Tuesday morning began like any other in Budapest. Ferenc woke to the scent of strong coffee Zsuzsa, his wife, always prepared. She made it before leaving for the bakery. The aroma, usually a comfort, did little to soothe his unease. This feeling had settled over him since the previous night's strange dreams.
He found a note on the kitchen counter. Her familiar cursive looped across the paper: "Gone early – big order. Back before noon. Love you." A small heart was drawn at the bottom. Ferenc smiled faintly. The normalcy was a fragile anchor in the swirling disquiet within him. He drank his coffee. The dark liquid was hot and bitter, mirroring the taste in his mouth.
Outside, the city was waking up. A gentle hum of early traffic and distant voices filtered through the thin walls of their apartment. Ferenc went to the window. It overlooked a quiet street lined with chestnut trees.
Their leaves were just beginning to turn with the season. People hurried along the sidewalks. Their faces were buried in phones or clutching briefcases. They were oblivious. He envied them their ordinary concerns.
A news report flickered from a neighbor's open window across the courtyard. A voice spoke rapidly in Hungarian. It was about unusual atmospheric disturbances detected across the globe. Ferenc frowned.
Atmospheric disturbances? The phrase felt inadequate. It didn't capture the oppressive dread he felt. A sense that something fundamental was about to shift, to break.
He turned on his small radio. He tuned it to a local station. Music played, upbeat pop. It was jarringly out of sync with the gnawing anxiety in his stomach.
He switched stations, finding only static. Then another station playing folk music, then static again. It was erratic, unsettling. He switched it off. The sudden silence amplified the pounding in his ears.
A tremor ran through the building. It was subtle but definite. The coffee cup in his hand rattled against the saucer. He looked around the room. A sudden, sharp alertness replaced his earlier sluggishness. That was no truck rumbling by. That was something else.
Outside, dogs began to bark. A chorus of frantic yelps echoed through the streets. Car alarms blared in unison. They were triggered by the vibration. The gentle hum of the city had morphed. It became a discordant symphony of fear. People started spilling out onto the streets. They looked up, faces etched with confusion and alarm.
Ferenc joined them. He stepped out onto the small balcony. He scanned the sky. It was a clear, bright autumn blue, deceptively peaceful. Nothing seemed to be happening. Yet the tension was almost unbearable. It was a physical pressure building in the chest. Then, it appeared.
Not in the sky, not descending from above. It simply manifested. In the square at the end of the street, where the fountain usually gurgled merrily, a figure coalesced. It was not there, then it was. Solid and immense, impossibly tall. It dwarfed the surrounding buildings.
Panic erupted on the street. Screams tore through the air. A raw, primal sound of terror. People scrambled back inside. Doors slammed shut. The sounds were muffled but no less desperate. Ferenc stood frozen, staring.
The figure was vaguely humanoid, but wrong. Its skin was like polished obsidian. It reflected the sunlight in cold, fragmented shards. It wore no clothes. Yet there was no vulnerability in its form. Only an alien, terrifying majesty. Two luminous points burned where eyes should be. They cast an eerie light.
It raised a hand. Impossibly large, each finger longer than a car. The movement was slow, deliberate. Devoid of haste, which made it all the more horrifying. This was not a creature of impulse. But of cold,Consideration.
A voice, not spoken but projected, resonating in the skull rather than the ears, filled the square. Ferenc felt it vibrate in his very bones. It was a language he did not understand. Yet the meaning was horrifyingly clear: domination, war, annihilation.
Then, in perfect, accented Hungarian, the voice shifted. "People of this world. I am designated Overlord. Your planet is now under my dominion. Resistance is…unwise." The accent was strange, archaic. Like something out of a forgotten history lesson. Yet the tone was contemporary. Utterly devoid of warmth or compassion.
A beat of silence, thick with dread, followed. Then, the Overlord's hand twitched. Just a slight flick of the wrist. Barely perceptible, almost casual. It was less than a gesture. An afterthought.
And then, the world changed.
A wave of…something…rippled outwards from the Overlord. Invisible but utterly devastating. It was not an explosion. Not a physical force. It was a cessation. A silencing. A cosmic eraser.
People simply ceased to be. Not vaporized, not disintegrated. Just…gone. Where moments before there had been panicked crowds, there was emptiness. Cars stood abandoned. Doors hanging open, engines still running. They pointed to where their drivers had vanished. Clothes lay in crumpled heaps on the sidewalks. Devoid of the bodies that had filled them.
The barking dogs went silent. The car alarms sputtered and died. The screams cut off mid-shriek. The discordant symphony of panic became an absolute, terrifying quiet. Ferenc stood alone on his balcony. The only person visible on the street below.
He blinked. His mind struggled to comprehend the impossible. He looked around. His gaze swept over the deserted street. The empty square. The looming figure of the Overlord, still standing motionless amidst the desolation. It had not moved. Had not even seemed to breathe.
He called out. His voice cracking, "Hello? Is anyone there?" His words were swallowed by the unnatural silence. He ran back inside. His heart hammered against his ribs. Fear was a cold fist clenching in his gut.
He grabbed his cellular device. His fingers fumbling as he tried to unlock it. No signal. Of course, no signal. He tried calling Zsuzsa, again and again. The phone displayed the same message: "No service."
He rushed to the window again. He peered out. The Overlord remained. A silent sentinel of devastation. He could see further down the street now, and beyond. The same scene of utter emptiness stretched into the distance. Cars abandoned, doors open. Clothes scattered. And nothing else. No people.
He stumbled back. He collapsed onto the sofa. His breath coming in ragged gasps. This could not be real. This had to be some kind of nightmare. A psychotic break. Anything but reality. But the silence was real. The emptiness was real. The dread was real.
