January 14, 2034
"And don't forget to pay your tab. Now go."
Adam waved off a drunken patron as the man stumbled out with his equally tipsy friends. With a tired sigh, he stepped back into the bar, the door swinging shut behind him with a dull clunk. He moved slowly, wiping down tables and stacking chairs, letting the silence of closing time settle over him like a familiar blanket.
As he flipped off the lights, darkness swallowed the worn wooden floor and the dusty old liquor bottles behind the counter. He paused at the doorway, eyes scanning the bar he once cleaned with his father.
His father had owned the place before him—until he died last year. Adam had tried to keep it running, but the truth was, he never wanted it. He had applied for the army not long after the funeral, figuring he'd sell the bar once he got accepted. It wasn't a dream—it was just something to move forward.
But the medical exam had crushed that too.
A hereditary blood disorder, something from his late mother, had disqualified him. Just like that, another door closed.
He chuckled bitterly to himself.
"And here I thought I'd never have to mop beer off the floors again... Too bad."
Pulling down the metal shutters, he searched his pockets for the padlock. Locking up, he pocketed the key and walked into the cold night, taking the shortcut alley to his apartment.
As he made his way through the dim corridor of graffiti-tagged walls and flickering lights, he noticed figures up ahead—standing over someone.
A woman?
He crept closer. The figure on the ground was a young woman—no, a girl—unconscious and wearing what looked like a tattered school uniform.
Standing over her was a broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and a noticeable beer belly. Despite his build, there was something dangerous about him—a heaviness in his stance, the kind that came from real experience. A pistol rested snugly on his belt, its presence impossible to ignore.
Robbery? Kidnapping? Rape?
Adam started to step back, heart racing.
"Don't move," a voice hissed from behind.
Cold steel pressed against his back.
"Man, you're really unlucky," the knife-wielder muttered. "Bog, get on with it."
"What 'bout him?" said the one called Bog, reaching down to hoist the unconscious girl.
Adam's eyes flicked to Bog's arm. A familiar tattoo—The Vipers.
Damn. Viper's men. This just got worse.
"Since when did Viper start snatching high school girls?" Adam asked carefully.
The blade pressed harder.
"Don't be a hero. That's not some schoolgirl."
Bog snorted. "She a runaway. Been squattin' behind a cheap café. Got caught stealin' from one of our fronts. Nobody gonna look for 'er."
"In short," the man behind Adam added with a chuckle, "we did our homework. And organ trafficking's been real profitable lately."
Adam's jaw clenched.
"That's messed up."
"Yeah, well… it is what it is. Now hand over your wallet."
Adam complied, pulling it from his pocket and handing it over.
"Good boy. I'm feeling generous tonight. We're in a rush, so I'll let you walk away. Go, before I change my mind."
He hesitated. His breath fogged in the cold air. Then, he noticed it.
The girl's eyes were open—wide and terrified. She was staring straight at him, silently pleading.
His gut twisted.
I could leave. She'll die, but I'll live.
But do I want that?
What the hell am I even living for?
No college. No close friends. Estranged from his relatives. Hell, even his last big decision of joining the army failed miserably. His life had been a slow drift of missed chances and hollow choices.
It felt like everything had been leading to this one moment.
Just to make one real decision.
Adam glanced over his shoulder, taking in the man behind him. He was lean, dressed in loose, baggy clothes that did little to hide the tension in his frame—like a coiled spring, ready to strike. His eyes were cold, unblinking, calculating.
The blade pressed firmly against Adam's back, its edge sharp enough to feel through the fabric.
It's now or never.
Adam spun around and punched the man behind him.
"I—"
SHUCK!
The blade slashed across his throat.
Warm blood sprayed into the night. His hands clutched at his neck, uselessly trying to stop the flow. He collapsed, vision spinning, limbs heavy.
Damn. I missed.
The man looked down at him with a grin.
"Fool."
Everything slowed. The pain was distant, his mind foggy. Cold seeped into his limbs as he hit the pavement.
That was it. That was the moment. The one last moment... and I failed.
But as darkness closed in, he wasn't sad.
He was angry.
Angry at the wasted years. At the lack of choices. At his own passivity. At his weakness.
Next time... I won't hesitate.
Then something strange happened.
Warmth washed over his body. Thick and cloying, like a heavy blanket soaked in sweat. A low, rising ringing filled his ears.
Through blurred vision, he saw vapor—no, mist—seeping from his bloodied hands.
Am I still seeing shit even after dying? Why is the afterlife so damn complicated?
