At midnight

The news of Lucian’s death is still rippling through the office as everyone grapples with the sudden, unfortunate news. A heavy, unshakable emptiness replaces the usual busy atmosphere. Conversations are replaced by a disconnected quiet that echoes through the rooms and halls of the building. Anya, Mira, and Josh, are still in the hallway, looking on in shock at what they’re seeing on Josh’s phone: a video of the bridge exploding on Hour 0.

“Holy shi—” Josh catches himself and takes a breath. “Okay, this is… this is not normal.”

Anya looks closer. “This… This doesn’t look like it’s taken at the time of the accident.”

"Yeah... It's too dark to be taken just now," Josh says. "It looks like it's taken in the morning." Then, quietly, "Maybe they just changed the background or something."

“Well, okay,” Anya answers. “But why?”

“To scare people,” Josh mutters.

Anya takes out her phone from her pocket and opens the app. “If they wanted to scare people, why are only some people seeing it?" She shows them her screen. “All I get is this annoying message.”

“It’s still there?” Josh makes a face. “Yeah, people will definitely enjoy their day after this.”

Anya looks back at the video that's playing in a loop on Josh's phone. This is the survival guide. But why—

"It shows you the future," Mira says as if reading Anya's thoughts. "It rewards people who voted a chance to save their lives.”

“W-Wait a minute,” Josh says with a nervous laugh. “We don’t really know that, right? Besides, that’s a little advanced, don’t you think? This is just one big coincidence. The bridge exploding… It's just an accident." He snaps his fingers. "Whoever created this app must be the terrorist who did this!"

"If that's true, why go out of their way to warn people?" Anya asks.

Josh clicks his teeth. "Stop with the questions, would you? I don't want to believe that a freaking app can predict the future."

Anya’s eyes flash towards Mira. “Lucian knew about Hour 0," Anya says. Mira looks off to the side, her expression tightening. "But not the way we know about it."

Then, it’s as if she finally breaks when she says, “It’s like what Josh said.” But the uncertainty lingers in her eyes. “This entire situation is just a coincidence.”

Before anyone can say anything, she quickly walks out, leaving the door open behind her.

xxx

This is scary…

tf should we all be voting to save our asses then?

It’s creepy but the authorites will figure out the cause. No need to look so much into it.

does this mean that people who voted for the bridge collapse are murderers?

“Kid.”

Jun looks up from his phone just as Zeke puts a bag with two containers of hot beef noodles on the table. The two are in the hospital canteen where the dinner rush has already died down.

“Best to stay off your phone.” Zeke opens a container and puts it in front of Jun. “It’s the last thing you need right now.” When Jun turns his phone over, Zeke continues, “Don’t tell me you’re looking at that group chat?”

“Sort of…”

Zeke looks mildly disappointed. “Why don’t you leave? You said so yourself that this Ling guy is scary.”

As Zeke sits opposite him, Jun says quietly, “I can’t.” Before Zeke can ask, Jun sighs as if defeated. “I can’t leave. I tried.”

Zeke holds his hand out. “Let me see.”

Jun hands Zeke his phone. After a few taps, Zeke’s brows come together in visible confusion. It’s true. No matter what he tries, the chat is still visible at the top of Jun’s messages. Zeke is about to try once more when a message in the group catches his attention.

Midnight. You don’t want to miss it.

Jun takes back his phone and says, “See, I told you… I can’t leave.”

“Well, can you invite people?”

“I never tried but apparently someone did… and failed.”

Zeke scoffs. “So, this group chat is completely in Ling’s control?”

Is this Mira’s idea as a way to collect data?

"The people in that chat..." Zeke continues. "Do you know any of them?"

"I've never met them in person," Jun answers. "But, we're all kind of similar."

"In what way?"

"Just... Our situation, I guess?"

Zeke slightly narrows his eyes. Can this mean something? What is Ling trying to achieve?

“Goddamit,” he mutters.

“What?” Jun asks.

