THE PROLOGUE FOR THE END OF THE WORLD IS PENDING..

Tick tock

4:52 PM.

In eight minutes, his shift would end and Eli was counting every second. Today was quiet and monotonous. He leaned back in his swivel chair, eyes tracking a single drop of liquid leaking from a damp spot in the ceiling tiles. You’d think he’d mention it to his bosses, right? He had. Three years ago, in fact—the same day he was “promoted” after his previous manager suffered a stroke while mid-shout at a subordinate.

Eli had been a copywriter for Apex Consumer Solutions, crafting sentences that lived for six seconds on a sidebar before dying in a sea of browser cookies. His life was exactly like his job; bleak.

He checked his watch. 5:01 PM. The fluorescent lights hummed in a low, mocking B-flat. He saved the document, closed his laptop, and felt the familiar weight of his own invisibility.

Outside, the city had its own bleakness. The sky was a terrible gray, heavy with the promise of rain. Eli navigated the sidewalk like a ghost, weaving through the suits and tourists desperate to reach home before the clouds broke. He hadn't brought an umbrella, and this was his last decent suit—the other two had already fallen prey to the ravenous rats in his apartment building.

But first, he had to see her.

Standing across the intersection of 5h and Main, leaning against a lamp post, was Naomi. She was wearing that ridiculous oversized yellow raincoat—the one that made her look like a stray highlighter—and she was waving. Not a cool, subtle wave, but a frantic, two-handed gesture that screamed I’m here! I’m here!

Eli felt a genuine, sharp spike of warmth. In a world of copy-pasted days, Naomi was the only thing that felt original. She was holding two coffees, steam curling up into the damp air, her face bright with a grin that didn't belong in a city this tired.

The light turned and the little white walking man illuminated on the sign. Eli stepped off the curb, his eyes locked on his sister.

VROOM-VROOM

The sound was a predatory growl. Then came Naomi’s raw scream. Her smile vanished. The coffee cups slipped from her hands, the brown liquid splashing against the ground in slow motion.

Suddenly, Eli realized he was on the road alone. He turned his head and for a split second, the air didn’t look like air. It was like a vibration as darkness seeped into his vision before a glowing white light then

CRACK

The transition wasn’t a fade to black but a jump-cut.

One moment, Eli was tasting the metallic tang of fear; the next, he was inhaling the scent of industrial lavender.

He was sitting in a plastic chair that shrieked against a linoleum floor. The room was vast, white, and windowless, filled with the soft, relentless click-clack of keyboards. It sounded like rain on a tin roof, but drier. Sharper.

"Mr. Mercer?"

“What?” He blinked, gasping for air that didn't feel like it was hitting his lungs.

A woman sat behind a desk. She was typing with six fingers one ach hand, her movements a blur of terrifying efficiency.

“I…I was just in the rain,” Eli whispered. He looked at his hands. They were dry. Too dry. They looked translucent, like high-definition renders of ghost skin.

He glanced at his watch.

00:00:00:00.

The numbers didn't move. Was his watch not working? Was this a dream? He had many questions but asked only one.

"Where am I?" his voice was thin, like paper tearing.

“You were in a vehicular mishap,” the woman said, not looking at him. “I’m Clerk 402. Welcome to the Afterlife Bureau Claims. Please hold.”

Behind her, a massive digital board flickered. Thousands of names scrolled by in white text: ACCEPTED. EXPIRED. RECYCLED.

Then, a chime sounded—a low, discordant bell that made the floor tremble. Eli’s name appeared. It didn't turn white. It turned a pulsing, violent neon violet.

MERCER, ELIAS – STATUS PENDING.

The clicking in the room stopped. Every faceless clerk turned their head toward Eli in perfect unison.

“Pending?” another Clerk whispered, her barcode eyes widening.

Murmurs followed, rising into chorus of panicked noises until a door at the end of the hall hissed open cutting the sounds like a blade.

A woman in a sharp, pinstriped suit stepped out walking side to side. Her hair was a wild unkept mane —giving her the look of someone who had just survived a lightning strike. She walked with a tired gait, swinging from side to side. casually chewing a piece of gum.

“Move aside, 395,” she snapped at a lingering Clerk. She stopped in front of Eli, looming over him. She blew a bubble, let it pop, and spat the gum out into the white void beside his chair.

“I’m Cass,” she said, looking him up and down like a bad car insurance claim. 

“Congratulations, You’re Dead.”