Alex was invisible—a night-shift warehouse worker, a shadow at the edge of the city, barely more than a rumor to the people who passed him by. He moved through life quietly, blending in so well that sometimes he wondered if he'd turn see-through. At least the steady whir of forklifts and the comforting smell of cardboard and oil gave him something solid to hold onto.
But then, on a Tuesday that started out like any other, everything changed.
It wasn't a slow unraveling, either. The sky split apart with a sound like the world itself was screaming. Meteors tore down from above—fiery, wild, so bright Alex had to shield his eyes. Sirens wailed, buildings shook, and in a heartbeat, the city was chaos. People ran, tripping, shouting, their voices swallowed up by the roar of collapsing brick and the rush of wind and fire. Alex's heart hammered in his chest as he ducked behind a toppled streetlight, his mind racing, unable to make sense of any of it.
And then—like something out of a fever dream—a blue screen shimmered in front of his eyes, right there in the smoke and noise. Strange words pulsed across it: [Growth System Activated]. For a second, Alex just stared. Was he hallucinating? Had he hit his head? But the screen wouldn't go away. It glowed, patient and relentless, flashing commands at him: find cover, gather supplies, build a shelter.
He almost laughed, but fear pushed him to act. He stumbled through burning alleys, the screen guiding him with little arrows and blinking icons. It led him to what used to be an electronics shop—glass everywhere, shelves toppled, the air thick with dust and the sharp tang of something burning. He didn't have time to think. He just shoved circuit boards and wires into his backpack, moving on autopilot, following the system's instructions because what else could he do?
That first night was a blur. Alex's hands stung from cuts, his eyes felt like they were full of grit, but somehow—somewhere—he managed to slap together a shelter out of broken doors and wire. When he finally slumped against the wall, the system gave him a reward: a packet of food, a water purifier that looked like it had seen better days. He ate in silence, too tired to be afraid.
Morning brought new surprises. The tarp he'd used as a door had turned into something sturdier, his shelter had a roof covered with solar panels, and there was an extra room he definitely hadn't built. He ran his hand over the new wall, half-expecting it to vanish. Was he dreaming, or going crazy? Maybe both. But every time he looked outside—at the scorched, empty streets and the distant sound of sirens—he knew that whatever was happening, it was the only reason he was still alive.