Cheat In Apocalypse

The world does not announce its turning points, nor does fate ask for consent before carving its mark; it simply watches, waits, and then selects a single life to bear the weight of consequence, regardless of whether that life is ready to be broken by it—however, destiny has a way of choosing the most unlikely vessels.

***

Ray woke up to yet another day that seemed determined to disappoint him. That was how most mornings began anyway with the same heavy breath and the same familiar sense of resignation.

He lay stretched out on the unforgiving floor of his tiny one-bedroom apartment, separated from the cold surface only by a thin sheet that had long lost whatever comfort it once offered. When he pushed himself up slightly, the cramped room greeted him like an unwanted reminder of everything he lacked.

The cheap plastic table fan beside him sputtered and buzzed in its usual irritating rhythm. Every few seconds, the blades scraped against the casing with a grating sound that drilled straight into his skull. But turning it off wasn’t an option; without it, the room quickly felt like a suffocating box.

Not that the air was pleasant anyway. In the corner, an intimidating heap of unwashed clothes sat slumped like some defeated creature. Ray however, wasn’t a dirty person. The issue was the apartment complex’s ridiculous communal washing schedule. Tenants were allowed to use the shared washing machine only once every two weeks, which left him no choice but to let the growing pile sit exposed. Even tied tightly in a laundry bag he’d bought, the sour smell leaked out and lingered stubbornly in the room, making it almost unlivable.

Ray rubbed the sleep from his blue eyes, but before he could gather his bearings, his chest tightened sharply. He doubled over, caught in a violent coughing spell that left him gasping for air. When the fit finally eased, the burning ache in his lungs stayed behind like a cruel echo.

“A little longer,” he whispered hoarsely, though he didn’t sound convinced.

As if responding to his whispered determination, the building gave a low, unsettling creak. A soft tremor rolled beneath him, shaking the floorboards and rattling the few items he owned. Ray closed his eyes and waited silently until it stopped. The earthquakes were becoming more frequent, another reminder of how unstable the world had become.

When the vibrations faded, the lights remained dead. The power had been cutting out at random for days, and with the fan shutting off, the room instantly trapped the thick heat inside.

Ray turned toward the small, fogged-up window. The weather had been unpredictable for almost two weeks, shifting from one extreme to another faster than anyone could make sense of. A short while ago, the sun had been beating down on the city with a scorching force that felt designed to burn everything alive. Several forest fires had already broken out in neighboring areas.

But as soon as the tremor hit, the heat evaporated. In its place, a wild blanket of storm clouds swept across the sky, and flashes of lightning burst through them, lighting up the darkening landscape. A fierce gust of icy wind crashed against the windowpane, making the frame shudder.

The warmth of a moment ago vanished completely, replaced by a cold sharp enough to seep through the walls.

“Looks like the world’s really ending,” Ray murmured. He didn’t sound afraid, just strangely accepting it. With his health deteriorating and no hope of recovery, he’d long come to terms with the idea of dying. Whether the world went with him or not hardly mattered.

Ray’s life had never given him much to cling to anyway. Orphaned at birth, he’d grown up under the strict structure of an orphanage until he turned fourteen. At that point, the system pushed him out, expecting him to wrestle with adulthood on his own.

He drifted from one odd job to another, earning just enough to afford simple meals. At night, he camped wherever he could—in the shelter of bridges, near bus terminals, or anywhere the rain couldn’t reach. His frail body made holding a job difficult; he was constantly tired, constantly sick, constantly struggling. Moving from town to town became normal.

Things changed slightly at sixteen, when he met a man willing to help. The man taught him basic typing and offered him a small editing job, the kind that paid little but paid consistently. With that income, Ray managed to rent a cramped studio apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the streets.

Now even that fragile stability was slipping away. His rent was due next month, and he already knew he wouldn’t make it. Eviction was inevitable. Soon he would be homeless again, right when the climate was becoming dangerous and unpredictable. On top of that, he needed money for the medicine that helped him sleep through the pain and survive the drastic changes in temperature.

But instead of dwelling on his situation, Ray did what he always did, he pushed through his routine.

He stared out the window for a few minutes, letting the stormy weather soak into his thoughts, then rose slowly. After changing into his damp-smelling clothes, he grabbed his umbrella and stepped outside.

For some reason, his neighborhood seemed to escape the worst of the recent strange phenomena. So far, the disruptions hadn’t ruined his daily life, not completely.

He walked for twenty-five minutes through the freezing rainfall, each step soaking him more than the last. By the time he reached his workplace, he was shivering and tired, and when he lifted his gaze to the office entrance, his expression darkened instantly.

The day had only just begun, and already, trouble was waiting.