The metal door groaned in protest, its hinges screeching against the weight of its resistance. A low hiss, like air being forced through a narrow crack, filled the air. With a sudden violent jolt, the door creaked open, revealing the dark room beyond.

  Divine stepped inside, leaving the door cracked open.

  Behind him, Krov and Havoc watched. Even though they hated admitting it, Divine’s strength was undeniable.

  Divine turned, flashing a cocky grin over his shoulder as he wiped his hands on his shirt.

  “You better not try anything funny," Divine drawled. " Tyrant or not , I’ll fuck you both up.”

  Krov’s gaze flickered with unease. He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, but this American was something else.

  Havoc caught sight of Krov’s stiff posture, took a few casual steps toward him. "If he tries anything funny, we leave him here," he said, jokingly.

  “Not much to like about him, eh?”A soft chuckle escaped Krov's lips

  "True enough.” Havoc nodded.

  The two men reluctantly followed Divine into the room, boots echoing against the concrete floor as they began to examine their surroundings.

  It's the bunker room — dust in the air, and scattered papers covering a rusted table in the center. Files, once important, now sat in disarray.

  They wasted no time, rifling through the papers with rapid movements looking for something that could explain their current situation, who they are, what happened to them, or how to get out of this place.

  The three of them search for a moment, caught in the weight of the awkwardness, their breath held in the silent room.

  “Hold up… What’s this?” Havoc’s voice finally broke the silence.

  He stepped forward, brushing away the clutter, revealing a hidden door. Built into the wall, its outline barely perceptible against the grime. Havoc pushed at the mechanism, and the door slid open with a heavy thud.

  Inside was a small chamber—dark and humming with energy. In the center of the room floated a massive sphere, black as night, crackling with an electric-white aura. The air around it seemed to shimmer with tension. As they stepped closer, they could feel its power vibrating through the floor, as if the object itself was alive.

  The three men stood frozen, staring at the phenomenon in awe. Divine, his voice quiet now, spoke first.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, his Southern drawl thick with disbelief.

  "We're rich.”

  The Pretender stood at the very edge of the floating land that held the White House, staring down into the vast expanse below. The void stretched endlessly—white, empty, and suffocating.

  Jump.

  It called to her.

  The word whispered through her head like a breath against her ear.

  Jump.

  It demanded her.

  Without realizing it, she stepped closer, toes nearly over the edge. Her mind felt blank, stripped of thought, pulled by the silent hunger of the abyss below.

  “Hey.”

  A voice—gentle, grounding.

  The Baroness’s hand grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back to herself.

  “You alright?” the Baroness asked softly, searching her face. “You’re not… thinking of jumping, are you?”

  “I—no. I’m… no.” The Pretender stammered, shaking her head. Her thoughts felt heavy, tangled. The weight of something she couldn’t name pressed behind her eyes.

  “Everyone’s already on edge. I don’t need them accusing me of throwing you off the cliff.” The Baroness gave a short breath of relief.

  The Pretender face went pale, eyes wide with horror at the thought.

  The Baroness blinked, realizing her reaction immediately. “I was joking,” The Baroness quickly clarified. “I didn’t think that would… set you off.”

  “No—no, it’s fine,” The Pretender said, forcing a small laugh, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  “Right….” The Baroness nodded, though she could tell The Pretender was lying.

  An awkward silence fell between them, thick and heavy. Neither of them seemed to know what to do with it.

  “Did…” The Pretender began, awkwardly shifting her weight. “Did you, uh… find anything?”

  “Nothing on my end. But I think the others did. We should head back to the office.” The Baroness cleared her throat, glad for the change in subject.

  “Right,” the Pretender said, nodding again, still avoiding her gaze.

  They turned from the ledge, walking side by side back toward the White House. The silence between them grew louder with every step, awkward enough to make the air itself feel heavy.

  ----

  The Tyrants regrouped inside the Oval Office. Sitting far apart, each occupying their own corner of the room like wary predators forced into a cage together.

