungry. I see a hotel. Old and retro. Might find something there.
Inside the kitchen, I find frozen chicken. Perfect. I want to fry it. Maybe half a kilo. I drop the pieces into hot oil. But my stomach won't let me wait till it's fully cooked. I want to eat now. Half-cooked will do.
The chicken's tender. Wow—it tastes so good. Yumm. Tasty food is the best kind of dopamine in the world, I swear
As I eat, my brain starts working again. I feel calmer. Maybe my next move should be something different. I want to find another human being. Someone like me. If I find them, maybe we can build a gang—. Start a kingdom with the people who are left.
No rich or poor. No police, no government, no passports or jobs. A world where you don't need to be a genius or a monster to survive. Just live. Do anything fun, as long as it doesn't hurt other people or animals. That should be the rule of the new world. Well, maybe this chicken 65 is making me think too much—haha.
I can see the TV is still running in the hotel. News channels playing without any people around. Yeah—it's live. Weirdly interesting to watch. What if I go there and speak? Broadcast myself? It might work, right? Everyone could see me—haha. I should do it.
Yeah, the chicken is over and my temptations for food kinda gone after eating some half kilo. That's the human stomach, I guess—haha. The rain's stopped now. I wanna take a car to the TV station. And man, we got unlimited cars now. Like millions of them without owners or drivers—lol.
I don't even check the car brand. It just drives fast and that's enough for me. I don't think I have time to park outside. I'll just ride in. It's a small car, and the TV station has this huge grand entrance—so yeah, I'm going in.
Inside, the building is massive. So many rooms, all with dish antennas and modern satellite systems. I walk past colorful stages, the ones they used to shoot all those famous TV shows. Cameras are still rolling, broadcasting live—crazy.
There's a board that says the news set is on the top floor. That's where I wanna go. The car can't climb stairs, obviously. So I walk.
The set looks lively—green mat, lights, and it's already broadcasting live. Then I notice—shit, I'm still wearing the same old bathrobe I wore during my last swim—haha. I forgot all about that. But it's fine. Who cares now?
Still, I'm nervous. I'm not confident to speak in front of a camera. I even feel scared to face it. But then I spot a cigarette near the newsreader's table—ah, that's a relief. Looks like the anchor here was a woman—she probably smoked it during a break. Wearing a traditional saree too. Well, no judgement. It's a modern world—haha.
I take a puff. It calms me. I think I'm already live. If anyone's out there watching—if anyone's alive—they'll see me now—haha.
I can't speak in perfect newsreader accent or anything. But I speak.
"If you're alive… contact me. I've added my mobile number and details on the board behind me. I'm not the reason for whatever happened to the world. Please don't blame me. But if you're still here, you're lucky. We're the luckiest. We're alive when no one else is. That means we have a chance."
"We can build a new world. A place full of love. No high or low. No rich or poor. No need for money or jobs or schools or looks or fame. Everyone equal. We're the kings of this world now."
"No government. No books to study. No offices to go to. Just a life worth living. The best life ever lived by any human—ever. That's the promise I give you."
I laugh again, softly.
"Don't mind my dress. Might not look cool. But in our world, fashion won't matter. People can wear whatever they like. Let's welcome this new life—with love, with fun, with peace."
Natasha and Russian band :
The world feels strangely safe and beautiful without fellow humans. That's what I keep telling myself, lying half-drunk on the beach, the salty wind brushing against my bare skin. I'm in a t-shirt and shorts that wouldn't exactly pass as "decent" by Indian standards. It's not properly covering me. Back when the world was full of people, I'd have felt inappropriate. But now? No creeps. No weird stares. Just me, the sea, and silence.
In India, the advantage of being beautiful is… complicated. Half the population treats you like a goddess. The other half looks at you like you're some richie-rich fantasy, their eyes full of inferiority complexes they never worked through. And then there are people like Raman. God, before he vanished like everyone else, I swear I'd have punched that guy right in his smug bunker—Russian style. Oops, wait. That would've gotten me fired. Probably why I didn't.
Maybe it's just the alcohol talking. I'm not exactly sober right now.
Night's falling, and I figure I need shelter. Somewhere to sleep. No way I'm driving—I already sank the yacht, remember? It's probably floating somewhere near Myanmar by now, partying with the fish. I start walking. The beach is dotted with bungalows, each one more bizarrely lavish than the last. Rich people, man. their taste in architecture screams louder than their common sense.
One white bungalow catches my eye. Its gate is wide open—a blessing for a drunken, lazy girl like me. The house is huge. Made for sea views. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls. White polished stone that shines even in the dim light. India isn't a poor country for everyone, clearly. Whoever owned this place was probably a celebrity. Or a politician. Or a film producer with ten black money accounts.
Inside, everything's themed. The bedroom opens to the ocean, curtains dancing in the breeze. I peek into the wardrobe—diamonds, gold, jewelry like it's a movie set. "Wow," I whisper to myself. But what's the point? I can't wear them out to show off. Not unless I want compliments from the sea breeze.
The fridge is overstocked—like they were preparing for the end of the world. Which, ironically, did happen. Fancy health food, imported chocolate, vegan cheese. Rich people always buy everything and then live on fancy diets that taste like cardboard. But hey, at least I won't go hungry.
I plop down on the couch. It's cozy. In fact, everything here is disgustingly cozy. But sleep? Not coming easily. There's a strange guilt in occupying someone else's home. What if someone rings the doorbell? What if the owner magically returns in the middle of the night?
The silence is loud. Too loud.
I need sound—just something in the background to chase the ghosts away. A TV should do the trick. I find the huge screen, flick it on, and dive into YouTube.
"Ranetki," I type. That Russian rock band I used to love. God, they're still there—alive in the pixels. Their music fills the room like a familiar old friend.. it gives me deep nostalgic as I heard this band from childhood..
I smile, tears stinging my eyes.
My mom would've loved this moment. She couldn't even afford to buy me snacks for school, but she once said, jokingly, "One day, I'll buy you a mansion on Rublyovka—with big white fences and everything."
We both knew it was impossible. She knew. I knew. But that was the kind of humor we shared. Stupid, warm, and filled with love.