Global Apocalypse: My System Is Always AFK

”Not on Earth,” Ethan repeated. ”You’re gonna have to walk that back a little, because I’ve had a long day and that sentence is doing a lot of heavy lifting.”

[The system understands the reaction. It would like to clarify as precisely as it currently can.]

[When the subject synchronized with this terminal, it briefly extended its awareness outward — not far, and not for long, but enough to register a second, similarly structured signal elsewhere. The signal does not originate anywhere within this planet’s crust, orbit, or atmosphere. The system has checked. Twice.]

Priya, still standing a few paces back from the dais, folded her arms tighter. ”So there’s another one of these terminals. Somewhere that isn’t here.”

”Somewhere that isn’t here here,” Ethan said. ”Like, not-here as in not-this-planet.”

[Correct. The system would also like to note that the signal is faint — fainter than this terminal was before synchronization — which suggests either distance, age, or damage. Possibly all three. It is not currently strong enough for the system to determine a precise location, only a general direction and the fact that it exists at all.]

Ethan looked back up at the archive still glowing quietly above the dais, at the last entry from Arjun Mehra still hanging there — I cared about exactly the right amount of things, which turned out to be a very short list, and none of them needed a throne — and felt something settle uneasily in his stomach that had nothing to do with the vault’s temperature.

”So he didn’t just log out and vanish into thin air,” Ethan said slowly. ”He might’ve actually gone somewhere. Somewhere with its own version of this terminal.”

[The system cannot confirm that. It would be speculation. But it is a possibility the system feels obligated to raise, given the timing.]

”What timing?”

[The second signal activated at the exact moment the subject synchronized with this one. Not before. Not after. The same instant.]

That landed heavier than anything else in the vault so far. Ethan stood there a moment, processing it, the golden light steady and patient around him like the room itself had all the time in the world to wait for him to catch up.

”So either that’s a coincidence,” he said finally, ”or my system just knocked on a door somewhere, and something on the other side knocked back.”

[The system does not believe in coincidences of this particular magnitude. It has been wrong before. It does not believe it is wrong now.]

They surfaced an hour later, blinking against actual daylight after the vault’s steady golden glow, and found the courtyard exactly as they’d left it — rope line still up, small crowd still gathered, the tea golem still rolling anxious little circles at a safe distance from the excavated stairwell.

Suresh met them at the top with the particular brand of patient, practiced calm he reserved for situations he suspected were about to get complicated.

”Well?” he said.

Ethan opened his mouth, considered several different ways to summarize what had just happened, and settled on the one that felt most honest.

”There was a guy before me,” he said. ”Like — an actual predecessor. Same broken system. Same refusal to lead anything. Same everything, basically, right down to turning down a guild the same way I turned down Anika. His name was Arjun. He logged out, permanently, a long time ago, and left the whole system just... sitting there. Waiting.”

Suresh absorbed that with the stillness of a man who had genuinely stopped being surprised by anything roughly four months ago. ”Waiting for what?”

”For someone to take his place, apparently,” Ethan said. ”There’s supposed to be a seat. A throne, or whatever. It wasn’t even in the room yet — just an empty space where one’s clearly meant to go eventually.”

”And you’re going to take it,” Suresh said. Not quite a question, but not quite a statement either — more like he already suspected the answer and wanted to hear Ethan say it out loud anyway.

”No,” Ethan said, immediately, with the same flat certainty he’d used on every recruitment offer since Chapter 1. ”Absolutely not. I’ve got enough going on. I’m not signing up to run — whatever this is. A throne. A multiverse. A committee. Whatever word applies. I didn’t want Supreme Commander. I don’t want this either.”

Suresh nodded slowly, unsurprised, and let it go for now — he’d learned, over months of managing a sanctuary for a man allergic to titles, exactly when to push and exactly when to simply note the answer and move on.

”There’s more, though,” Ethan added, glancing at Priya, who nodded for him to continue. ”The system picked up a second signal. Same kind of tech as what’s down there. Except it’s not here. It’s not on Earth at all.”

That got a reaction out of Suresh — a small one, a slight widening of the eyes, but a reaction nonetheless, which by this point in the story counted as genuine alarm.

”Off-world,” he repeated.

”Off-world,” Ethan confirmed. ”It woke up the second I synced with the terminal down there. Like it was listening. Like it’s been listening this whole time, for exactly that.”

The courtyard was quiet for a moment, the small crowd behind the rope line murmuring amongst themselves, catching only fragments of the conversation but clearly sensing, correctly, that something significant had just shifted.

[NOTICE: The system would like to add one detail it withheld until reaching the surface, out of caution regarding how it might land underground.]

[While cataloguing the terminal’s final legible entries, the system located one additional fragment — badly corrupted, mostly unreadable, but attached, unmistakably, to a location tag rather than a log entry. It appears to be coordinates. Or the closest equivalent this architecture uses for coordinates. The system cannot resolve them into anything Earth’s mapping systems recognize.]

[It can, however, confirm one thing about them: they match, almost exactly, the general direction of the second signal.]

Ethan felt his stomach do something complicated. ”So he left a trail.”

[If the subject wants to interpret it that way, the data supports it. Whether it was left intentionally — a breadcrumb for whoever came next — or simply an accident of however this architecture logs its own activity, the system cannot determine.]

Ethan looked out past the rope line, past the gathered onlookers, past the Citadel’s walls toward the ordinary, healed sky that had only just stopped being a battlefield three weeks ago, and felt the specific, familiar weight of a problem that wasn’t going to solve itself just because he ignored it hard enough.

”Okay,” he said finally, mostly to himself. ”So there’s an empty throne under my kitchen, a guy who might’ve disappeared to somewhere off-world instead of actually dying, and a second signal that just woke up the second I touched anything down there.”

”That’s the situation, yes,” Suresh confirmed.

”Great.” Ethan rubbed both hands down his face. ”I finally get three weeks of actual sleep and the universe immediately finds a way to make my basement more complicated than my life.”

He glanced toward the tea golem, still rolling in anxious little circles, and managed a tired, genuine half-smile despite everything.

”At least tell me the tea’s ready,” he said. ”Because if I’m gonna spend the rest of today figuring out whether the guy who used to have my job just relocated to another planet, I’d like to do it with a full cup.”

The golem, sensing its cue with the uncanny precision it always managed, rolled forward immediately, tray already balanced and steaming.

Behind them, deep beneath the courtyard, the vault’s golden light continued to pulse quietly in the dark — patient, steady, and, for the first time in what the system suspected was a very, very long while, no longer entirely alone.