  The Pretender stood close beside the Baroness, silent and unreadable. Krov, Havoc, and Divine gathered loosely near the couch, forming their own uneasy cluster. At the Resolute Desk computer, 666 sat typing quietly, the soft clicks of the keyboard the only steady sound in the room.

  “Find anything?” Havoc finally asked, looking toward the Baroness.

  She shook her head. “Nothing but dust and broken stones.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Divine muttered, arms crossed. “We didn’t find nothin’ either.” His tone was sharp, defensive — enough to make the Baroness narrow her eyes at him.

  Suspicion flickering in her gaze. She turned to Krov. “What about you? Find anything?”

  Krov straightened, almost proud. “We found a vault. Full of valuables enough to feed an entire city a thousand times.”

  Divine’s eyes widened. “What the fuck, man! We agreed to keep that between the three of us!” he snapped, fury rising in his voice.

  “I do not trust you capitalist pigs,” Krov shot back with a scoff.

  Divine stood, pointing a finger at him. “What the fuck you just call me, you commie bastard?!”

  “Now is not the time to argue over money!” The Baroness’s voice cut through the argument like a whip.

  “Our focus should be on escaping this place.”

  Divine glared at her, then muttered under his breath, “Fuckin’ bitch,” loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Havoc sighed, breaking the silence that followed. “Just to be clear,” he said flatly,

  “I was planning to tell you.”

  “If you guys are done with the whole family drama,” 666 slid into the conversation with a sharp, sarcastic tone, “I’m glad to inform you—I actually found something.”

  “What is it?” the Baroness asked

  “I had to update the system, reroute some junk, and—boom.” 666 metallic fingers snapping.

  “Now we’ve got an Aethernet connection.”

  The room fell into confused silence. Everyone just stared without any noticeable reaction.

  “Look, I’m opening V-Search right now,” 666 said, practically glowing with pride. “What should I look up?”

  “I… see,” the Baroness murmured, though it was obvious she didn’t see anything at all.

  “Are you even listening to me?” 666 snapped, glaring around the room. “I can look up anything. What do you want to know?”

  “Uh… how to get out of here?” Havoc suggested, uncertain.

  “Oh my fuuuck,” 666 groaned in disbelief . “How old are you people?”

  666 red visor swung to the Pretender and pointed to her. “You get what I’m saying, right?”

  “Y-Yeah,” the Pretender stammered. “Maybe… try the date?”

  “Thank you!” 666 beamed and started typing rapidly.

  A few seconds later, she read off the screen. “All right. Today is… Friday, the 30th of November, 2012…”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Now let's see here….” 666 muttered, fingers already flying across the keyboard.

  “What the hell are you doing now?” Divine grumbled, crossing his arms.

  “I’d explain,” 666 shot back, “but you wouldn’t fucking get it.” 666 hammered the keys harder emphasizing the radiating irritation.

  Divine rolled his eyes, offended.

  The Pretender edged closer, peeking nervously over 666’s shoulder.

  “It’s fine,” 666 said, Noticing the hesitation, 666’s tone softened. “Come take a look. You’re the only one who gets it anyway.”

  Relieved, the Pretender leaned in. “What are you looking for?” she asked gently.

  “Anything. See if the world’s still turning.” 666 tapped a final key, and a new page loaded. “Okay… there’s a trending page.”

  666 clicked a link, and the screen filled with color—gaudy fashion ads, movie posters, album covers, and an endless stream of celebrity gossip.

  “Good news,” 666 said smugly, leaning back. “The world’s alive and kicking.”

  The others quickly move closer to the table, gathering behind to stare at the glowing screen. And just like that, they were in awe at the sight of a world that had long moved on without them.

  “What… is this?” Krov asked, transfixed by the glowing screen. The technology seemed almost magical to him.

  “The Aethernet. Duh,” 666 replied with a shrug, continuing to scroll.

  666 flicked through the trending page. “See? New romantic comedy dropping next year. Means there is more world outside of this white hellhole.”

  “Finally, some good news,” the Baroness sighed, a hint of relief in her voice.

