Level-Up Apocalypse: Surviving With The Assimilation System

Beep.

"—Ah."

A blink of his eyes brought him to a familiar, yet distant scenery. It was one he had looked at tens of thousands of times, yet it felt as though it'd been years.

The glow of his monitor hit his eyes, finding himself sitting at his desk. Though he vaguely recalled what he had done, it was foggy in his mind, like a distant dream from the night before.

Glancing at his phone that laid on his desk, he tapped the screen as it lit up:

[GOOD EVENING, FINN] [10:05 P.M]

It was the very same moment he recalled, the exact time the world went to hell as he remembered. He carefully rose from his desk, moving one foot in front of the other as he crossed his bedroom.

The light pitter-patter of raindrops against the window were all he heard as he approached the glass panes. A look outside at the nighttime cityscape didn't haze his eyes with the sights of burning buildings and bloodied streets–

It was perfectly calm; cars passed through the streets, people walked the sidewalks, a belligerent homeless man grumbled to himself in an alleyway. He watched, standing there motionlessly as seconds dragged on, watching the city intently.

Not a single breath escaped his lungs as he waited, expecting something to happen–the arrival of goblins, or perhaps some other otherworldly horror, yet–

Nothing. Everything was as it should be. His entire body relaxed as he breathed out, resting his arms against the window sill to lower his head. All of the stress was expelled from his body as he stared at the floorboards.

'I did it,' he thought, though having trouble believing it was all real.

He couldn't help but slide down, sitting against the wall as he rested his arms against his knees. The weight of it all was gone, washed away as he could finally breathe without the pressure in his chest.

As he sat there listening to the raindrops hit the window, there was one thing left to check—

"Status," he quietly uttered.

—Nothing.

The existence of the system was gone; nothing of it remained. It was an immediate sense of relief, yet as he glanced down at his body, not everything was quite back to square one.

All of the scars still laid on his body; the countless fighting, the athleticism it imbued into his muscles, all remained. It wasn't an intentional decision beforehand, he attempted to recall, though perhaps a subconscious one.

'…I guess there's still proof it all happened, in some way. I'm living evidence of the apocalypse,' he thought, lightly touching the scars on his forearms.

After some time spent on the floor, he grabbed his phone, calling the first number saved—

["Mom"]

The phone rang for only a second before—

"Hello?" The softly spoken voice on the other end answered.

"Mom?" Finn said in quiet disbelief upon hearing her.

"Finn? What's up, kid? Everything okay?" She asked on the other end.

He couldn't really think of what to say, getting what he needed to hear just by her voice. Being asked that question, however, posed him with a crossroads.

"Okay"--he didn't know if that was the appropriate answer to how he felt. Like film being filtered through a feed, the countless memories of the apocalypse flooded his mind. He moved his lips as if attempting to speak what was on his mind, but stopped himself just short of uttering a word.

"Finn?" His mother called his name.

What halted him was the simple fact he realized; the memories that weighed on his mind were things he could not hope for others to understand. While it made his lip quiver, coming to face the loneliness of his experiences, it softened his heart–

["Nobody has to remember that hell. That's good…That's exactly as it should be."]

Even if he could tell himself that, it didn't suppress the feeling of isolation within his own thoughts, carrying those memories with him.

He finally responded through the phone, "Yeah, I'm great, Mom. Just checking in."

"Oh, okay–are you sure everything is alright?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," he assured with a short laugh.

Ending the call, he stood in the kitchen of his apartment. He leaned against the countertop, breathing out.

'It's hard to believe, but it's done. After everything, I…did it,' he thought to himself, still finding it difficult to process.

There was only one way to take it in–

Grabbing his coat, he threw it on, leaving his apartment into the rainy night. He stepped through the hall, passing by the windows of his neighbors, hearing the laughter of families and their televisions playing shows.

The ambience of a calm, rainy night, of families together, of people out on the streets, bar hopping and chattering–it was a surreal experience. He walked down the street, gazing up at the buildings he recalled being burnt, if not completely tumbled over, now standing strong once again.

Standing on the sidewalk as the raindrops fell against his cheeks, the presence of those he survived alongside was felt dearly as though they stood beside him.

["Everybody fought for this reality. We would talk about if "things went back to normal" like a faraway fantasy. We all bled, we cried, we suffered, but…it's here. It's here, and…"]

Again, the weight of his memories burdened himself. Though he relished in the tranquil reality, he found himself alone in appreciating it. All he wished is that they were there with him, holding the same relief, the same joy, the same memories–

Yet, those people were no longer the ones he befriended.

