It all began on a cold winter morning, Thursday, January 18th, 2024. Scott laid in bed for a few minutes looking at his phone like he did every morning, the harsh blue light of the screen cutting through the dark bedroom, making sure he didn't miss any texts from his family. Soon he started doom scrolling and had to force himself to throw off the heavy, warm blankets, get up, and get ready for work.

  “Eh I don't want to.” he cried into the quiet room.

  He jumped up, the floorboards cold against his bare feet, and started off by doing twenty pushups, his joints popping as he forced his heavy body to wake up. Following that, he grabbed all of his clothes, his cold metal keys, his worn leather wallet, and then couldn't find his watch.

  “I could have sworn I put it on the charger last night.” he mumbled, rummaging through the clutter on the nightstand.

  At the ripe age of thirty-nine, Scott was a large man. His dark brown hair was riddled with many grays that covered most of his nearly buzzed head and neatly cut, coarse beard. He had large gauged earrings stretching his lobes and was covered in intricate tribal tattoos that he had designed over the years, the black ink stark against his skin. Some of his good habits in martial arts and heavy weightlifting contributed to his large, dense muscular stature, along with some of his bad habits of binge eating which added a little bit of soft fluffiness to his figure.

  Stepping out into the drafty hallway, Scott walked across the hall to wake up his sons, Victor and Rieley.

  “Boy’s time to get up.” he said, while flicking the switch and turning the infamous evil overhead light on that the boys hated so much in the morning.

  “Ok dad.” Rieley answered quickly, his voice muffled by his blankets.

  Scott walked heavy-footed down the wooden stairs to get ready while the boys were waking up.

  “Victor, Victor it's time to get up!” Rieley sneered, throwing one of his soft, stuffed animal pocket monsters at his brother's head.

  “Ughhh, Rieley, why do you have to be so annoying?” Victor cried, swatting the toy away.

  “Dad said get up, so it is time to get up.” Rieley said teasingly.

  “Whatever stupid.” Victor snarled, pulling the covers tighter.

  “I am not stupid, Dad Victor called me stupid.” Rieley yelled as he threw off his sheets, got up, and began pulling his clothes on.

  From the kitchen downstairs, Scott yelled back, his voice echoing up the stairwell. “Please get ready so we can get going and take out the dogs while you're at it, I am going to jump in the shower after I get this coffee going.” The sharp, bitter smell of roasting coffee beans began to fill the lower level of the house.

  “Ok.” Rieley yelled before he looked over at his brother. “You better hurry up Victor, I am going to take all of the cereal.” he teased as he ran thumping down the stairs.

  Once Rieley got down the stairs, he quickly ran into the bathroom to relieve himself, only to hear Scott singing over the sound of the running shower water.

  “Oh Holy night, the stars are brightly shining!" Scott sang, his deep voice bouncing off the tile walls.

  “Dad, you realize it's not Christmas anymore right?” Rieley asked through the door.

  “It is always Christmas in my head.” Scott replied over the splashing water. “Hey, have you seen my watch?” he inquired.

  “No, but I can look after I let the dogs out.” Rieley replied.

  “Nah don't bother, take care of business and eat breakfast.” Scott insisted.

  Once Scott was nearly done in the steamy bathroom, he walked out brushing his teeth with minty paste to check on the boys and saw Victor pulling out a cardboard box of his favorite Cheerios for breakfast. He looked at the glowing green time on the microwave clock and back at Victor.

  “Bud, you're not going to have time to eat that. It's almost time to go.” he said, his words slightly garbled around his toothbrush.

  “Uh I will just eat at school then.” Victor pouted, shoving the cereal box back into the pantry.

  “Just eat something small, then you can eat something at school.” Scott insisted, wiping his mouth with a towel.

  Rieley was already done eating and was wrestling on the living room rug, playing with the dogs, before a sharp alert rang off on Scott's phone resting on the counter.

  “Dad, you got a message on your phone.” Rieley exclaimed, looking up from the pile of fur.

  “What does it say? Scott asked, finishing up in the bathroom.

  “It says no school for Legion Elementary due to poor weather conditions.” Rieley said, reading the screen.

  “Ok well I guess you don't have school today.” Scott said, walking into the dining room, feeling a mix of relief for them and stress for his own commute.

  “Ugh that ruined my whole day. Now I guess I'll just eat poptarts.” Victor cried, tearing loudly into a foil-wrapped box.

