Prologue: The rift in reality

The world in 2030 was not breathing any easier, just faster. Technologically advanced, but marked by global tensions, the relentless effects of climate change and a deep social divide. The gap between rich and poor had grown dramatically, while the ubiquity of social media led to an unprecedented flood of disinformation and collective overwhelm. Humanity, distracted and focused on itself, was unknowingly staggering towards an unforeseen awakening.

The systems on which modern civilization relied functioned with precise but dangerous dependence on human concentration. In the operating theater of a Munich hospital, a surgeon hovered over a patient, ready to make the vital incision. Every movement bore witness to the absolute necessity of unrestricted precision. In a psychiatric clinic in the suburbs of Paris, the monotonous hum of the air conditioning echoed through a therapy room where patients sought normality in the midst of their fragile reality. In the Far East, in the control room of a nuclear power plant in Tokyo, the cold light of countless monitors was reflected in the faces of technicians bent over consoles. Each blinking light signaled a fragile balance. And on a front line in the Ukraine, where the acrid smell of gunfire hung and artillery rumbled, soldiers lurked in trenches, their nerves taut, their concentration absolutely focused on the next order.

This was the world in which a young person in the shadowy alleyways of Jakarta, marked by the struggle for survival, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, already on the lookout for hiding places. Her fleeting shadow movements ensured her survival. In Berlin, cool, clear morning light fell into a modern office building. The quiet whirring of servers accompanied a meticulous man poring over a screen, surrounded by data and diagrams. He was looking for anomalies in numbers, not in life. Thousands of miles away, in a suburban home in the USA, the hustle and bustle filled the house, filled with the noise of children playing and the smell of freshly baked waffles. An exhausted but caring woman tried to manage the chaos of family life, her thoughts focused solely on the well-being of her loved ones. Above the glittering Silicon Valley, a lean, restless man gazed out of a penthouse as hologram-like projections of complex data floated around him. He dictated instructions, his thoughts already far in the future, fixated on global dominance. In the vast, dusty Texas landscape, an imposing man in an ornate office bellowed into the phone while a gold ring shone on his hand and he studied a map with red markers for new land purchases. His presence filled the room, his greed was almost palpable. And in Minsk, Belarus, the only sound in a gloomy, unadorned room was the quiet ticking of a clock. An elderly man with an icy gaze stared at a screen on which surveillance images and encrypted messages flickered. He was a study in immobile control, his apathy towards suffering almost palpable.

And then it was there.

Without any warning - simultaneously for

all pubescents and adults worldwide - a transparent pop-up screen materialized in their field of vision. There was no flash of light, no sound; it was simply

there, a crack in the familiar reality.

In the operating theater in Munich, the surgeon froze, the scalpel hovering over the open heart. The patient’s vital signs plummeted, monitors beeped in panic. The entire surgical team stared transfixed at the screens, paralyzed by the incomprehensibility.

In the control room of the nuclear power plant in Tokyo, a technician flinched, his hand resting on a critical lever. Displays flashed, red warning lights flickered, but no one reacted, their attention caught by the interface. The quiet hum of the reactors filled the room, now suddenly menacing and ominous.

On the front line in the Ukraine, the deafening exchange of fire stopped abruptly. Soldiers on both sides stared frozen at the screens before their eyes. The smoke from the recent explosion slowly cleared, revealing rigid silhouettes - a battlefield falling into disbelieving silence.

In New York City, the panic wasn’t just a scream, it was a thud. Cars stopped in the middle of intersections. A van crashed into a parked limousine without braking. Honking horns fell silent, screams echoed between the skyscrapers. A pilot on approach staggered as the plane descended dangerously.

In the psychiatric clinic in Paris, a patient screamed, pointing in panic at something that only she could see. Others laughed hysterically, believing that their delusions had now manifested themselves. The therapist, himself caught up in the pop-up, tried in vain to maintain control, his words sounding hollow and meaningless.

Millions of people around the world believed they were hallucinating. Medical and psychological systems were overwhelmed, governments at a loss. Jobs, schools and public services came to a standstill. Society could no longer function normally.

The first option appeared everywhere: "Start game". Clickable by pure power of thought, by force of will. And when the first, driven by confusion or irresistible curiosity, made this mental click, the screen changed globally. Amidst the traffic chaos of Manhattan, in the silent fear of a reactor control center, in the dirt of a trench - everywhere the

twelve generic character classes. A new reality had begun. The chaos was not over yet, it had only just begun, and no one understood what it really meant, because the portals and monsters had not yet appeared.

Next Chapter: Architect of Chaos