  666 kept scrolling, pace quickening , skimming through headlines.

  “Hey, slow down,” Havoc muttered, squinting to keep up.

  “There’s nothing,” 666 said dismissively, shrugging him off. “Just more gossip and drama.”

  “Is this ‘Aethernet’ thingy just for readin’ bout people’s sad lives or some shit?” Divine grumbled, unimpressed.

  The Pretender, however, managed to keep pace with 666, quietly reading over her shoulder. Then her eyes locked onto something on the screen. She reached out, grabbing 666’s hand before it could scroll any further.

  “Wait. There. Click it.”

  666 did as told. The page shifted, opening a news article.

  The room fell silent as the headline appeared in bold letters across the screen:

  Victory Month!!! Celebrating the 12-Year Anniversary of Utopia’s Victory Over the Tyrants

  ?? UTOPIA DAILY CHRONICLE

  Date: November 29th, 2012

  Title: Utopia Gears Up for Victory Month

  By: Elira Mendez, Staff Writer

  As the first cool winds of November sweep through the city streets, a familiar energy begins to take over Utopia — one not of urgency, but of remembrance, celebration, and peace.

  With the 12th annual Victory Month just a month away, the city is once again preparing to honor the legendary heroes who delivered Utopia from the grip of the Tyrants and restored balance.

  Next year’s Victory Month, on January 7th, marks a particularly symbolic celebration: twelve years of peace and heroism.

  The article went on, describing how the locals were already preparing for the festivities.

  Public Schools Paint the Spirit of Victory.

  A school mural depicting a figure in a white cloak trimmed with golden V over a black bodysuit, lifting a cruise ship filled with cheering children.

  The description read:

  “To commemorate the greatest of them all.”

  Shops across Utopia were also joining in the spirit — bakeries, tea houses, tailor shops, and toy stalls all contributing their own tributes.

  A small bakery named Sunpetal Bakery in Midtown was highlighted for its special “Victory’s Collection” — golden custard buns shaped into a neat V, each topped with a white fondant cloak folded like a cape.

  Everyone crowded closer, shoulders brushing as they squinted at the screen, reading every tiny word like it might explain something—anything—about what had happened to them.

  666 scrolled down again, faster this time, clearly uninterested in the fluff. The text blurred past until The Pretender pointed at the screen.

  “There’s an interview section,” she noted.

  The group leaned in again, tension returning as the next block of text appeared. Along with it a video of the interview.

  Exclusive Interview:

  As Utopia prepares for the festivities, the Chronicle spoke with citizens who still remember the dark years of the Tyrants and the day hope eventually returned.

  Interview with Senior Citizen and War Survivor, Robert Judd (Age 72)

  Elira Mendez: “Mr. Judd, how do you feel about this year's celebration?"

  Robert Judd: “ I'm grateful to see people keeping the spirit alive. Victory deserves every ounce of praise he gets.”

  Elira: “Do you believe the new generation truly understands what they are celebrating?”

  Judd: “ They don’t know what it’s like to live in fear — to truly understand it is to savor the peace after so much suffering and the deaths of too many heroes.”

  Elira: “You mentioned heroes. Do you remember any of them personally?”

  Judd: “I fought alongside the Golden Man himself — Victory. He may be gone, but no one will ever come close to what he achieved.”

  He smiled faintly, pride flickering in his weary eyes. “I pity the younger heroes. They’ll never know what it felt like to be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with giants. The Elites weren’t perfect, but damn it, we were real. We bled together. We won together. We saved everyone from the ones who nearly ended the world.”

  Elira: “The Tyrants.”

  Judd: “Yeah.” His grip tightened around his cane. “I still remember the look on those bastards’ faces when Victory swung that sword and took their heads — priceless.”

  He leaned back, exhaling through his teeth. “Every year we celebrate their defeat, I always think back to that exact moment.”

  When the last clip faded from the screen, The Pretender’s eyes stayed locked on the final sentence. Absorbing everything she heard.