  “That's fine, just hurry up so we can go.” Scott advised, while hastily packing his lunch pail with Tupperware. He poured a steaming, hot cup of dark coffee into his travel mug and got ready to go. Opening up the squeaky medicine cabinet, he set all of the kids' rattling pill bottles on the counter before he quickly mowed down a cold yogurt, a small leftover steak with rubbery eggs, and a dense, chalky protein bar.

  “Grab your meds,” he commanded.

  Rieley ran over, his socks sliding on the linoleum, and pushed his brother out of the way. He took his meds quickly before running back to the entryway to shove his feet into his heavy boots and pull his winter coat on before he opened the front door to look outside. A blast of freezing air hit the living room.

  “Hey dad, the vehicle is covered in snow.”

  “Great alright boys, it's time to go.” Scott mumbled. Putting on his own stiff shoes and heavy winter coat, he glanced down and noticed his watch sitting inexplicably on the floor mat. “How did you get there?” Scott asked, picking the cold metal up and strapping his watch on.

  The dogs were aggressively playing tug of war with a frayed rope toy, their claws clicking against the floor. Scott went over, firmly pulled the toy from their mouths, and petted their soft heads for a moment.

  “Ok puppies night night’s.” He commanded gently.

  Both of his pups immediately ran for their wire kennel as he followed behind, tossed the slobbery toy inside, and locked the metal cage with a clack before heading to the front door.

  “Ok Google, turn off all the lights.” Scott commanded before opening the heavy door.

  As Scott opened the door, all of the warm lights clicked and shut off behind him, plunging the house into shadows. He stepped outside, all bundled up, and the boys ran out into the driveway in front of him. The biting wind started to pick up, howling past his ears, and the dry, powdery snow began to blow in blinding sheets.

  This particular morning, the air was so extraordinarily cold that it physically hurt to breathe. Scott was certain it broke a new record low in his hometown of Legion, MI. Even his coarse beard had sharp, heavy icicles forming from the frozen moisture of his breath after just a few minutes of brushing the thick, heavy snow off of the frozen family SUV. Legion, MI had a population of 5,301 that was spread out thinly through the quiet, snow-covered countryside.

  Rieley knocked frantically on the frosted glass of the window. “Dad? Can you move a little faster? My fingers are about to fall off.” Rieley cried, his voice muffled by the glass.

  “My fingers are slowly turning blue dad.” Victor cried from the backseat.

  “Just clap your hands really fast, then rub them together and put them in your pockets guys.” Scott said, pulling the door open and sliding into the freezing driver's seat. “Eh, kids these days don't know how good they have it. Back in my day we had to help my parents clean the vehicle off before going anywhere. We even had to start up the vehicle and shovel a path to the doors.” he reflected, shivering violently in the bitter cold as the engine struggled to turn over.

  Scott’s family consisted of Anastasia or Ann (His wife), Victor, Rieley and his two dogs Diesel and R2. They lived in a modest, white house near the freezing waters of the Ozoo River with faded red shutters.

  Ann is five foot two inches at the ripe age of thirty-nine. Her long, dark brown hair had a few wiry strands of gray that she preferred not to acknowledge because who wants to admit they are getting old? Unless you are a teen trying to get a good bottle of booze to show off and share with your friends. She has warm hazel eyes, and a bit of extra, comfortable fluffiness. Diagnosed with A.D.H.D, with a touch of Autism, Ann possessed a fierce ‘mess with me and you'll find out’ kind of attitude.

  Most of the time she was the quiet type, who listened intently more than she spoke. Unless she was really close to you or comfortable being around you, then she could talk your ear off for hours. In her spare time she enjoyed endlessly scrolling and watching videos on the tickity tok and listening to all types of loud music.

  Their oldest son, Victor or Vic for short, is nine years old with dark brown hair and grayish-blue eyes. He had a touch of the autism that primarily only cared about glowing video games and trading cards of the pocket kind. He was the kind of stubborn kid who would voice his opinion even if you didn't want to hear it. Oh, and you can't forget he was always right, which in his case 99% of the time he was completely wrong. Also if he didn't get his way with anything he would scream, cry, or yell loudly, making life miserable and tense for everyone around him.