But his vision suddenly sharpened.
He could feel everything. The pavement. The blood. The cold.
He wasn't gone.
He was still here.
-----------------------------------------------------------
"Man, you ruthless. I ain't cleanin' that mess for sure," Bog muttered.
"Just get the girl in the damn car," the other snapped.
Bog shifted her on his shoulder and turned to go—then froze. His partner did too.
Something… moved past them.
Not air. Not wind. Something else. Thick. Fluid. Alive.
"What the hell was that?" Suddenly breathing heavily, Bog exclaimed with fear.
"I don't f—"
COUGH! COUGH!
Adam, still lying in a pool of blood, convulsed. Blood sputtered from his mouth.
"What the—? He still alive?!"
Bog backed up.
"Bog! Get the damn girl to the car! I'll handle this freak!"
"W-wait…"
Adam wiped his face, smearing blood over his eyes, as he struggles to get up.
SHACK!
The knife plunged into his back.
"ARGH—!"
"You should've stayed dead," the thug spat, yanking the blade and slitting his throat again. Blood gushed anew.
"Dead now?" Bog asked.
"Check for yourself!" The man stepped over Adam's corpse—
—and something gripped his leg.
"What the—? Let go, you son of a—!"
He kicked Adam's head, freeing himself.
Bog resumed walking—
Then the girl on his shoulder snapped awake.
"Stop squirmin'! I swear if you—"
BOOOOM!
She exploded.
A wave of fire consumed the alley, igniting everything. The force flattened trash bins and blew out windows. Silence followed the blast. Then—alarms. Shrieking and echoing down the street.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Adam groaned.
"Urgh… what just happened?"
He sat up amidst blackened rubble. The alley was scorched. Two corpses lay twisted against the walls, burnt beyond recognition.
He looked down—his shirt was shredded and burnt, soaked in blood and ash, same with the ground. But no pain.
He stood. His wounds had healed. Healed.
He turned toward the crater—at its center, the girl lay unharmed. Her school uniform was intact. Not a single burn mark on her body.
He staggered forward, stunned.
"She's alive…"
Something happened.
I should be dead. The stab wounds alone should've done it—let alone the explosion. But I'm still here. Breathing. Moving.
I didn't notice it right away, but now it's impossible to ignore. My wounds… they were healing. Even before the blast. The fire should've finished the job, yet somehow, I came out of it alive.
And the girl—
The explosion came from her. I'm sure of it. I saw it, even though blood was pooling in my eyes.
But she's fine. No burns. No blood. Not even a singed thread on her clothes.
This isn't normal.
Whatever that was—something has changed. In us… and maybe in the world.
His heart pounded with fear, and anticipation.
The world had changed.
Sirens howled in the distance—police, ambulances, and more. But they weren't just coming for this alley. No, he could tell.
Something was happening across the city.
He could feel it in the air—like static before a storm. Like the whole world was holding its breath.
Adam took a shaky step forward, eyes still locked on the girl.
Then another.
And then—
His knees buckled.
"Wh—"
Darkness closed in at the edges of his vision. His breath caught in his throat as dizziness washed over him like a crashing tide.
The adrenaline was fading. And now, everything hit him all at once.
The blood loss. The trauma. The pain.
He tried to stay upright, one hand bracing against the soot-covered wall.
But it was no use.
His legs gave out.
The last thing he saw before the world slipped away was the girl's still form in the center of the crater, lying there like nothing had ever touched her.
Then, everything went black.
-----------------------------------------------------------
A strange wave of unknown energy had struck Earth.
It came without sound or light. It bypassed every satellite, slipped through every orbital scan, and ignored every electromagnetic detector. Not a single machine recorded its passage—no blip, no spike, no anomaly. By all technical accounts, nothing had happened.
Yet every living being felt it.
Some likened it to sinking into the softest, most comforting bed imaginable—serene, dreamlike. Others were overwhelmed by dread, seized by a fear they couldn't explain.
Some dropped to their knees, clutching their heads or hearts as if something deep inside them was unravelling. And then came the miracles—patients on death's door opened their eyes, the terminally ill suddenly walking, laughing, claiming they were healed.
Yet for most, it was only a whisper of unease. A fleeting moment where the world seemed to hold its breath—still, silent, unnatural.
Experts dismissed it. Governments called it mass hysteria. But within weeks, the internet was flooded with footage: people conjuring flames from their hands, walking through walls, breathing underwater.
What began as rumour became undeniable.
The Age of Miracles had begun.