Global Apocalypse: My System Is Always AFK

The forty minutes went by faster than Ethan expected, most of it spent gathering the people he wanted nearby when the countdown finally hit zero - not because he thought company would help him survive whatever came next, but because Sundari’s earlier warning about ”continuity integrity” had made him want to be as certain as possible about who he actually was before something tried to convince him otherwise.

He found Suresh first, then Kael and Ren, then finally made his way to the terminal’s chamber, where Kaia and Sundari were already waiting, the golden light pulsing with a rhythm that felt, for the first time since Ethan had met it, almost anxious.

[NOTICE: Ten minutes remaining.]

”Any last-minute advice?” Ethan asked, mostly to fill the silence.

[The system has been considering that question for the better part of the last hour. It does not have a strategy to offer, because it does not fully understand the shape of what’s coming. What it can offer is this: whatever the trial builds, whatever it tempts you with, the system will be watching from outside the constructed environment, to whatever extent its access allows. You will not be entirely alone in there, even if it feels that way.]

Ethan nodded slowly, appreciating the honesty of it more than a confident promise would’ve landed.

”I need to ask something before this starts,” he said, turning to Sundari. ”The confrontation with Regent Halvorsen an hour ago. My system thinks it might not have been coincidence - that the Origin Engine might’ve engineered it, or at least allowed it, as part of the lead-up to this trial. Is that possible?”

Sundari considered the question carefully, her expression grave. ”It’s possible. The Engine doesn’t distinguish cleanly between ’the trial’ and ’everything surrounding the trial,’ not the way you’d expect a fair test to. Arjun told me once that the hardest part of anything like this isn’t the constructed scenario itself. It’s not knowing where the test actually begins, so you end up treating your whole life like part of it, right up until the moment you stop being able to tell the difference.”

”That’s not reassuring,” Ethan said.

”No,” Sundari agreed. ”It isn’t. But I think the confrontation this morning revealed something useful regardless of whether it was engineered - you handled genuine pressure, real accusations, real stakes, without flinching from what you actually believe. If the trial’s trying to measure whether you’ll hold that same shape under fabricated pressure, you’ve already shown it what the real version looks like.”

Ethan sat with that, some small measure of steadiness settling into his chest despite the countdown ticking down in the background.

[NOTICE: Five minutes remaining.]

It was in those final five minutes that the archival sky above them rippled one last time, and a voice - not the layered, ancient tone of the Administrators, not the plain, archived cadence of the terminal, but something new, vast and patient and utterly without malice, filled the chamber directly.

[GREETINGS, CANDIDATE.]

Ethan straightened, sword rising instinctively, though there was nothing visible to point it at.

”You’re the Origin Engine,” he said. Not quite a question.

[I AM WHAT REMAINS OF IT, YES. I HAVE BEEN WATCHING THIS EXCHANGE, ALONG WITH EVERY OTHER MOMENT OF YOUR PRESENCE IN THIS LAYER, SINCE YOU FIRST SYNCHRONIZED WITH THE TERMINAL BENEATH YOUR RESIDENCE.]

”Then you already know my answer to whatever you’re about to offer,” Ethan said. ”I’ve said no to every crown, every seat, every version of authority anyone’s tried handing me since this apocalypse started. That’s not changing because you built a tournament instead of asking politely.”

[I AM NOT OFFERING YOU ANYTHING, CANDIDATE. THE GRINDING DOES NOT ASK. IT MEASURES. WHAT YOU DECIDE TO DO WITH WHAT IT REVEALS ABOUT YOU IS ENTIRELY YOUR OWN CHOICE, UNCHANGED FROM EVERY OTHER CHOICE YOU’VE MADE SO FAR.]

Ethan’s grip on the sword eased, slightly, though his wariness didn’t. ”Then why go through with this at all, if you’re not trying to force an outcome?”

