The relentless rain of Arkania's City Zero drummed against the windows, creating a rhythmic soundtrack to the chaos within Cyrus's small apartment. The wind howled through an open window, its frame flapping like the wings of a startled bird. Inside, white sheets of paper danced through the air, caught in a miniature tornado of frustration and neglect.

Cyrus let out an exasperated sigh as he peeled a wayward sheet from his face. "Not again," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the storm's symphony. Like a man possessed, he found himself drawn to the offending window. His bare feet sank into the plush cotton mat, a stark contrast to the arctic winds whipping at his exposed torso.

Suddenly, a sharp, electric pain shot through him. His face contorted in agony as he tumbled backwards, landing unceremoniously on his backside. His injured toe throbbed like a second heartbeat, a thin line of bright red sliding down its length. Frustration etched deep lines into his face as he tilted his head to inspect the damage.

The culprit lay innocently on the ground - a stray paper nail. Cyrus picked it up, shaking his head at the mess surrounding him. "It's such a disaster in here," he grumbled, knowing full well that hewould soon come crashing in, asking for more work to be done.

With a swift motion, Cyrus shut the windows, silencing the howling wind. The papers, no longer buoyed by the gale, cascaded to the floor in a familiar scene that seemed to mock him with its repetition.

"Can't believe you get to live in the coolest city of Arkania," he mumbled sarcastically as he began gathering the scattered sheets. If only his friends knew the reality of his situation - life in the big city was far from the glamorous dream they imagined.

Returning to his desk, Cyrus picked up a bright sheet of paper. The words "Project T. for this Monday" stared back at him, their stark black letters a silent accusation. His eyes darted to the calendar hanging on the wall, its Tuesday square glaringly empty. With a bitter smile, he grabbed a pen and rewrote the date, changing it to "Friday."

"This time it's going to be different," he assured himself, holding up the amended sheet. "I'm going to do it."

Motivated by his self-deception, Cyrus headed to his cramped bedroom. The single bed and ancient cupboard bore the marks of time, their worn surfaces a testament to years of use. As he opened the cupboard door, it creaked like the hinges of an old woman's home. Inside, a series of white shirts and black trousers hung neatly, a uniform of conformity in a chaotic world.

Cyrus quickly donned a shirt, his mind already racing ahead to the day's challenges. "Where did I leave it?" he muttered, eyes scanning the room for his missing shoes. A moment of clarity struck, and he dashed to the kitchen, where his night-dark shoes hung forgotten on a chair.

Fully dressed at last, Cyrus reached for the oven, only to be startled by the sudden, insistent ringing of his phone. He bolted back to the living room, snatching up the device. His eyes widened in panic as he realized the time. "Game over! I'm already late!" he yelled to no one in particular.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Grabbing his umbrella, Cyrus flew out the door, down the stairs, and into the rain-soaked streets of City Zero. The city pulsed with life around him, its tall, majestic buildings piercing the dark sky. Headlights painted streaks of illumination across the wet roads, creating a dazzling light show. The steady rhythm of shoes splashing through puddles provided a constant backbeat to the urban symphony.

"No matter the time, City Zero is always this lively," Cyrus mused, glancing at his watch. "Might be a little too much for my taste." Time seemed to mock him, each tick of the second hand squeezing his chest with anxiety. His fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the umbrella's handle as he waited to cross the street.

The road ahead appeared empty, tempting Cyrus to make a dash for it. "It's almost clear. If I go now, it should be fine, right?" he thought, stepping forward. Suddenly, a blinding light cut through the rain, causing Cyrus's heart to skip a beat. He stumbled backward, bracing for impact, but the vehicle screeched to a halt mere inches away.

As the initial shock wore off, Cyrus found himself face-to-face with a luxurious black sports car. It stood out like an alien craft, its sleek surface repelling raindrops with an invisible force field. The windows were tinted to opacity, revealing nothing of the occupants within. In place of a driver, a circular pattern of intertwining veins - magical in nature - pulsed with energy.

Cyrus's gaze was drawn to the back seat, where he caught a glimpse of the car's sole occupant. Golden hair framed a face that exuded an aura of superiority and power. "Could she be a non-human?" Cyrus wondered, shaking his head at the improbability.

Rising to his feet, now thoroughly soaked, Cyrus couldn't help but frown. "Hey, slow down a bit, will ya? I'd rather not make an entrance through the windshield," he glared at the car.

"I'm not behind the wheel, as you can plainly see," a melodious voice replied from within. The woman's eyes remained fixed on something in her lap, likely a book.

Cyrus bit back the urge to call her a "Rich NPC," knowing full well that her demeanor indicated she was far from a nobody. It was better to avoid unnecessary problems.

"If you don't have any other purpose, kindly remove yourself from my path," she said coolly. Cyrus tilted his head, a forced smile playing on his lips as he realized his awkward position. Begrudgingly, he stepped out of the way.

"Thank you," she said, her eyes never leaving her reading material. The car's blinding lights flared to life once more, and it sped off into the distance, leaving Cyrus to stare after it in a daze.

Shaking off the encounter, Cyrus made his way to a nearby teleportation capsule. As he stepped inside, his reflection caught his eye - droplets of rain sliding down his hair and face, a satisfied smile playing on his lips despite his bedraggled appearance. "Pretty good looking, but nothing extraordinary," he mused.

"Looks like it's going to be another dreadful day," Cyrus sighed as the capsule whisked him away to his workplace.

Moments later, he emerged from the capsule, shaking his head to dispel the lingering dizziness. "Still can't vibe with this," he muttered, navigating the maze-like corridors of the office building.

"Where have you been, Cyrus?" a voice called out, snapping him from his thoughts. Looking up, he saw a familiar face - Dan, a coworker dressed in an identical white shirt and black shoes. Unlike Cyrus, however, Dan seemed full of energy.

"Dan, what's up?" Cyrus greeted, noting his friend's agitated state.

Dan waved his hand, gasping for air as if he'd just run a marathon. Cyrus gently tapped him on the shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Hold up, you're gasping for air like you've just gone through a boss battle. Slow down and let me know what's going on."

"I've got bad news," Dan finally managed to say, his voice heavy with concern.