Zai

  The flickering fluorescent lights of the makeshift lab cast long, warped shadows across the walls. I hunched over the microscope again, trying to find clarity in the mess of cellular debris and fragmented DNA scattered around me. Days of work, no sleep required apparently, yet I still felt… functional. No fatigue, no crash. That was the first clue something wasn’t normal.

  Two days, and nothing. Every slide, every analysis ended the same way. Cells constantly changing, adapting, growing—but never breaking. Which should mean they’re unstable, right? Wrong. Totally fine. Unfazed. Invincible, even. I muttered to myself, “So what is it, then? What the hell is going on with me?”

  I dropped the slide I was holding onto the table and rubbed my eyes. If I couldn’t figure myself out, how the hell was I supposed to figure out what wiped humanity off the planet? Something that somehow only targeted human brains, leaving every animal, tree, and plant untouched. Magic, maybe. Because science sure wasn’t offering any answers.

  “How did I even survive?” I muttered. “Pure luck? Or was it the MRI scanner’s magnetic setting at that exact moment?” Bullshit. Total, cosmic bullshit.

  Whoever—or whatever—did this… Humanity would’ve seen it coming. There would’ve been signs. But now there’s nothing. No radio waves, no satellites, no posts, no voices. The internet is dead, like an echo trapped in a void. I scrolled through old CCTV footage out of sheer desperation, hoping for a clue. Nothing but frozen faces and silent stillness. One clip showed a streamer mid-laugh, frozen with the dumbest expression I’ve ever seen. I snorted. “Figures.” Then the reality hit—he was dead too. Just like everyone else.

  It sucks. It really does. But here’s the kicker: I’m no closer to figuring out what happened than when I started.

  I leaned back in my chair, letting out a sigh that echoed in the lab’s emptiness. The absurdity of it all made me want to laugh, but instead, I stared at the chaos on my desk—notes, samples, shattered theories. The fluorescent buzz of the light above was maddening, a reminder that while the world was gone, this stupid bulb still worked.

  “Magic,” I muttered. “Might as well be.” I propped my legs on the desk. My tentacle, slick and muscular, curled awkwardly over the edge. Its movements felt too precise, too fluid—almost alive. Definitely an upgrade from the crab claw I had before. But it was still alien, still wrong.

  I reached for the mug of cold coffee, only to knock it over with the tentacle. Dark liquid spilled across my notes, soaking everything. “Great. Just perfect.” I stared at the growing stain and picked up the mug. The suckers clung tightly to the ceramic before crushing it effortlessly. I dropped the pieces to the floor with a sigh. “Add that to the list of things I can’t control.”

  I got up and started pacing. The faint hum of the equipment filled the silence, a reminder of how alone I was. My hand rubbed at my temples while my tentacle twitched at my side.

  Think, Zai. Focus.

  There had to be something I was missing, something obvious. I grabbed a notebook and flipped through the pages—sketches, formulas, erratic scribbles. Words like "adaptive stability" and "molecular resonance" stared back at me, circled over and over like they were supposed to mean something.

  “What’s the point?” I muttered. My voice rose as frustration boiled over. “Everyone’s dead! The whole species is gone! And here I am, playing mad scientist in a world that doesn’t even care!” I slammed the notebook onto the table, the sound echoing in the stillness.

  I stood there, breathing hard, my tentacle flexing and unflexing in agitation. For a moment, I thought about smashing it all—the microscope, the vials, everything I’d built here—and walking out into the ruins. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

  I sank back into my chair, staring at the microscope. The cells on the slides beneath it pulsed faintly, dividing, adapting, evolving. They were a reflection of me now—unstable yet completely unbreakable.

  “Fine,” I muttered. “If I can’t figure it out yet, I’ll just keep going. One step at a time.”

  I reached for another slide and adjusted the microscope. My tentacle handled the lens with surprising precision. The cell came into focus, its nucleus glowing faintly with an almost unnatural light. My breath caught.

  "Wait a minute," I whispered, my heart pounding. The suckers on the tentacle tightened involuntarily as I leaned closer. "What’s that…?"

  The cell pulsed again, the same rhythm I’d seen before—when I found that thing in the cave. The thing that didn’t belong here. Its DNA was unlike anything I’d ever seen, and it was the reason I’d gone into that MRI scanner in the first place.