["I miss you, guys."]

—

[One Year Later]

As the seasons passed, bringing the brisk temperatures of spring, the passing rain made the sun shine that much brighter.

Inside of his apartment as the orange rays dipped through the window, the young man was at his desk. The place was tidy, organized, and in better shape than it's ever been.

He typed away on his keyboard, not delving into games, but writing his own code. All he needed on his desk was a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, though both tended to grow cold as he worked away on programming.

"Argh…" He scratched his head, staring at the monitor with a tilt of his head. "Let's try this…"

Mumbling to himself while in concentration, he tapped away at his keyboard with a certain level of fury.

[BEEP!]

—In the midst of his battle with the code, the sudden alarm from his phone snapped him out of focus. The prompt that lit up on his screen occurred right on the dot of the hour:

["1 P.M | WORKOUT!"]

He stood up from his desk, quickly hopping down before dishing out quick push-ups. There was no time wasted as he flipped over, lifting his upper body up to his raised knees. A simple life was something he welcomed, though surviving the apocalypse left him needing activity.

["I feel like a german shepherd or something. I have a constant need to exert myself–it's almost like letting this energy to waste is a crime."]

The quick bursts of calisthenics was followed by leaving the apartment, setting out for a refreshing walk.

In the prime of spring, the smell of raindrops staining the asphalt was a pleasant reminder of the weather. A light walk through the streets of Seattle always helped to untie the knots in his head.

["There's times I find myself missing it, in some ways. I know–it's a feeling that disgusts me, but it's the truth. Of course, I don't miss the pain of the world decaying around me but, those times we all walked together, leaned on one another for support.

I wish we could talk about it–reminisce; I have all these memories. I wonder, are the friends I made then–are these memories made with them? Now, none of you remember, so…The people I met then, they really only live in my memory."]

He found himself streets away from his apartment, only realizing how far he had walked while thinking to himself once a car suddenly drove through the crosswalk he intended to pass.

"Woah! Watch out there, man!"

–A hand befell his shoulder, lightly pulling him back to the sidewalk as the sedan drove by. There was an immediate fluctuation through his heart as he heard the words from the stranger. Find adventures on My Virtual Library Empire

It was a voice he couldn't forget, no matter how much time passed–

The man waiting beside him at the crosswalk stood a head taller than him with shaggy, salt-and-pepper hair, carrying a suitcase loosely over his shoulder.

"Damian–?" Finn couldn't help but say the name that came to mind.

"Ah–" The cheerful man looked back at him in surprise. "Do I know you? Ha-ha, sorry, man, my memory really is awful sometimes!"

Being asked that from the man he considered a brother in all but blood hurt like a stake being driven through his heart. There were many different answers he wanted to give, so much he wished to say.

All of the memories flashed across his eyes when seeing that man–

Walking through the desolate streets, fighting nightmarish monsters side-by-side, the Second Impact igniting the atmosphere, even the moment he lost his life. Most of all, he wanted to apologize, though he found a lump in his throat as he tried getting the words out.

"Hey, listen, man–I'm runnin' late for work! If we see each other again, remind me who you are, alright?!" Damian waved as he ran across the crosswalk, nearly being hit by a car that was forced to slam its breaks. "--Woah! Sorry, sorry!"

"I–yeah, sure," Finn accepted with a quiet smile.

He simply stood there at the crosswalk for a minute, regretful of being unable to get out anything he meant to say, though perhaps felt it was for the best.

["He's still the same guy I remember. Nothing's changed."]

As the cars passing through their morning routes crossed in front of him, he lost sight of the friend from another time. He didn't know exactly what he was waiting for, pushing himself to cross the road as the pedestrian light prompted him to.

Amidst the busy streets of downtown, passing by countless people, he found himself stopping in front of a cafe for no apparent reason. He had walked past hundreds, maybe thousands of times, yet it stood out today, though he had no indication as to why.

"Florian Mornings"--the name of the establishment which presented itself with a simple, minimalistic design. The scent of coffee was enough to lure him in, though it wasn't especially busy, seeing as there were a fair share of such places in the city.

Ordering himself a black coffee with just a bit of creamer, he took the warm beverage over to the window-side table before–

Someone was already sitting there, though he didn't notice them before.

"Sorry," he said, beginning to turn away.

"No, please sit," the stranger insisted.

