Everyone got one on their 18th birthday: a small wrist device with a digital countdown. No buttons. No manual. Just ticking numbers.
Some ticked down days. Others, years. No one knew what happened when it hit zero—only that the person vanished.
Lena’s timer read 43:17:08.
Forty-three hours.
Panic set in. She called doctors, tech experts, spiritual advisors—no one knew how it worked. It was just… there. Always had been. Always right.
As the final seconds approached, Lena sat alone, trembling.
00:00:03.
00:00:02.
00:00:01.
The screen went black.
She shut her eyes. Waited. Nothing.
Then, the screen lit up again—new numbers counting up.
00:00:01.
00:00:02.
A soft chime rang in her ears, and a message appeared:
“Welcome to your real life. Everything until now was the test.”