The next morning was quiet. Too quiet.
Bob unlocked the noodle shop's door, pushed it open, and looked out at the empty street.
No cars.
No people.
No morning rush.
Shattered glass littered the asphalt. A high-rise in the distance had a massive chunk torn from its upper floors. Smoke still rose from the damage.
The air carried the stink of fire and broken machines.
Bob stepped inside, flicked on the lights, and turned on the TV.
"Alright."
Shrugging, he pulled a chair from under a table and sat down, staring out the window like it was just another slow day.
A few minutes later, Gabe burst through the door, panting and wide-eyed.
"You... you're really open?" he wheezed, hands on his knees.
Bob nodded. "Place won't run itself."
Gabe looked around the empty dining room, then pointed toward the street.
"Bob... look outside, man."
Bob tilted his head. "Looks quiet."
"It's the end of the world!" Gabe shouted, throwing his arms up.
"Half the city's gone, people are looting, did you watch the night news?"
Bob scratched his head. "Actually, no. I slept early."
The TV in the corner flickered weakly to life.
The same anchor from yesterday appeared on screen, hair messier, eyes tired, voice cracking.
"We begin with breaking updates on both the local and global situation," she said, glancing down at a crumpled sheet of paper.
"As of this morning, our government has not released an official statement on the president's status. Sources report the presidential office was struck during the impact. Whether the vice president will take over remains unclear, as no direct communication has been established."
The screen shifted.
Footage rolled.
Cities in ruins.
Highways snapped like twigs.
Airports reduced to smoldering craters.
"Internationally," the anchor continued, "governments across the world are declaring states of emergency following widespread meteor impacts."
A map appeared, dotted with red markers.
"Tsunamis have hit several coastal regions. Thousands are missing. Relief efforts are underway, but most major powers are now prioritizing their own cities."
She paused, swallowing hard.
"Negotiations between nations have collapsed. Countries are accusing one another of withholding aid and resources. Some governments have shut their borders entirely."
Gabe ran his hands through his hair. "Of course. Every man for himself now."
Bob didn't answer. He stared at the screen, not really watching, just listening to the noise.
He leaned back in his chair, glanced at the empty street outside.
"So... guess the lunch rush is canceled?"
Gabe gawked at him. "Meteor disaster, end of the world and you're worried about customers?"
Bob shrugged. "Gotta plan ahead. Grandpa's not here. I'm the one cooking now. Oh wait... I don't have to cook. Hmm!"
Gabe groaned. "He's still in District 2-01, Hope City, right? That's the one next to us? From District 1-04?"
He looked toward the window, worried.
"I really hope nothing happens. Things are falling apart everywhere, Bob."
"Yeah," Bob said, scratching his chin. "Our Valor City is right next to Hope City."
"Breaking update," the reporter announced, her voice tight with tension.
"Authorities have confirmed the appearance of an unusual pink fog near several meteor crash sites. Early tests show no immediate danger to those nearby, but scientists are urging extreme caution."
She glanced down, then continued.
"The pink fog is reportedly growing thicker and spreading in some areas. Citizens are advised to stay clear of all fog-affected zones while research teams continue their investigation. Please remain calm and follow local safety protocols."
-----
In another place, Ironwill, the last functioning city in District 9-02, panic gripped the local government office.
"We need more barricades on the west side! The fog's coming in faster than expected!" The deputy mayor stood over a battered table, pointing at a map covered in handwritten notes and taped-on updates.
Sweat ran down his temples. "Where's our supply update? Three of the shelters are already running low on food!" No one answered.
Because right then, the front doors slammed open. A dozen figures stormed in, men and women in mismatched body armor, carrying baseball bats, knives, and stolen rifles. Their leader, a bald man with a jagged scar cutting down one cheek, tossed a blood-stained vest onto the floor.
"Meeting's over," he said with a crooked grin. "Red Hands is in charge now."
The deputy mayor blinked. "Wh-What are you talking about? We're coordinating relief efforts—"
"Yeah and doing a garbage job of it." Scarface waved lazily, like brushing away a fly.
