The world did not fall apart all at once. It bled out, region by region, in a series of surreal and terrifying events broadcast across a thousand screens.
Giza, Egypt
The Great Pyramid had become the center of a media circus. Amira Khan stood at the edge of the military cordon, her father's research papers clutched so tightly in her hands the edges were crumpled. She had been trying for days to get someone, anyone, to listen. His data had predicted this: an energy convergence, a historical alignment that the ancient Egyptians had somehow foreseen. They called her a lunatic.
Then, it happened.
Without warning, the capstone of the pyramid began to glow. A low hum resonated through the desert, a sound so deep it vibrated in the bones of the onlookers. A brilliant, golden beam of light erupted from the pyramid's apex, spearing the sky. It was not a lightning strike or a searchlight; it was a column of solid energy, intricate patterns like hieroglyphs swirling within its impossible radiance. The crowd gasped, then fell into a stunned silence. Amira didn't gasp. She watched the beam with tears in her eyes, a bitter vindication burning in her chest. Her father had been right. And he was out there, somewhere, in the heart of this impossible new world.
Tokyo, Japan
The five o'clock rush hour was a familiar, suffocating river of humanity. Miyamoto Sakura moved through the Shinjuku station like a ghost, her small frame slipping through gaps in the crowd. She was thinking about the rent, the cost of ingredients for the ramen shop, the fading legacy of her family.
Then, the lights went out.
The sudden, absolute darkness was punctuated by a collective shriek of alarm. A second later, the red emergency strobes flickered on, painting the scene in flashes of hellish light. In those strobing glimpses, the real nightmare was revealed. They were pouring from the tunnels, from the grates, from the ventilation shafts. Insects. Cockroaches the size of a man's hand, centipedes as long as a python, their chitinous bodies clicking and scraping against the concrete. They swarmed over the platforms, their movements unnaturally fast and aggressive. Panic erupted. The human river turned into a stampede. Sakura didn't scream. She didn't run wildly. Years of brutal, thankless training took over. She melted into the chaos, her feet finding purchase where others slipped, the shadows of the strobing lights her only ally as she moved, unseen, away from the rising tide of skittering death.
Amazon Rainforest, Brazil
For Diego Rodrigues, the jungle was a living being, one he knew intimately. He understood its rhythms, its sounds, its scents. But this was different. The air was thick with a new, overpoweringly sweet smell. The growth was wrong. Vines that had been as thick as his thumb yesterday were now as thick as his thigh, strangling ancient trees.
He watched from a high branch as a capuchin monkey chittered nervously, staring at a flower below. It was a new species, a pitcher plant the size of a small hut, its petals a mesmerizing, beautiful crimson. Lured by the sweet scent, the monkey crept closer. In a blur of motion, a vine-like tongue lashed out, wrapping around the creature and yanking it into the plant's gaping maw. The petals snapped shut. Diego felt a profound sickness in his stomach. This was not the cycle of life and death he knew. This was a violation. The jungle, his home, was becoming a beautiful, ravenous monster.
Arctic Ocean, Russian Territory
The final transmission from the K-7 Research Station was short and garbled. Aboard the icebreaker Strelka, Captain Ivan Petrov listened to the static, his knuckles white where he gripped the console. For an hour, the station's sensors had been going haywire, reporting a catastrophic rise in sub-ice temperatures. The ice sheet, which should have been stable for another century, was melting at a rate of meters per hour.
Then came the scream. A single, terrified human sound, cut short by the roar of shattering ice and twisting metal. And then, silence.
On the main sonar display, the massive biological signature they had been tracking for a week—the one the analysts had dismissed as a glitch—was no longer directly beneath the station. It was moving. Heading south. Ivan stared at the red icon on the screen, a silent promise of vengeance forming in his grim heart. Whatever had taken his men, he would find it. And he would kill it.