  “The Tyrants are dead? That means… we aren’t them, right?” Krov muttered under his breath, voice low and bitter,

  Everyone exchanged uneasy glances. No one answered. No one confirmed it.

  “I was afraid of that….You can feel it…The truth…is inside you. We are The Tyrants.” Krov swallowed, watching their faces carefully.

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” 666 said with a sharp sigh. “We all woke up with no memories of who we are. Now you think we’re the world’s greatest supervillains?”

  666 looked around the room, waiting for someone to disagree. But no one did.

  “Look, if you ask me? None of this proves anything,” 666 continued, the tone blunt.

  “Let’s just find a way out of this place, move on, and go our separate ways.”

  The Pretender hesitated. “Is… is that it?” Her voice was small, uncertain. “Don’t you want to know the truth? Whether we are the Tyrants or not?”

  “I don’t,” 666 said flatly. She glanced at each of them in turn. “We get out of here and pretend like today never happened.”

  “But—”

  “There's no but, you've seen the interview. " 666 interrupted The Pretender.

  “I think—”

  “We’re not the Tyrants, they died more than a decade ago.” 666 interrupted again.

  “You don’t know that!!” the Pretender snapped suddenly, her voice trembling with a new firmness, almost scolding.

  Everyone was caught off guard by her sudden raise of voice.

  “Oh, and you do?” 666 shot back sharply, offended for being scolded by the seemingly timid girl.

  “Since you think you’re so smart, why don’t you figure it out?”

  The Pretender faltered. “M-maybe… maybe we could ask Robert Judd. He said he saw the Tyrants die. Maybe he knows something.”

  Krov nodded slowly. “That’s… not a bad idea.”

  “Don’t encourage her!” 666 points at Krov. “How exactly are you planning to find him?!”

  The Pretender and Krov fell silent, unable to answer.

  “Hey, go easy on them,” Havoc said, stepping forward. “They are just trying to help.”

  “Don’t make me the bad guy here! I’m just being realistic!” 666 scoffed. tone defensive.

  “Calm down,” The Baroness said gently. "No one is accusing you of being a bad guy.”

  “Why don’t you use your little box to find the guy?” Divine asked lazily, gesturing at the computer.

  “For fuck’s sake! I told you—it doesn’t work like that!” 666 snapped. “The Aethernet’s the biggest intangible network in the world. You think someone’s just gonna post their location for thousands to see?!”

  Clack!! Enraged, 666 slammed the keyboard. The hollow clack echoed through the Oval Office like a gunshot.

  Whirr….. Suddenly, the lights overhead flickered uncertainly, buzzing like insects before blooming into steady brilliance. Cold air swept through the room as the air conditioning surged back to life, rattling the vents. Somewhere deep in the mansion, machinery groaned awake. Outside, the long-dead sprinkler system roared, showering the vast, overgrown lawn with arcs of water.

  Everyone looked around at the now-lit Oval Office in awe, finally seeing the true beauty of what had been hidden beneath the darkness.

  The White House no longer feels abandoned.

  From the dusty speakers of the computer came a smooth feminine robotic voice—warm, and welcoming:

  “Welcome home, Administrators.”

  “Please hold while I locate Robert Judd’s home address.”

  “Location found!”

  A sharp ding drew everyone’s attention to the glowing monitor.

  Cyclone Mansion

  314 Windspire Way

  Highridge Summit, Solara Heights

  Cascadian Uplands, New Pacific Territory

  Utopia, Postal Code 99881

  Home of Mr Robert Judd

  A photo appeared on-screen — a sprawling mansion perched high above a valley, with Robert Judd standing proudly in front of it while being surrounded by women far too young for him, all dressed in revealing swimsuits.

  “That’s…him,” the Pretender said softly, seeing the pictures of him.

  “Did the computer just talk?” Havoc asked, baffled.

  “Yes! I am Dolly, a BMI system developed by Master Trihexcide and Dr.Krov,” the voice replied cheerfully.

