Earth.
A planet that once glowed so brightly it could be seen from space—now lay drowned in darkness. No city lights. No signals. No proof that life had ever existed at all.
Just silence.
25 February 2027
11:47 PM
A boy sat on the edge of a ruined wall, perched so high that climbing down would be dangerous—and jumping would be worse. His legs dangled freely over the abyss, unmoving, as if gravity itself had grown tired of him.
He popped an almond into his mouth.
Crunch.
Then a cashew.
Crunch.
Slow. Deliberate. Loud enough to break the stillness.
Between bites, he hummed a tune—half-formed, careless, as if the song existed only to keep him company. Then he let the words spill out, uneven and rough.
"The world has ended…
There's poison in the air.
Even if I die,
No one will be there to care.
Some people just come one day,
Eat everything that appears…"
He paused, chewing thoughtfully, staring into the dark.
After a moment, he continued—less confident now.
"Well, the world has changed a lot.
There are no grains in the fields,
And no water in the pot."
He stopped.
A frown crossed his face.
"Yeah… better stop," he muttered. "I'll ruin it if I keep going."
His attention shifted to the left.
Movement.
At first, only shadows—slow, uneven silhouettes dragging themselves forward. Then, as they stepped into the faint moonlight, their forms became clear.
A group of people.
Or at least… they used to be.
Their eyes were completely white. Lifeless. From their heads grew thick, mushroom-like caps—bulbous and cracked, as if they had burst through the skulls. Pale roots crept down their faces and necks, spreading across their bodies like veins, binding muscle and bone together, forcing them to walk.
The boy sighed.
"No excitement at all," he said flatly. "It's you guys again."
He stood up.
"Alright," he muttered, jumping down from the wall and landing cleanly on the ground.
"Let's get to work."
Hands in his pockets, he walked straight toward them.
They didn't attack him.
Didn't even look at him.
They simply passed by—silent, obedient, empty.
He clicked his tongue.
"Wow. Ignoring me again, huh?"
As the last one crossed him, he suddenly lunged forward, grabbing it by the leg. The creature didn't scream. Didn't resist.
He dragged it across the ground, toward a wide pit hidden beneath broken concrete—something he had dug long ago.
A year ago… maybe more.
He tossed the body in.
Then another.
And another.
Again and again.
When he was done, ten of them lay tangled at the bottom of the pit, unmoving.
He dusted off his hands.
"Well," he said to himself, "today's goal is completed."
From his bag, he pulled out a glass bottle—sealed, glowing faintly. A portal mixture. Prepared in advance.
He poured it into the pit, the liquid soaking into flesh, roots, and soil.
Then he raised one hand.
Just a little.
"Swaha."
Flames bloomed instantly, wrapping around his fingers without burning him. He flicked them casually, sending a small spark down into the pit.
Fire erupted.
The bodies caught instantly, burning slow and steady. He knew from experience—it would take three, maybe four hours to finish.
He didn't plan to wait.
Turning away, he walked toward an abandoned building in the distance—his home since they appeared without warning.
At first, he had thought they were zombies.
But zombies didn't grow.
Didn't adapt.
Didn't whisper to something inside your head.
So he gave them the only name that made sense.
Mushroom Heads.
As he walked, a disturbing thought surfaced—one he hated.
Why do I sometimes want to eat that mushroom?
His face twisted.
"Disgusting," he muttered. "What the hell is wrong with me…"
The thought vanished as he reached the building.
Inside, his room was bare. Cold. Silent.
He lay down on the floor, staring into nothingness. The silence of the empty structure pressed in on him—so loud it almost hurt.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
His eyes closed.
And for the first time that day, the world left him alone.
Waiting.
For morning.