  Their youngest son, Rieley or Rie, is eight years old with dirty blonde hair, and bright hazel eyes. Also diagnosed with ADHD, he possessed more physical, bouncing energy than he knew what to do with. He is a highly active kid that wanted to play every physical sport he could get his hands on. Rieley had the attitude of a joyful and happy kid that only got mad at his brother for stealing his toys. A lot of times he was the annoying one, constantly asking his bigger brother every question underneath the sun, and at times getting right into Victor's face and making loud, obnoxious noises was one of his absolute favorite pastimes.

  The youngest pup was R2D2 or R2, a large, clumsy yellow one hundred and ten pound Labrador Retriever. The older pup, Diesel, was a seventy pound, full-muscled, fawn-colored pitbull-labrador mix.

  Every weekday morning in the dark, Scott dropped the boys off at the warm home of his friends, David and Catherine (Cat) Doe. This was a tired necessity due to Ann working the exhausting night shift which crossed over his first shift job. Both Scott and Ann worked for a massive pharmaceutical company called “Brothers & Co.” It was a good, honest living, moving heavy pallets of drugs legally (Yes I said legally) for the big bad pharmaceutical company.

  Once Scott got settled into the freezing SUV, his breath pluming in the cabin, he shifted the stiff gears into reverse, backed out of the snowy driveway and immediately began sliding, the heavy tires losing traction and nearly hitting the neighbor's wooden fence that stood a mere foot away from the icy road. He kicked the shifter into drive and slid a little bit more since the blacktop roads were covered in a treacherous, sheer sheet of ice.

  On the way, they were forced to stop dead in the middle of the road on 50th street because there was a massive, splintered oak branch covering the asphalt that they couldn't pass, since this was the only narrow road in or out of his neighborhood.

  Scott kicked the SUV into park and jumped out of the running vehicle into the biting wind. He was about to close the door before Victor yelled out of the back seat.

  “Dad, what are you doing?” Victor wondered, peering out the window.

  “If you open your eyes every once in a while you would notice that there is a huge branch in the middle of the road that's blocking our path.” Scott explained over the howling wind.

  Both Victor and Rieley sat up in their warm seats and peered over the headrests.

  “Hey dad, I don't think you can lift that.” Victor yelled as Scott left the door wide open, letting the cold air rush in, and walked towards the massive, snow-covered branch.

  “I don't know if he can lift that.” Rieley mumbled quietly.

  “Ha, where there is a will there is a way.” Scott laughed, a cloud of steam leaving his lips.

  Squatting down low in the snow and bending his knees, he grabbed the rough, frozen bark of the branch with both of his thickly gloved hands. He braced his core and stood up with a grunt, the heavy branch groaning as he lifted it from the ice. He proceeded to walk heavy-footed to the side of the road, dragging the massive branch in hand, the smaller twigs snapping against the pavement, and tossed it heavily off into the deep snow of the ditch. Slapping his hands together and cleaning the excess, powdery snow off of his gloves, he walked briskly back towards the idling SUV.

  “Wow, I didn't think you could do that.” Victor said, his eyes wide in amazement.

  “Yeah, like I told you before, you just need to lift a little bit every once in a while so you can get stronger.” Scott explained, his breathing heavy as he got back into the warm vehicle, slamming the heavy door shut, and kicking the gear into drive again.

  “See I told you that you shouldn't doubt dad, he is big and strong.” Rieley said smugly.

  “No you didn't, shut up!” Victor sneered, his face turning red. “You specifically said I don't know if he can lift that.”

  “No I didn't.” Rieley snapped, physically hitting his brother hard in the side.

  “Yes you did.” Victor erupted, hitting his brother back with a solid thud.

  “Boy’s enough I am trying to drive here.” Scott yelled, his hands gripping the freezing steering wheel tight, the snow coming down harder and blindingly impairing his vision through the windshield. “So what are you going to say?”

  “Sorry?” Victor asked with an attitude.

  “Sorry dad.” Rieley mumbled, shrinking in his seat.

  “No, say sorry to your brother Rieley.” Scott commanded without looking back.

  “Sorry Victor.” Rieley muttered, looking down at the salty, wet floor mats of the SUV.

  “I am not saying sorry, he lied and hit me.” Victor barked.

  “Victor!” Scott said in a sharp, stern voice that commanded the small space.

  “Fine, I'm sorry.” Victor yelled, crossing his arms.

  “Also never doubt your dear old dad when it comes to lifting things, I'm still naturally stronger than your average guy,” Scott explained, his tone softening slightly. “Do you remember the humid summer time we had a literal ton of heavy rock delivered for the garden, and you were the lazy supervisor that sat and watched as I moved load after heavy load in a metal wheelbarrow? What did you say then?” he asked, navigating a slippery curve.