"People are starving. Streets are chaos. Half your security ditched you the second the fog touched the gates. Face it, your control's gone." He leaned in. "But don't worry. We're stepping in."
Two of his crew grabbed the deputy mayor by the arms and yanked him out of his chair.
"You can't do this!" he shouted, trying to break free. "You don't have the authority!"
"We don't need it," Scarface said. "We've got the guns."
The Red Hands wasted no time. Within hours, they seized the food supplies, took over the local armory, and blocked every road in and out of Ironwill City. The last scraps of local law enforcement either joined them or vanished. By nightfall, the city wasn't under government control anymore. It was Red Hands territory. And anyone who wanted food, shelter, or protection... had to swear loyalty. Those who didn't? They were left outside. To the fog.
-----
The reporter continued, her voice steadier now but no less grim.
"International organizations are struggling to control what few resources remain. Major criminal groups have seized several key supply routes. Early attempts at global coordination have collapsed."
The screen shifted to chaotic footage, relief trucks being hijacked on dusty roads, food warehouses overrun by looters, soldiers shouting at each other at tense borders, rifles raised. In the middle of it all, civilians screamed, caught in the crossfire.
"In Eagle Nation, multiple states have declared independence from the federal government. On the Oldlands continent, borders are closing, and several countries are threatening military action against their neighbors."
She paused to glance at her notes.
"Bearland Country, Dragon State, and the Crown Isles have all officially withdrawn from joint relief operations."
Outside, the pink fog was no longer just a distant headline on the news. It was here now… real and spreading.
To the south of the shop, just five or six blocks away, the fog crept between buildings like a rising tide. What had once been clear air was now a shimmering pink haze, swirling through wrecked cars and shattered storefronts.
And it wasn't stopping.
It was getting thicker.
But something strange was happening. The fog stopped short near the building across the street the one that had been struck by the meteor fragment. There was a visible radius around the impact site, and that boundary extended just far enough to include the noodle house.
For now, they were inside it.
The TV was still running. The reporter's voice crackled through the stream, more frantic than before.
"You're watching HKM News. I'm Elaine Myre, and we've just received new information about the pink fog. It's... spreading faster than initial estimates. It's now confirmed in over 70% of urban areas."
She glanced off-screen as someone handed her a paper. Her face went pale, but she kept going.
"Scientists are still struggling to understand its properties, but here's what we do know—"
She paused for a moment, then continued, her voice tighter.
"Meteor fragments remain the only reliable source of protection. Areas near large fragments are forming what experts are calling 'Safe Zones', localized barriers where the fog cannot penetrate. If you're near a crash site, stay inside the protected perimeter. Do not leave unless absolutely necessary."
Her eyes flicked back to the camera.
"For everyone else... please remain calm. Authorities are doing everything they can."
-----
Somewhere across the sea...
At the North Paektu country, tension hung as thick as the fog now creeping over the hills.
The air was thick with smoke from cigarettes and tension. Dozens of generals crowded around a long table cluttered with outdated maps and half-working radios. The Supreme Leader sat at the head, fingers tapping the armrest as one of his top commanders stood to deliver the latest update.
"Report," the Leader said, his voice sharp.
The general cleared his throat and pointed at the map of the South Han Country. Red circles marked South Han military bases, but most of them were now crossed out with thick, black marker.
"Seongdae Capital is in complete disarray," the general began. "Initial impact from the meteor struck the outer districts, but secondary damage has left the entire city barely functioning. We have confirmed reports that a commercial airliner was clipped mid-air by a falling fragment. The plane went down directly onto their main military base in the south of the city, wiping out a significant portion of their active command."
Murmurs filled the room.
He continued. "Military response is scattered. Most of their available forces are not defending borders. They're spread thin, focused on rescue operations, digging out survivors from collapsed buildings, and trying to keep order in the capital."
Another general scoffed. "They're wide open. We could walk right into Seongdae with minimal resistance."