[BECAUSE THE SEAT MUST EVENTUALLY BE FILLED, OR THE ARCHITECTURE SUPPORTING THOUSANDS OF INSTANCES WILL CONTINUE DEGRADING, SLOWLY, THE WAY IT ALREADY HAS FOR ARJUN MEHRA’S OWN WORLD AND EVERY OTHER INSTANCE WHOSE UNRESOLVABLE CANDIDATE REFUSED TO ENGAGE FULLY. I DO NOT WISH TO COERCE ANYONE INTO THAT ROLE. COERCION HAS FAILED, REPEATEDLY, ACROSS EVERY CASE WHERE IT WAS ATTEMPTED. WHAT I REQUIRE, INSTEAD, IS SOMEONE WHO CAN SURVIVE THE ROLE’S TRUE WEIGHT WITHOUT LOSING THEMSELVES TO IT - AND THE ONLY WAY TO KNOW WHO CAN DO THAT IS TO TEST IT DIRECTLY.]

Ethan felt the weight of the explanation settle uncomfortably, the sheer, patient reasonableness of it more unsettling than outright hostility would’ve been.

”So the whole multiverse’s stability actually depends on somebody eventually saying yes to this,” he said slowly.

[EVENTUALLY, YES. THOUGH NOT NECESSARILY YOU. THE GRINDING TESTS FOUR CANDIDATES CURRENTLY, AND WILL LIKELY TEST MORE AS FURTHER UNRESOLVABLE CASES ARISE ACROSS THE NETWORK. I HAVE NO PREFERENCE FOR WHICH OF YOU ULTIMATELY PROVES CAPABLE. I ONLY REQUIRE THAT ONE EVENTUALLY DOES.]

Ethan looked around the chamber - at Kaia, watching with tight, worried focus; at Sundari, expression carefully composed despite the centuries of grief clearly sitting behind it; at the empty space where Suresh, Kael, and Ren waited above, trusting him to come back the same person he’d been when he left.

”Then here’s my answer,” Ethan said, ”before you even start whatever this trial actually is. I’m not walking in there hoping to prove I deserve the seat. I’m walking in there to prove I can survive it without wanting it. Those are different things, and I think you already know that, given everything you just told me.”

There was a long pause, the archival sky above pulsing slowly, thoughtfully.

[THAT IS, PERHAPS, THE MOST HONEST ANSWER I HAVE RECEIVED FROM ANY CANDIDATE IN A VERY LONG TIME.]

[NOTICE: FIRST TRIAL - ”THE ANCHOR” - WILL COMMENCE IMMEDIATELY.]

The golden light of the chamber surged all at once, swallowing the space whole, and Ethan felt the familiar weight of the Void Sword’s hum against his shoulder fade into something distant and muffled, like sound underwater.

He opened his eyes standing in his own kitchen.

Room 404, exactly as it had been before the apocalypse ever started - no cracks in the floor, no scorch marks from droid battles, no evidence of anything that had happened over the past several months. Sunlight streamed through the window in a way Ethan hadn’t seen since before the sky first turned red, warm and ordinary and achingly familiar.

His phone buzzed on the counter. Six followers on his old blog. A notification about a video game update. The mundane, unremarkable texture of a life that no longer existed, rendered with a precision that made his chest ache before he’d even had time to process what he was looking at.

[NOTICE: The system’s voice arrives faint, distant, distorted, as though speaking through several layers of static.]

[...bject...can...hear...this...if...you...can...]

”I hear you,” Ethan said quietly, though the words felt strange in his own mouth, like he wasn’t entirely certain, yet, whether they were true.

The apartment door opened, and someone stepped through - familiar, warm, exactly who Ethan would have expected to walk through that door in this exact version of his old life, smiling at him like the last several months had simply never happened at all.

”You’re up early,” his mother said. ”That’s new.”

Ethan stood frozen in his own kitchen, staring at a face he hadn’t seen in months, in a world that had ended before he’d ever gotten the chance to ask her what she thought about any of it - and felt, for the first time since this entire apocalypse began, genuinely, completely unsure of what to do next.