Realm of Midgard, Earth. Present day, 2047.
The city pulsed with light.
Smart City a sprawling 8G metropolis of gleaming towers, glass bridges, and radiant neon veins that crisscrossed the sky like constellations. High-rise buildings floated above the skyline, supported by anti-gravity technology, while the lower levels bustled with autonomous vehicles and delivery drones weaving through glowing streets. Robots, both humanoid and utilitarian, performed seventy percent of the city's labor. They swept the roads, cooked gourmet meals, repaired buildings in real time, and even tutored children in virtual classrooms. Every corner of the city hummed with digitized life smooth, calculated, and eerily perfect.
Deep in the heart of this hyper-advanced world stood a masterpiece of architectural brilliance The Raymond Villa.
Perched on a synthetic cliff surrounded by a circular aqua terrace, Jerry Raymond's mansion was a symphony of sleek modernity and luxury. The walls were made of reactive smart glass, shifting from clear to opaque depending on privacy settings. The villa had multiple infinity pools that glowed faint blue at night, their waters constantly filtered by nano-cleaners. Palm trees swayed from retractable platforms, and the gardens were tended to by specialized gardener bots with gold-plated limbs.
Inside, chrome staircases curved like rivers. Floors shimmered with integrated holograms, and robot workers dressed in tailored uniforms moved with programmed grace.
In the quietest chamber, beneath a skylight that mimicked a real-time view of the galaxy, Jerry Raymond lay on a levitating bed draped in silk sheets. Tall, broad-shouldered, and long-haired, Jerry's bare hairy chest rose and fell in rhythmic peace. A gentle hum pulsed beneath the bed as the anti-gravity system kept it floating just above the marble floor. Scattered pillows surrounded him as the cool breeze from the climate control system swept through the room. The atmosphere was serene, detached from the city's overwhelming energy.
Then the alarm chimed a soft melodic tone accompanied by a subtle shift in the room's lighting.
Jerry stirred.
"Mmm, hold me closer, Master Jerry," one of the half-naked ladies whispered, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
"Tch… I'm not in the mood," Jerry muttered as he sat up on the bed, his hand on his head, lost in deep thought.
"What did I see? My death… but that's impossible. I'm alive… so how did I die?" His voice lowered as confusion clouded his expression.
"Open," he commanded, and his shadow space opened instantly. He reached inside, taking out a bottle of chilled frozen water. Sitting on the side of the bed, he drank deeply, his fingers scratching absently through his hair.
"Master Jerry, I'm horny. I'm gonna need you inside me right now," another of the ladies said, pressing her chest against his back.
"Tch… I said I'm not in the mood."
He touched her forehead gently, putting her back to sleep before standing up.
"So that's how I got erased from existence? Kinda wondering how I still survived that, though," he sighed softly.
"I hope Johnny is safe."
Jerry rose from the bed, still deep in thought.
"If I am reincarnated from that time, that would explain why my body isn't here. I guess. But… I can't really remember what fully happened to me, nor can I remember my original life or where I came from. Well, I'll figure it out along the way, I guess."
He stepped into the bathroom.
He groaned softly, running a hand through his tousled hair the grogginess of a young teenager who had partied too long clinging to his face. The mirror lit up automatically, displaying his vitals and the latest news feeds, but he ignored it, splashing cold water onto his face.
From behind him, footsteps echoed — too precise to be human.
Alastor, his butler, entered. Tall, red-haired, sharply dressed in his three-piece shirt and apron, he held a glowing holographic notepad in one gloved hand.
"Good morning, sir," Alastor said in a crisp tone. "Did you rest well?"
Jerry wiped his face and muttered, "Hungover. Last night was… loud. But I'm alive."
"Noted," Alastor replied with a soft sigh. "Master, do you need me to do anything to cure your hangover? You don't seem too well."
Jerry waved him off. "I'll live."
"Very well," Alastor said, tapping a note on the holographic pad.
A beat of silence passed before Alastor spoke again, more gently this time. "That's troubling, sir. I do hope you find clarity. In the meantime, your parents will be returning soon."
Jerry blinked, then chuckled bitterly. "Of course they are. Just in time to see the house after last night's mess."
Alastor offered a small smile. "I'll have the cleaning bots double their efforts. But you may wish to appear a little less bare-chested when they arrive."
Jerry smirked. "Duly noted."
As Alastor turned to leave, the villa's systems flickered softly. Somewhere deep within the structure, Kaouspeur stirred.
Something was coming.
But for now, the day had only just begun.
The scene shifts.
In Johnson's home, Johnson was sleeping soundly on the bed early in the morning around six o'clock. He was deep in sleep.
"Alert. Master physical body vaporization in three seconds… three… two…"
"Huh? What's going on?" Johnson suddenly woke up, gently removing Rose and Angela's hands from his body. "What's the matter, Jake?" he asked, turning toward the window just as a great beam of light refracted across the planet, vaporizing everything in its path.
"What the hell…?" Johnson gasped, immediately activating his super suit but it was too late. His house was caught in the vaporization, the blast annihilating everything. Angela, Rose, and all of Voyage City were gone.
Johnson stood in the middle of a desolate wasteland that had once been his city now empty, silent, and cold. Skeletons and dry bones scattered the ground. He knelt, clutching Angela's bones in disbelief.
"Huh? What's… going on…" he coughed, the smoke burning his lungs. "Rose? Mary? Angie? Wake up! Hey, answer me… This can't be. This can't be…"
He punched himself hard in the face, trying to wake from what he hoped was a dream. "It's not a dream…?"
"Jake, what's going on?" he whispered, his voice trembling in shock and horror. There was no response.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
Johnson screamed as he jolted awake from his terrifying dream. The clock read 5:30 a.m. Saturday morning.
"I woke up early," he muttered, phasing gently out of Angela and Rose's sleepy embrace. He looked down at their peaceful faces.
"You're alive… thank goodness," he breathed with relief.
Johnson got up, washed his face, put on his normal clothes, cleaned the garden, washed the dishes, combed his hair, and walked to his aunt's room.
"Hey, Miss Mary. Good morning," he said softly.