The man stood in the empty white void, arms crossed, a familiar weight settling in his chest—the same feeling he got when a job site went quiet and everyone was waiting for someone else to make the first move. He'd asked the basic questions, learned the rules, but understanding the game didn't make it any less terrifying.
Eight billion people. Eight billion wishes. The world he'd return to wouldn't just be different—it would be unrecognisable.
He uncrossed his arms, and cracked his knuckles. There had to be a way to tip the odds in his favour. In his experience, the jobs that went smoothest were the ones where everyone knew their role and worked together.
"Can wish-makers work together? Coordinate our wishes?"
"Yes. Cooperation between wish-makers is permitted. However, the number of individuals in a cooperative group may not exceed ten."
He raised an eyebrow. That was something, at least. "Why ten?"
"The number has been determined as the optimal limit for meaningful cooperation without excessive interference from conflicting interests."
The man nodded slowly. So this was strategic after all. If he could find the right people—people who could actually work together instead of tearing each other apart—they might have a real shot at surviving whatever came next.
The problem was, he couldn't think of anyone to ask. His family was either dead, scattered, or wanted nothing to do with him. His mates from various job sites were decent enough, but asking them to coordinate the reshaping of reality felt like bringing a spanner to brain surgery.
"Can you recommend people I should cooperate with?"
"Compiling list..."
He waited, drumming his fingers against his thigh.
"The following 100 individuals have been selected as the most optimal candidates for cooperation. This selection is based on calculated probabilities for a positive outcome should they work together. The list is not binding, nor is it absolute. It is merely a recommendation."
Names began scrolling across the screen in neat, glowing text. None of them meant anything to him—just a parade of strangers who supposedly had the best chance of not getting each other killed.
"Can you tell me anything about these people? Skills, backgrounds, anything?"
"No."
Of course not. The man rubbed his jaw, studying the endless list. Pure bloody lottery, then. But a lottery was still better odds than going it alone.
He'd always trusted his gut when the stakes were high. Right now, his gut was telling him that the people who'd survived whatever had brought them to this moment—the ones calm enough to ask questions instead of making panicked wishes—those were the ones worth betting on.
He closed his eyes, scrolled randomly, and picked twenty names. Even if half of them told him to get lost, he'd still have the ten.
"Confirm my choice."
"Confirmed. The selected individuals will receive an invitation to participate. They are not required to accept and may return to their original space at any time should they no longer want to participate."
---
Across the void, twenty people stared at messages that had appeared on their screens. The invitation was sparse on details but promised safety and the option to leave. Some dismissed it immediately—they'd learned not to trust strangers bearing gifts. Others hesitated, weighing curiosity against caution.
When the shifting stopped, sixteen people stood in a new space—softer somehow, less harsh than the individual voids they'd left behind. At the centre stood a young man, watching them with a steady gaze.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. A teenager in running gear shifted nervously. A woman in casual attire checked her watch out of habit, though time seemed meaningless here. An older man in a cardigan observed everything with patience.
The man at the centre stepped forward.
"Name's Atlas."
Several people blinked. Weird name, but stranger things had happened in the last hour.
"I sent the invites and before anyone asks—no, I don't know any of you. Wasn't personal choice, just picked names off a list the entity gave me. Pure chance, really."
A sharp-eyed woman in athletic wear crossed her arms. "So we're here because of random selection? That's hardly reassuring."
Atlas met her stare without flinching. "Fair enough. Here's what I know—we can form teams of up to ten people. Working together gives us better odds than going solo. The world's about to change whether we like it or not, and I'd rather have some say in how that goes."
"Better odds of what, exactly?" The question came from a man in an expensive suit who looked like he'd stepped out of a boardroom. His tone was clipped, professional. "Survival? Success? What are we even measuring here?"
"Not dying horribly would be a start," Atlas replied dryly. "Beyond that, I figure we pool our knowledge, coordinate our wishes so they don't cancel each other out, and try to create something we can all live with."
The teenage girl shifted closer to the group. "But what if our ideals conflict? What if what's good for you is terrible for me?"
The older man in the cardigan spoke for the first time, his voice carrying the weight of decades. "Then we'll have to find common ground, young lady. The alternative is leaving it to chance—and in my experience, chance rarely favours the unprepared."
"This is assuming we can trust each other," the athletic woman interjected. "We're talking about the most important decision any of us will ever make. How do we know you won't just use us and discard us when it's convenient?"
Atlas felt a familiar knot in his stomach—the same one he got when a project was falling apart and everyone was looking for someone to blame. "We don't," he said simply. "But I'll tell you what I do know—I've seen what happens when people try to handle disasters alone. They make stupid mistakes, miss obvious solutions, and create a dumpster fire of a situation."
He looked around the group, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. "I'm not asking you to trust me with your lives. I'm asking you to trust that working together gives us all a better shot than whatever chaos is waiting out there."
The businessman Victor, introduced himself and adjusted his cuffs. "And what makes you think you're leadership material? What qualifies you to coordinate this... cooperation?"
Heat flashed up Atlas's neck, but he kept his voice level. "Because I asked the questions that got us here. Because I'm the one who realised we needed a team. And because someone has to make the first move, and everyone else is still standing around waiting for someone else to do it."
A few people shuffled uncomfortably. Several were already backing toward the edges of the space, clearly having second thoughts.
"Look," Atlas continued, "I'm not trying to be anyone's boss. We're equals here. But if we're going to do this, we need to actually do it. Talk through our wishes, figure out how they fit together, make sure we're not accidentally wishing for opposite things."
"What if we don't want to share our wishes?" This from a quiet man with ink-stained fingers who looked like he spent more time with books than people.
"Then this won't work," Atlas said bluntly. "The whole point is coordination. If you're not willing to put your cards on the table, you might as well go back to your own space and take your chances."
The silence that followed was heavy with decision. One by one, people began to choose. A man in paint-splattered overalls shook his head and stepped backward until he disappeared. A woman with a nurse's badge followed him.
But others moved closer. The businessman, despite his sharp questions, nodded curtly. The athletic woman uncrossed her arms. The teenager looked terrified but determined. The older gentleman smiled slightly.
When the choosing was finished, seven people remained: Atlas at the centre, surrounded by Ethan, Victor, Maria, Lily, Walter, and Samuel. They looked at each other with the cautious assessment of strangers about to become something more.
"Right then," Atlas said, feeling the weight of their decision settle over the group like a heavy blanket. "We're in this together. Our fates are tied to what we decide next."
The void around them seemed to pulse with anticipation, as if it too was waiting to see what seven strangers could build from the ashes of the old world.