I shouldn’t have helped Mira in the first place, Zeke wants to say. This situation feels like it’s spiralling into hell. Finally, he asks, “Mira… Has she talked to you at all? Or has Anya mentioned her to you?”

“Mira?” A pause. “No. I know they work at the same company, but Anya doesn’t really talk about her.” Jun raises a brow. “Why would she want to talk to me?”

Zeke forces a smile. “Maybe just for old times' sake.”

Suddenly, Jun’s phone buzzes with a message, but before he can check it, a familiar voice calls his name. Zeke recognizes that voice anywhere. He reluctantly turns around, and it’s as he predicted.

“Anya,” Jun says, his eyes lighting up.

Looks like those annoying feelings of his still haven’t gone away.

xxx

Mira is sitting on the sofa, the dim glow of her phone is the only source of light in the living room. Shadows stretch unnaturally across the walls, shifting with the flicker of the screen. Then, as soon as the clock strikes ten, a message appears on her screen.

Ling: Hi.

Her breath hitches. She’s hunched over, her elbows on her knees with the phone tightly in her hands. She opens her messages just as her screen flickers.

Mira: You’re overstepping your boundaries.

A pause.

Ling: Am I?

Mira’s fingers hover over her screen, her pupils dilating with unease.

Ling: We’re both getting what we want.

Are they? Mira doesn't think so. Now, this feels like a game.

Ling: It's exciting, isn't it?

Mira: So, you admit you’re responsible for what happened on the bridge?

She’s never seen this person, but somehow she imagines him chuckling.

Ling: Me? Never. It’s the people.

Mira: But you made it happen. You caused the bridge to explode.

Ling: Prove it.

Is this person for real?

Ling: Midnight. You don’t want to miss it.

Mira doesn’t know what’s worse. The implication is that something bigger is coming or that no matter how many texts she sends, they’re all failing to send. Perhaps she really underestimated him when they first got in touch.

“An extra project?” Mira asked, intrigued, standing in front of Lucian.

Lucian leaned back in his chair. “We always want to be ahead of the game, but we can’t make any solid decisions without data. A lot of data.”

“But it also depends on what data we’re talking about,” Mira said. “The applications we create, develop, and maintain… All of these look at specific behaviours.”

“Of course, we always want to gain insight into how people think and behave.” Lucian smiled, but something felt off. “But humans are so… fickle. Instead of following trends and letting society decide what they want, what if we could lead them?"

"What? You mean get them to do things subconsciously? It's not a new practice."

"It's not, but it needs to evolve."

"Evolve...?" Mira asked cautiously. "What do you mean?"

"People can be so blind when they feel something. Really feel something. And how could you get them to do that? Well, you'd first have to understand them. Their habits... way of thinking... how they react to certain things. You need to get into their mind and understand them personally. But first, you have to convince them that you are trustworthy."

Trustworthy...?

"It’s not our enemies we should be cautious of but those closest to us,” Lucian continued, typing something on his laptop. Then, Mira’s phone immediately received a message. “You won't be taking this on alone." He looked at her phone. "I sent you a contact for someone I know very well... Even if you decide not to do this, he would still be worth your time."

“Who?”

“An… old friend, I suppose.”

By now, Mira is lying on her bed, her eyes fixed on her white ceiling. Ling must know Lucian is gone. Does that mean he’s a murderer? Mira turns to one side. It's silly to think this happened because of the people. How does that make any sense? 

She sits up and reaches for her phone on her nightstand. As soon as she opens it, the clock strikes midnight. Her finger hovers over Hour 0, and for a second, she thinks it pulsed. It’s so faint that Mira’s sure it’s her tired eyes playing tricks on her. But, then it goes again. A slow, deliberate throb, like it’s beating beneath the glass.

Her finger moves closer, and the icon shimmers, its colours shifting fluidly—like it’s responding to the movement of her finger. Finally, she taps on it, and white words slowly seep onto the screen.