There was something peculiar about the unknown cafe patron; a man of snow-white hair and irises with a strange, golden tinge to them.

He looked to be albino, with his light hair being nearly transparent like a thin curtain. Most of the time, he would decline such a request, though for some reason, he decided to sit across from the man.

The stranger was well-dressed, wearing a black, creaseless suit that didn't have so much as a speck of lint dirtying its pristine material.

"Who are you?" Finn asked, not yet sipping from his coffee.

"August," the peculiar figure introduced himself, drinking from his cup with one leg over the other, wearing a calm smile. "Though you may remember me by a different title."

Finn simply sat there, squinting at the man he'd never seen in his life, racking his brain for any memory of him. Though he'd never seen nor heard of his name, what he did feel a familiarity in was the ethereal presence of the cafe patron.

"Are you…the Creator?" Finn slowly asked.

"I was," August admitted, setting his cup down. "As were you."

He glanced to the side, finding their conversation not watching the attention of the staff nor the few patrons scattered throughout the establishment.

Ahead of him, he stared at the man across the table, "You're telling me you remember your past? I thought once you were reincarnated, you'd forget completely."

"That's how it normally works. The soul is a concept that was always foreign to me–a complete mystery. I suppose it's due to the nature of the soul I possess," August theorized.

"I see…Did you plan this? Meeting me here, I mean," Finn questioned.

"I did no such thing. Though…I must admit, I had a feeling I'd meet you here. There is no logic to it, just a feeling," August admitted, grazing the rim of his cup with his thumb.

Though it seemed like a white lie, he felt a similar sensation when arriving at the cafe; an illogical pull that brought him there.

"You've experienced it too, haven't you?" August asked. "A chance encounter, one that doesn't feel merely like chance."

Finn sat there, considering it as the unexpected, one-sided reuniting he had earlier, "...Yeah, something like that. You're really saying you had nothing to do with any of this? Me encountering Damian, and now you?"

"I'm just as human as you are. Though, I do wonder if that's completely true, for the both of us," August answered curiously, placing his hand to his chin.

"What do you mean?" Finn asked.

"Just curiosities, is all," August remarked. "I do not believe your meeting with your friend was merely "chance" though, no. Nor was our encounter here."

"Then what is it?" Finn questioned, glancing outside of the cafe window.

The streets of downtown Seattle were as bustling as always, with hardly an inch to be seen of the street past the busy sidewalks.

"Fate? A power higher than the authority of Creation, perhaps," August claimed.

"You're saying something above the power we had? How could something like that even be possible? It's hard to recall now, but the entire universe…I–" Finn said.

"You destroyed and remade it. A fine job, too, I might add. Still, I believe there remains something or somebody even higher in the hierarchy, somewhere unseen, someplace unreachable," August theorized, pointing at the ceiling of the establishment.

Finn exhaled quietly, bringing the steaming cup of coffee to his lips, lightly blowing on it as he felt the steam press against his face, "You've been reborn as a human, but you're still thinking of the stars. I'm done with all of that."

"Who is to say it's done with you?" August responded before smiling. "Just a joke."

"--" Finn was quiet for a moment, looking at the strange man. "If this is all you wanted to talk about, then I'll head out now."

As he stood up from the table, he reached for his wallet, but August already placed a hundred dollar bill on the tab.

"Oh no, it's my treat," August claimed.

"Sure," Finn said.

He made his way to the front door, pushing it open before stopping just beforehand as the man called out to him from the table–

"Tell me one thing, Finn," August inquired. "As your life stands right now, are you happy with how things are?"

Being put on the spot to answer such a question, one that only required a simple "yes" or "no", he didn't have an immediate answer. It stunted him before he chose to simply walk on, letting the door close behind him.

–

August sat in the cafe alone for some time, as daytime came and went, as the sun sat, he still remained there for hours, simply drinking his coffee and sitting in thought. There was attention brought to him from concerned employees of the cafe, though the peculiar man paid them no mind, only focused on his own thoughts.

["The systems I bestowed upon humanity to aid them in the apocalypse–they were not my own power I simply gifted to them. Each system was the person's own unique, personal power, through-and-through.

Augmentations of the soul, intertwined with the mechanisms of their spirit. I could not create nor alter souls themselves, but by planting the mold of an empty system around their souls, it would develop into their own.

It becomes infused with their soul, a part of themself, unable to be detached–

So, I wonder, Finn–did you truly remove your system? Or, is it perhaps resting dormant, deep within your soul, waiting to be awakened again?"]