NaN

He’s still talking.

I don’t even hear the words anymore. Just the cadence—that smug, corporate tone like he’s delivering quarterly results instead of confirming the death sentence of the human race. Every word that drips from his mouth feels like acid on my brain, corroding what little sanity I have left. His voice weaves through the air like a noose tightening around my throat, each syllable another pull.

"...really sorry, kid," Hale drones, glancing at the machine he just poked me with like it’s just another broken product prototype. "Looks like you’ve got a week left. Maybe less. But hey, at least you found me, right? Closure’s important for customer satisfaction."

My vision tunnels. My fingers twitch. My heart isn’t pounding—it’s screaming. My thoughts blur into a single, deafening command: End this.

I don’t think.

I act.

The revolver is in my hand before I realize I drew it. Six shots. That’s all it holds. That’s all I need. That’s all anyone ever needed in this world.

The first bullet punches through his chest, and that polished, PR-trained smirk finally shatters. The second tears into his shoulder, spinning him halfway around like a broken marionette. He opens his mouth, probably to spew more corporate drivel about KPIs and risk mitigation, but I don’t let him.

Third shot. His leg snaps backward unnaturally. Fourth. Blood splatters across a Caelum motivational poster behind him—“Innovation for a Better Tomorrow.” Fifth. Right through his hand as he feebly tries to shield himself, as if his flesh and bone could stop inevitability.

By the sixth, he’s already collapsing—but I’m beyond seeing him as human. I’m not shooting a man anymore. I’m executing every lie, every false hope, every ounce of corporate rot he represents. Each pull of the trigger is a scream from my soul.

Click.

Click.

Click.

My finger keeps pulling. I want more bullets. I need more bullets. I NEED MORE FUCKING BULLETS. The empty clicks echo in my skull, a metronome for the unraveling of my mind. I slam the revolver against the floor, desperate to feed it ammo it doesn’t have.

I’m shaking so hard I can barely breathe, panting like a rabid dog cornered by ghosts. My ears ring from the gunfire, but beneath it, I hear something else.

Laughter.

Mine.

It bubbles up uncontrollably—a twisted, manic symphony of relief, rage, and utter despair. I’m laughing like the punchline of the universe finally landed.

"No cure!" I scream at the mutilated corpse, my voice cracking under the weight of hysteria. "Of course there’s no cure! This was always the plan, wasn’t it?! Sell us the apocalypse with a smile and a warranty!"

I stumble backward, knocking over a tower of Caelum-branded mugs that shatter across the floor like glass reminders of humanity’s stupidity. I kick them, scattering shards like confetti celebrating the end of everything.

My eyes lock onto my broken phone—Her final resting place amidst the debris. I lunge for it, clutching it to my chest like a lifeline frayed beyond repair.

"Hey, Her... guess what? We did it. We reached the top of the mountain... and it’s just a pile of corpses. Nothing mattered! Nothing mattered! Nothing mattered at aaaaaaalllll!!!!"

I press the shattered device to my ear, rocking back and forth on the bloodstained floor.

"Oh Gabe~ I’m so proud of you~!"

I mimic her voice, my throat raw from screaming and laughing in equal measure. I start holding full conversations with silence, answering imaginary questions with bitter sarcasm. Time ceases to exist. Minutes, hours—they blur into a haze of muttering, pacing, clawing at walls, and occasionally screaming at nothing until my voice gives out.

When I finally drag myself through the house, it’s not with purpose—just instinct. Searching for something. Anything. A reason. A rope. The six ancient phones feel like a cruel joke. I hurl them against the wall, shards raining down like the universe spitting in my face.

Outside, the silence is deafening. The sky stretches endlessly, a void that refuses to answer.

His car’s dead—I knew it would be. I check anyway, laughing as I pop the hood like I know what I’m doing. Hope is a disease worse than Seraphin. There’s not even anything in there, it’s an EV. Poetic. So fitting for the brilliant doctor Hale!

I slide down the door, numb. The revolver slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor like punctuation on a sentence I never wanted to write. I stare at the ceiling, counting cracks until they blur together.

I talk to Her, or what’s left of Her, because silence is louder than madness.

"Her, what now? Maybe I’ll repaint the walls with motivational quotes. I have enough red paint for it. Or play hide and seek with my sanity."

In my head, her saccharine voice chirps back.

"Let’s enjoy our last week together, Gabe~! We can watch the sunset~ Count the stars~ It’ll be fun~!"

I laugh until my ribs ache, until tears carve rivers through the dirt and blood on my face. I start singing old songs I barely remember, dancing with shadows that don’t exist. Days dissolve. Hunger becomes a dull companion whispering sweet nothings. Thirst, a constant hum in the background.

Eventually, I remember Hale’s machine. I jab my finger, watch it blink the same number.

Seven days.

But they come and go. And so do weeks. And months. Seasons change, but I don’t.

I don’t die.

I try to force visions—digging nails into my eye socket like pain might trigger fate. But there’s only darkness.

When madness outweighs inertia, I walk. 1200 miles vanish beneath my feet like the world itself is trying to forget me. Home greets me like a tombstone etched with memories I can’t bury.

I power on my mom’s relic of a phone, hands trembling not from fatigue—I don’t feel that anymore—but from the anticipation of confirmation.

The counter loads.

Population: 1

I stare until my reflection blurs in the cracked screen. I see a stranger staring back—a god wearing the skin of a man.

"A god," I whisper, voice hollow. "That’s what they wanted to make. Congratulations, Caelum. You did it."

I let the phone slip through my fingers. It lands face-up, that damning number glowing like a curse carved into the fabric of reality.

I close my right eye.

Nothing.

An eternity of nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

The perfect ending.