  Then it hit me. A memory, a realization. The glowing cell, the cave, the changes in my body—it all connected. Just as I thought I finally had it—

  A blinding blue light engulfed everything.

  My pupils went wide, and for the first time, I saw it. Not through microscopes or tests, but in raw clarity.

  No lab. No computers. No research. Just truth.

  Elias

  The scent of sweet flowers, normally a welcome fragrance, was now a jarring assault on my senses, a cloying sweetness that felt almost toxic in the air. It was chemical warfare on my grieving brain, a cruel reminder of the world that was. A normal day… I would have enjoyed this, I thought, the memory a sharp pang in my chest. But nothing was normal anymore. Everywhere I went, the silent testament of death surrounded me: still figures, some already beginning the grim process of returning to the earth. With each discovery, I took the time to offer a silent prayer, a small act of respect in a world that seemed to have forgotten it. This field of tulips, a vibrant splash of color against the gray backdrop of destruction, was a haunting semblance of the old world. I thought of it as if it were a distant memory, a relic of a bygone era, but the truth was far more disturbing. It had only been two days. Two days since everything had changed. The unsettling reality was that this vibrant field was a snapshot of a world frozen in time, a cruel reminder of what was lost. Every theory I chased, every lead I pursued, ended in the same desolate conclusion: a lifeless body or the chilling silence of dead airwaves.

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  then i took a deep breathe

  The sweet scent of the flowers, though almost overwhelming at times, offered a strange sort of solace. It was a fragrance that spoke of life, of beauty, a stark contrast to the devastation that surrounded me. Walking among them, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't experienced in days. It was as if Kara were here with me, her presence woven into the very air I breathed. This place… she would have loved it. It was the kind of place where she could truly be herself, surrounded by the simple beauty of nature. The thought brought a gentle smile to my face, a brief respite from the pain. ‘

  Then I found myself at the trailhead. This was it, the last vestige of hope, the final place I could search for answers. The path stretched before me, a ribbon of earth winding into a landscape of haunting beauty. It was a strange paradox: a world utterly empty, yet filled with a profound sense of peace. The trees lining the path stood tall and proud, their branches reaching out like welcoming arms. The air was still and quiet, broken only by the gentle rustling of leaves. It was a scene that whispered of a world untouched by tragedy, a world that now existed only in memory. The church, at the end of the trail, stood like a silent sentinel, its presence both comforting and unsettling. It called to me, a beacon in the emptiness.

  I stepped into the sanctuary. A wave of cool, still air washed over me, a stark contrast to the humid air outside. Surprisingly, the space was empty, untouched by the devastation that had ravaged the world beyond its walls. No lifeless bodies lay scattered here; it was as if this place had been spared. The first thing that struck me was the light. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant hues across the deep red carpet. Emerald green, sapphire blue, and ruby red danced and swirled, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere. The colors painted the air, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily in the beams. Drawn by the light, I found the altar, its polished surface gleaming beneath the colorful cascade.

  I approached the altar slowly, hesitantly, as if afraid to disturb the profound silence that filled the sanctuary. The light from the stained-glass windows painted my hands in vibrant hues, a fleeting reminder of the beauty that still existed in the world. Reaching the altar, I sank to my knees, the action less of a conscious choice and more of a surrender. My body trembled, wracked with grief and exhaustion. "God," I choked out, the word a desperate plea. "Oh, God… she’s gone." The realization hit me again, a crushing weight on my chest. "I’m… I’m nothing without her." My gaze lifted to the stained-glass depiction of a serene face, a face that offered no judgment, only a silent understanding. "I need to know why," I whispered, my voice filled with a desperate longing. "I need you to tell me… to show me… anything."

  My cries faded into the silence, leaving a hollow echo in their wake. Then, a blue light bloomed, not like a sunrise, but like a sudden, internal explosion. It was a light of impossible intensity, a cold, electric blue that seemed to pierce through me, through the walls, through everything. The air crackled with energy, and a faint ozone scent filled my nostrils. The light pressed against my skin, a physical weight that made me gasp. Every detail of the sanctuary—the stained glass, the altar, the red carpet—was momentarily etched in stark relief before being swallowed by the blue. It was overwhelming, all-encompassing, a sensory overload that left me breathless. In that moment of blinding light and resonating energy, I understood. The answer had arrived, not in a whisper, but in a roar of truth.