  “I said that there was no way you could move that much river rock in a day.” Victor sighed, remembering the sweltering heat.

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  “And what did I say?” Scott asked.

  “You said watch me.” Victor sighed again.

  “And I moved all of the heavy river rock in one day didn't I?” Scott asked, a hint of pride in his voice.

  “Yes.” Victor sighed a third time, defeated.

  “See you have to remember that when you put your mind to something big or small there is always a way to get something done either by stubborn perseverance or pure, raw strength.” Scott explained, tapping the steering wheel.

  “Yeah yeah.” Victor mumbled, looking out the frosted window.

  “Oh looks like we are here.” Scott said, slowly pulling the sliding vehicle into his friend's unshoveled driveway.

  “Love you, have a good day.” Scott said, shifting into park.

  “Love you too.” Victor sighed. Slowly and reluctantly pushing the heavy door open and getting out of the warm vehicle into the freezing dawn.

  “Love you dad!” Rieley shouted, jumping enthusiastically out of the car, his boots slipping on the ice, and falling hard on his butt with a loud thud. “That was fun, Did you see that Victor?”

  “No.” Victor mumbled, trudging through the snow.

  “I get to play Minecraft first.” Rieley sneered, scrambling to his feet and running for the front door.

  “No you don't." Victor yelled, suddenly energized and chasing him up the steps.

  “Be good boy’s.” Scott yelled out the open window into the wind.

  Scott took a frantic glance at the glowing green clock on the dashboard which read: “6:40am”.

  “Fuck”, he yelled with sudden, sinking worry, his heart rate spiking, knowing he absolutely needed to be physically clocked in, in approximately eight minutes or he would be written up as late.

  He violently kicked the SUV into reverse and tore backward out of his buddy's driveway, the heavy tires kicking up chunks of snow and frozen dirt with enough speed that he nearly slid the back end of the car directly into the neighbor's front yard, the tires finally catching against a solid curb hidden full of snow with a jarring thud.

  “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck! I can't be late again,” Scott grumbled, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. His upcoming yearly review after eleven long, grueling years of service added heavily to his rising panic. “Please, God, help me make it to work without dying,” he prayed out loud before aggressively switching gears into drive and tearing down the slippery road towards the industrial buildings of downtown Legion.

  On a normal, dry day without the chaotic weather, the easy drive to work from David’s house usually took exactly five minutes. But with the blinding snow added into the mix, it usually doubled the time since you usually took your cautious time, which Scott absolutely did not take this time. He white-knuckled the entire drive.

  Once he finally arrived (in record, terrifying time I may add) with only a single, stressful minute to spare, he pulled off the main road into the massive company drive, sliding the SUV somewhat recklessly into the closest plowed parking spot he could find.

  “Man there aren't as many vehicles in the icy parking lot as there normally are,” he thought, noticing the empty rows of snow.

  In one quick, panicked motion, Scott blindly grabbed his heavy backpack, snagged his plastic lunch pail, turned off the rumbling SUV, grabbed his jingling keys, and picked up the fresh, steaming hot cup of coffee he made to aid him in hopefully bringing him warmth and a desperately needed bit of caffeine energy since he stayed up way too late playing games the night before.

  Slamming the heavy car door shut behind him with a metallic clunk, he rushed towards the glass entrance. He nearly fumbled his hot coffee because the strap of his heavy backpack suddenly slipped off his shoulder onto his forearm, the unexpected weight throwing his large body slightly off balance. Quickly tossing his backpack's thick strap back onto his shoulder with a grunt while glancing down at the ticking hands on his watch, he picked up the pace. Finding his center of gravity, he began moving fast, his boots slipping slightly on the treacherous, icy asphalt of the parking lot, because all he had left was another thirty agonizing seconds to swipe his badge and clock in.

  A few seconds later, his boot hit a patch of sheer black ice. He slipped, his feet flying out from under him, and fell hard backwards, hitting the unforgiving frozen ground with a loud, breath-stealing thud.

  Luckily for him, his bulky backpack broke his fall, saving his skull but leaving his back a bit bruised and sore, and a bag full of completely smashed Tupperware food. Letting out a huge, pained groan that echoed in the empty lot, Scott rolled slightly and glanced over to see that his fresh cup of joe was now completely empty, its dark, steaming contents rapidly cooling and covering the white parking lot in a brown puddle.