He thought of Zsuzsa. She had left for the bakery hours ago. Across town, in the opposite direction from the square. Was she…gone? Had she been caught in that…wave? He could not bear to think it. But the chilling logic of what he had witnessed offered no comfort.
He had to find her. He had to know. Driven by a desperate hope that defied all reason, Ferenc bolted out of the apartment. He slammed the door behind him. He ran down the stairs. Bursting out into the street.
The silence hit him like a physical blow. Heavier than any he had ever experienced. It was not just the absence of noise. It was the absence of life. The world felt hollowed out. A stage set for a play that would never be performed.
He started walking, then running. Towards the center of the city. In the direction of Zsuzsa's bakery. The streets were eerily empty. Littered with the remnants of lives abruptly ended. A child's scooter lay overturned on the sidewalk. A half-eaten ice cream cone was melting onto the pavement beside it. A dog leash lay tangled around a lamppost. The collar still attached.
He passed shops with doors swinging open. Merchandise spilling out onto the street. Restaurants with tables set. Half-finished meals still on plates. Offices with computers still humming. Screens displaying emails and documents. Frozen mid-task.
The scale of the devastation was staggering. It was not just a localized catastrophe. It was everywhere. He saw no bodies. No blood. No signs of violence. Only the stark, silent absence of people. It was as if they had been plucked from existence. Leaving behind only their discarded possessions.
As he got closer to the city center, the emptiness intensified. Major intersections were deserted. Traffic lights blinking uselessly at empty streets. Landmark buildings stood silent and cold. Devoid of the usual bustle of human existence.
He reached the square where the Overlord had appeared. It was still there. An obsidian monolith against the pale sky. Radiating an aura of alien power. It had not moved. Had not spoken again. It simply stood. A silent conqueror surveying its new domain.
Ferenc skirted the square. Keeping his distance from the towering figure. He continued towards Zsuzsa's bakery. His pace becoming more frantic. His hope dwindling with every step.
He recognized the street where the bakery was located. A small, charming lane lined with shops and cafes. But it was the same as everywhere else. Empty, silent, desolate. He saw the bakery sign. "Zsuzsa's Delights." Its cheerful lettering a cruel mockery in the silence.
He pushed open the door. The bell above it tinkling forlornly in the stillness. The bakery was as Zsuzsa had left it. The scent of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air. A ghostly aroma in the emptiness. Bags of flour stood stacked in the corner. Trays of unbaked pastries lined the counter. The ovens still warm.
But Zsuzsa was not there.
He called out her name. His voice hoarse, "Zsuzsa! Zsuzsa, are you here?" Only silence answered. He searched the bakery. The back room. The small office. Every corner. Every space. She was gone. Like everyone else.
He sank to his knees amidst the flour sacks. His body trembling. A sob rising in his throat. She was gone. He knew it. He felt it with a certainty that crushed him. His Zsuzsa, with her bright smile and warm hands. Her scent of cinnamon and yeast, erased. Flicked away like dust.
He stayed there for a long time. Kneeling in the silence of the bakery. The scent of bread turning from comforting to suffocating. The Overlord's declaration echoed in his mind: "Half of humanity." Half. A number so vast, yet so intimately personal. For him, it was not half of humanity that was gone. It was everything.
He stood eventually. His limbs stiff and heavy. He had to leave, he knew. But where could he go? What was there left to do? The world was empty. Conquered, silent. He was alone.
He wandered back out into the street. Walking aimlessly. The city a ghost of its former self. The sun began to set. Casting long, eerie shadows across the deserted streets. The air grew colder. A chill seeping into his bones. Mirroring the coldness in his heart.
He found himself back in the square. Drawn back to the Overlord's presence. It was still there. Unmoving, silent. Bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. An alien god in a dead world.
Ferenc looked up at it. At the immense, obsidian form. At the luminous points that served as eyes. He felt no anger. No rage. Only a profound, desolate sadness. What was the point of anger in the face of such power? What was the point of anything?
He walked closer to the Overlord. Drawn by a morbid curiosity. A desire to understand. Or perhaps simply a lack of any reason not to. He stopped a short distance away. Looking up. His gaze fixed on those burning eyes.
And then, for the first time since its arrival, the Overlord moved. It turned its head. Its gaze shifting downwards. Fixing on Ferenc. The luminous points intensified. Focusing on him with an unnerving intensity.
Ferenc stared back. Meeting the alien gaze. Feeling a strange sense of resignation wash over him. He was nothing. Insignificant. A speck in the face of this cosmic power. His life. His love. His world. All gone. Reduced to dust by a flick of a wrist.
The Overlord tilted its head slightly. As if studying him. Assessing him. Then, the voice resonated again. Inside his skull. Cold and devoid of emotion. "One remains."
Ferenc blinked. Puzzled. One remains? What did it mean? Was he the only one left? Impossible. Surely there were others. Scattered, hiding, somewhere, anywhere.
The Overlord spoke again. The voice devoid of any inflection. Stating a simple, terrible fact. "Purpose requires observation. You will remain. Witness."
And then Ferenc understood. He was not a survivor. He was a specimen. A tool. He was to be kept alive. Not for any reason of mercy or compassion. But for…observation. To witness the desolation. To remember what had been. To serve as a living testament to the Overlord's power.
He was not special. Not chosen. Not spared. He was condemned. Condemned to live in this empty world. Haunted by the ghosts of the past. The silence a constant reminder of everything he had lost. Condemned to be alone. Utterly, irrevocably alone.
The last man on Earth. Not as a king, but as a prisoner of his own grief. And the Overlord's cold, alien purpose. His brutally sad, unique fate was not to die, but to live, and remember. To remember everything that was gone.