Standing between Michael and the future was Emox, an institution that could grant him the death he so desperately longed for or condemn him to continue living in the miserable nightmare he called life.
Quite the dilemma, wasn't it?
The gathering was filled with aspiring students, each carrying their own expectations, ambitions and reasons for being there. Some whispered excitedly among themselves, others examined their surroundings, while a few stood with expressions of confidence, seemingly convinced that nothing Emox could throw at them would be beyond their abilities.
Michael, however, couldn't have cared less.
His attention was elsewhere when suddenly, a towering Black man appeared on the stage.
"YES! BLACK!" Michael muttered, his eyes lighting up as he locked gazes with the stranger.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
Or at least, that was how it seemed.
The man was grinning, almost as though he had noticed Michael's little remark. There was something peculiar about that expression, something that suggested he knew a secret the rest of the crowd hadn't been allowed to discover.
Michael stared back.
The man continued grinning.
Then, without warning, he opened his mouth.
"MONKEYS! PALE CHICKENS! DOG-EATERS! I DON'T CARE WHO YOU ARE! YOU'RE ALL HERE TO ENTER EMOX, AND FROM THIS MOMENT ON, YOUR FUTURE IS IN MY HANDS!"
His voice thundered across the gathering.
The conversations stopped almost immediately. Heads turned towards the stage, and the atmosphere shifted as the man's words settled over the crowd.
He wasn't particularly interested in welcoming anyone.
At least, that was the impression he gave.
"NOW, LET'S PROCEED TO THE FIRST CHALLENGE!"
He paused.
The silence that followed seemed almost deliberate, as though he wanted every individual present to understand the importance of what he was about to say.
Then he spoke.
"CRIMSON NIGHTMARE."
Two words.
That was all.
Yet the name alone seemed to carry a weight that nobody could quite explain.
Michael rolled his eyes.
"Who the hell is this Black monkey yarning on the stage? I could be spending this time thinking of ways to die, but instead, I'm stuck listening to this old fool. God, I'm tired of this life."
He sighed, looking away from the stage.
Honestly, what was so special about all this?
A challenge. A gathering. A dramatic announcement. Everyone standing around as though the world were about to end.
Well, perhaps it was.
But Michael had other concerns.
Before anyone could react, the towering man vanished.
One moment, he was standing on the stage. The next, there was nothing.
No footsteps.
No explanation.
No opportunity for anyone to ask questions.
Only one final message remained.
"SEVEN IN THE MORNING."
The words hung in the air.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then the whispers began.
"What does that mean?"
"Is that when the challenge starts?"
"Did he just disappear?"
"Are we supposed to be here at seven?"
Questions spread throughout the gathering, each person trying to make sense of what they had witnessed.
A wave of unease swept through the crowd. Despite their extraordinary abilities, the students shivered. They were gifted, after all. Some possessed powers capable of extraordinary feats, while others had spent years imagining the heights they would reach once they entered Emox.
Yet none of that mattered now.
They didn't know what awaited them.
And for all their strength, the unknown was something they feared.
But not Michael.
Me?
We?
Nah. I walked away.
Outside, Michael watched as the others gathered into small groups, laughing, chatting and exchanging theories about what had just happened.
Some appeared excited. Others were visibly nervous. A few seemed determined to convince everyone around them that they weren't afraid.
Michael found the whole thing rather amusing.
There they were, strangers moments ago, suddenly finding reasons to speak to one another. They laughed, exchanged pleasantries and formed little circles of companionship, as though they had known each other for years.
He stood apart from them.
Not because he couldn't join them.
He simply didn't see the point.
What exactly did they see in one another?
What made people so eager to connect, to form friendships and to surround themselves with others? Was it loneliness? Fear? The simple desire to feel that they belonged somewhere?
Perhaps.
But Michael couldn't understand it.
At the end of the day, weren't we all just lumps of sand?
Different shapes, different sizes, different colours, but ultimately the same material waiting to be scattered by time.
Everyone was fighting to become the strongest, the greatest, the most exceptional person in the room. They wanted recognition, power, wealth and the satisfaction of knowing they had outlived everyone standing beside them.
And for what?
What was the ultimate reward?
We all die eventually.
That's life.
You could spend decades building an empire, gathering possessions and surrounding yourself with people who claimed to love you. You could become the most powerful individual in the world, command the respect of millions and achieve everything you had ever dreamed of.
And then?
You die.
Just like everyone else.
Your achievements remain behind, your possessions pass into someone else's hands, and the people who once gathered around you eventually return to their own lives.
The world continues.
It always does.
We spend our entire existence struggling to survive, entertaining God as though we were characters in some sick cosmic joke. A never-ending movie in which every individual is given a role, forced to perform and expected to pretend that the ending isn't already written.
Some laugh.
Some cry.
Some love.
Others spend their entire lives searching for something they may never find.
And when the curtains finally fall, what remains?
A body six feet underground.
How wonderful.
Michael was furious.
Not because someone had insulted him or because the challenge had frightened him. His frustration ran much deeper than that.
How could everyone be so blind?
How could they continue participating in the same meaningless cycle without ever questioning it? Why did everyone seem so comfortable accepting the world as it was?
They wanted to become stronger, yet never questioned the source of their strength.
They wanted to survive, yet rarely questioned what they were surviving for.
They feared the unknown, but made no effort to understand it.
And that was what irritated him most.
Everyone wanted answers, but nobody seemed willing to ask the questions that mattered.
How could humanity hope to understand something it refused to confront? How could people claim to seek the truth while remaining comfortably ignorant of the very things that shaped their existence?
Michael shook his head.
"As far as I'm concerned, the human race is the dumbest species on Earth. They don't even know their own truth. What a joke."
His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts.
He glanced down at the screen.
It was Almada.
The girl who had wanted to meet him.
Michael unlocked his phone and read her message. She had postponed their meeting until tomorrow night.
He stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Then, slowly, a smirk appeared on his face.
Well, wasn't that convenient?
He had been prepared to die today, and now he had another reason to postpone it.
Funny how life worked.
One moment, he was questioning the point of human existence. The next, a simple message from a girl was enough to make him reconsider his plans.
Perhaps humanity wasn't entirely hopeless after all.
Or perhaps Michael was simply an idiot.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and looked towards the gathering.
"I was planning to die today, but I guess I'll live long enough to survive the CRIMSON NIGHTMARE."
He cracked his knuckles, a faint smile settling on his face.
Whatever awaited him at seven in the morning, he would deal with it when the time came.
After all, he had nothing particularly valuable to lose.
"Alright, folks. Time to play your stupid game called life."