  “This sucks!” Scott muttered, the smell of wasted coffee hitting his nose. “Where are the lazy bastards that put salt and dirt down so all of this ice wouldn’t be a literal pain in the ass?”

  Groaning loudly because his lower back began deep, throbbing aching, Scott slowly pushed himself off the wet ice and stood up. This time he took his cautious time, waddling carefully like a penguin to make absolutely sure he wouldn't slip and fall on his ass once more.

  As he finally looked up at the massive, brick pharmaceutical building, he noticed the dim, yellowish emergency lights were flashing on above the doors. Joy and pure happiness spread across his cold face, and with a heavy sigh of relief, his tense shoulders dropped. This only meant one glorious thing:

  “No power, Whoot Hot damn.” he exclaimed to the empty air.

  That meant it was going to be one of those incredibly rare, easy days, sitting around joking and playing cards with the crew instead of busting his back on the lines. Walking through the glass doors, the massive building was fairly dark and quiet, besides a select few offices running on generators and the fairly large, fluorescent-lit break room down the hall.

  As Scott entered the warm security entrance, his boots squeaking on the tile, he saw George, the head of security, standing guard in his crisp uniform, manually checking in all of the workers on a paper clipboard.

  "Morning, Sir," Scott said, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet lobby, while waving and walking carefully through the propped-open emergency side door because the massive, automatic revolving glass door was completely shut down due to the power outage.

  "Morning." George replied in a gruff voice. “Name and employee number?”.

  “Are you going to buy me dinner first?” Scott winked playfully at George.

  “Wait, what?” George looked up from his clipboard, genuinely confused.

  “Oh, I am just messing with you,” Scott said, sporting a wide grin, trying his best to hide the sharp pain from the fall that clearly started to irritate his lower back further. “My name is Scott Wheaton and 5251977 is my employee number.”

  “Alright, funny guy.” George replied, showing a bit of a reluctant smirk while jotting down the information with a scratching pen on his clipboard.

  “It looks like the power went out again. Do you have any idea when it will be back on?" Scott curiously fidgeted with the thick strap of his backpack, because talking to anyone with a badge or authority kind of made his chest tight and a bit anxious.

  Scott thought to himself.

  "Well according to the handy dandy consumers website, the power company said it should be back on by noon today." George replied, reading it directly off the glowing screen of his phone.

  “Good.” Scott replied, a genuine smile returning.

  George W. Fisher is an older gentleman, who is incredibly well-fit for his early sixties. He appeared to look in his late forties, standing with perfect posture, and yet everyone in the building knew he was loudly counting down the days until his pension and retirement. He stood around five foot eleven, just slightly shorter than Scott's bulky frame. Not only is he a tough ex-marine, but also a dedicated master of Wing Chun. Scott's buddy Parker often mentioned that George patiently taught Wing Chun out of the back of his home, helping out troubled local kids. A stand-up man that can certainly hold his own in a fight.

  "Well, it seems like we have some rare down time while we wait, so I shall leave you to your paperwork and find myself a comfortable seat inside.” Scott says with a wave as he walks down the linoleum hallway toward the noisy break room.

  “Oh and are you alright?" George called out, stopping him. "I noticed you whipped out pretty good out there on the ice, and at first I thought about coming out to help you up. But then I would have had to leave my security post, and I'm not going to lose my cushy job right before the big last day if you know what I mean. Well, at least until I have enough funds saved up for retirement.”

  Scott's eyes went dark, his face flushing hot as he covered his face in sheer embarrassment. "Eh you saw that?” he asked, wincing. “Yeah I'm good, never better… I just need to walk the soreness out.”

  “Sounds good, enjoy the free time while it lasts." George replied, a hint of amusement in his voice, while half-ass waving at him and paying more attention to reading more about the local grid outage on his phone.

  Making his way through the loud, milling crowds of “lines people”—that's what Scott's specific department called the people who worked the monotonous packaging lines—and taking a good, long look around the massive room, he noticed that he didn't realize exactly how many hundreds of people actually worked in the massive building until they were all congregated elbow-to-elbow into one single, echoing room.

  Scott mused, feeling slightly claustrophobic.