The first general nodded. "That is our assessment. Intelligence indicates their focus has shifted entirely to disaster relief. Medical teams are overwhelmed. Food supplies are running low. Civil unrest is growing. Most of their military is digging through rubble or guarding emergency shelters. They are not prepared for an offensive."
A grin slowly crept across the Supreme Leader's face.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers together. "So, while they are weak... and blind... we take it all."
Heads around the table nodded in agreement.
One general clapped his hands. "We will strike under the guise of humanitarian aid. The world will believe we are helping... while we help ourselves."
They all chuckled quietly.
Orders were issued. Troops mobilized. Engines roared to life.
The Leader smirked, tapping the table. "Do it. Announce our aid to the world. But bring the full force of our military. Tanks. Choppers. Artillery. Seongdae will be ours before nightfall."
And so, the Iron Wave moved south.
Rows of tanks rolled over broken roads. Troop carriers roared across bridges. Helicopters darkened the skies, loaded with missiles meant to end whatever was left of the South's resistance. Thousands of soldiers marched in perfect formation, confident, well-armed, and completely unaware that they weren't invading a country anymore.
They were marching straight into the fog.
It started small. A faint pulse through the radios. Static.
Then the first tank's engine sputtered.
One by one, vehicles slowed, grinding to a halt.
"Commander, we're losing power!" someone shouted over comms.
The helicopters hovered uncertainly. Then, as they entered the fog, their rotors faltered. One by one, they dropped from the sky like stones.
The first crashed into the lead convoy. The explosion tore through half a column of troops, scattering debris and bodies across the road.
The second clipped the roof of a tank, sending it skidding sideways into a ditch.
Missile trucks stalled. Their launch systems went dark, dead screens and useless buttons blinking like toys.
Panic spread.
"Restore the systems!"
"Reboot the engines!"
"We're sitting ducks!"
But there was no fixing it.
Guns jammed. Radios died. Night vision goggles flickered once, then blacked out. Every piece of machinery shut off like the entire army had tripped over the world's biggest power switch.
And the fog kept coming.
On the southern side of the border, South Han forces watched in stunned silence from their last remaining outpost.
They'd been bracing for the attack. Ready to make a last stand.
But as the northern forces crossed into the fog, there was nothing left to fight.
Through binoculars, the southern commander watched tanks grind to a stop, helicopters spiral out of control, soldiers screaming as machines died around them.
"They're done," he muttered.
Another officer lowered his scope. "What do we do, sir?"
The fog was coming for them next.
"We retreat," the commander said. "Tell the men. We fall back to the Safe Zone. Now."
They didn't have to be told twice.
The southern troops abandoned the outpost as the fog crept closer, knowing exactly what it would do. They'd seen enough already to understand.
You couldn't fight the fog.
-----
The reporter paused again. Looked off-screen.
Then came the words that changed everything.
"We've just received confirmation... when the fog becomes dense enough, it emits a field similar to an electromagnetic pulse or EMP. Any technology that enters is instantly disabled. Military vehicles, drones, aircraft, they all go down once inside the fog. The only silver lining so far... is that all global conflicts have come to a halt. No one can wage war in this."
She hesitated.
"Power grids are beginning to fail across multiple continents, plea—"
As if on cue, the lights inside the noodle shop flickered, buzzed... and went dark.
The TV blinked off.
The fridge gave one last hum, then stopped.
Outside, Traffic lights died, one building after another went dark, shop signs, apartment windows, and street fronts all losing power in slow waves.
Bob stood slowly. "Gabe... I think we need to leave."
Gabe looked at him. "Why?"
Bob nodded toward the window. "We need to check on Grandpa. He's still in Hope City."
Gabe turned. Outside, the wall of fog was creeping closer, curling between buildings like it was hunting for them.
"Alright," he said, grabbing his coat. "I'll go with you."
"But we're bringing the rest of the noodles," Bob declared, sweeping the remaining packs into a plastic bag like they were treasure.
Gabe stared at him. Then gave him a long, slow look… equal parts disbelief and resignation.
"Unbelievable."