  “Designed to assist with information-related tasks, transportation, and problem-solving across a wide range of topics. Part researcher, part writer and part brainstorming partner!”

  “Боже мой…” Krov muttered, visibly impressed.

  “What the fuck…” 666 mutter, still processing the sudden change in her surroundings.

  “Your query contains profanity and expresses confusion. Could you please clarify your request so I can process it accurately?” Dolly replied brightly.

  “Are you asking:

  ? What the fuck going on in the world?

  ? What the fuck is with this conversation?

  ? What the fuck with any specific situation?

  Let me know what you’re aiming for, and I’ll give you a straight answer!”

  “Wha—what the fuck are you talking about?” Divine stammering by the computer's casual vulgarity.

  “Let’s calm down,” the Baroness said softly, calming the other down and letting her take the charge.

  The Baroness leaned toward the glowing monitor. “Nice to meet you… Dolly, is it?”

  “Yes! How may I help you?” Dolly replied, her tone cheerful and eager.

  “Well then…” the Baroness continued carefully, “Can you tell us what’s going on? Where are we? Why are we here?”

  “That’s a sharp and valid question,” Dolly answered pleasantly. “Strangely, I did not find any logs about your current stay here.”

  “All my personal logs, names, addresses, and other kinds of data have been deleted,” Dolly continued.

  “Damnit…” the Baroness murmured, her tone dipping with disappointment.

  The Pretender let out a tired sigh, visibly disheartened.

  “Well, that was fucking useless,” Divine grunted.

  “However, I can tell you where you are!” Dolly declared to them.

  Everyone perked up and leaned in closer to hear her answer.

  “You are currently inside the stolen White House,” Dolly replied cheerfully. “Located in Void RA 13h 47m 22s | Dec -08° 32' 10" | DimDist: ?42.7.”

  “…That ain’t answer a damn thing,” Divine muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Now I got more questions.”

  “Comrade,” Krov whispered toward 666, “try asking the TV lady if she can get us out of here.”

  “Would you like me to open a portal out of the Void?” Dolly replied, chipper as ever.

  “You can do that?” Havoc asked, clearly surprised.

  “Yes! I am a highly advanced BMI equipped with a world-teleporting system for fast and safe travel around the globe! Would you like me to open a portal now?” Dolly chirped.

  “Yes!” they all shouted in unison.

  “Excellent choice!” Dolly replied.

  A deep hum filled the Oval Office. Suddenly, a massive, swirling portal of glowing white energy materialized in the center of the room, flooding it with an otherworldly brilliance.

  They all stared in awe. It was beautiful—almost magical. For the first time since waking up, their minds stopped spinning with fear and confusion.

  They look at each other, wondering who would be the first to check out their escape. Wondering if this is really their escape?

  But Divine and Krov already stepped forward instinctively, drawn toward the radiance. Like moths to a flame, both walked straight into the portal without looking back.

  The others gasped as the light swallowed them whole.

  “…Dolly?” the Baroness demanded, her voice sharp with concern. “What did you do to them?”

  “I have transported them to your requested pinpoint location,” Dolly replied cheerfully.

  Cyclone Mansion

  314 Windspire Way

  Highridge Summit, Solara Heights

  Cascadian Uplands, New Pacific Territory

  Utopia, Postal Code 99881

  “That’s… Robert Judd’s place,” the Pretender whispered, eyes widening.

  “Looks like we’re getting that conversation after all,” The Baroness said with a smirk, glancing at her.

  The Pretender smiled shyly back.

  “Let’s go,” the Baroness said, striding confidently into the portal before vanishing.

  “Affirmative,” Havoc added, stepping in right after her.

  The Pretender approached slowly, then paused just before entering. She turned to 666, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smirk. She donned her faceless pretender helmet before disappearing into the light.

  “That bitch…” 666 muttered under the breath. With a groan, 666 stood up from the chair and shuffled lazily toward the glowing vortex.

  “…Here we go,” 666 sighed, and stepped through.

  The portal collapsed behind them with a soft hum, leaving the Oval Office empty and silent once more.