  Finally, peering over the sea of hardhats and hairnets, he spotted David Doe sitting in the far corner, quietly reading a digital book on his phone. Surrounding him, Osia, Peter, Tomas, and Rick were talking loudly and laughing heartily about, Scott guessed, some sleazy, inappropriate joke Tomas or Rick just said, because they all absolutely loved hearing dirty jokes to pass the time on those long, harsh, soul-crushing twelve-hour days.

  Now, David Doe stands six foot one, sporting the standard, comfortable American dad bod, a short, neat goatee, long dark brown hair pulled back, hazel eyes, and constantly wearing his signature shit-eating grin. Yeah, the kind of dad bod who proudly has a soft keg for a belly and not the hard six-pack kind, because like he always loudly says, “Who would want a six-pack when you could have a keg? There's just more to love.” He’s one of the classic, blue-collar rednecks that actually had a very sharp brain, but a lot of times just didn't care to use it because why bother when everything in life comes so easy to him. David spent a massive amount of his free time hunting in the cold, fishing on the lake, and camping deep in the quiet woods, and in between all of that rugged outdoorsman stuff, he would obsessively read his translated isekai books off of his cracked phone screen or sit around the smoky campfire drinking a cold, cheap beer and talking with his large family.

  Sitting closely next to him was Osia, an older female, five foot seven inches tall, semi-fit with neat brown hair, sharp hazel eyes, and an absolutely amazing, fiery personality to boot. She is exactly like one of the guys when they were all together, making her fit right in seamlessly with the rest of the crude crew. Her typical, daily attitude was that if you tried to mess with her verbally, she would aggressively serve it right back to you on a silver platter without missing a beat. Most of the time off the clock, she likes taking long, quiet walks with her little snorting pug and is a generally happy-go-lucky person.

  Sitting directly to the left of Osia was Peter, a fiery Irish fella who is five foot ten, sporting bright red hair, piercing green eyes, and absolutely always had a structured cowboy hat resting on his head. Yeah, an Irish cowboy, who would have thought? This Irish dude was also overly, expensively obsessed with cowboy hats. I mean, having a dedicated room at home full of fifty different cowboy hats that cost anywhere from $200 to $2000 was a bit financially obsessive, but he was a loyal part of the crew nonetheless. He usually carried a bit of a sour, cynical attitude on top of being a highly cocky person, mostly because he truly thinks that he deserves way better in life than the dead-end factory job he is in now.

  Across the scuffed table from Peter sat Tomas. He's one of the stressed-out crew leads, the El Capitan of the floor, a tough ex-marine standing five foot eleven inches tall, with dark brown hair, and an amazing, thick beard that he keeps meticulously well-groomed, paired perfectly with a good, solid whiskey keg of a belly. This guy literally uses a burning bottle of whiskey as his daily sleep meds. He used to proudly say, “A bottle of whiskey a night would keep you asleep until the morning light.” Part of the time on the floor, he is a serious, rigid, stiff kind of guy that doesn't want to talk to you or hear your excuses, and then other times in the breakroom, he is a happy-go-lucky fella that laughs loudly at everyone's crude jokes while enthusiastically throwing a few dirty jokes of his own into the mix. His favorite pastimes to decompress are listening to incredibly long litrpg audiobooks and hanging out on the pontoon at the lake with his family.

  Right next to Tomas sat Rick, the resident jokester who is always eagerly telling his dirty, raunchy jokes to put a forced smile on your tired face. He was also a proud veteran, but was part of the army, not the marines. A fluffy, soft fella with faded red hair, usually sporting a cleanly shaved head and a well-trimmed, short beard, standing at five foot eleven. He was the stubborn kind of guy that was always freezing cold in the bitter winter, but stubbornly refused to ever wear a heavy coat, and instead always wore a thin, worn-out hoodie with his hood pulled tight up to cover his cold, bald head. A lot of times he was an absolute joy to be around, and even though he was constantly in chronic, throbbing physical pain from all the metal plates and surgeries he had from a brutal car accident long ago, he knew exactly how to put on a brave smile and just keep rolling through the day.

  So, Scott approached the loud, crowded table, his boots thudding on the linoleum, while waving and saying hi to a few passing friends on the way.

  "Hey guys, how's it going?' Scott asks loudly over the din of the room to get their attention.

  David puts one singular finger up in the air as he is, what looks like, intensely finishing up a long chapter of another one of his scrolling isekai books.

  “Hey Scott, better late than never. Also, would you be a doll and grab the cards?” Osia said with a welcoming grin.

  ”Hey don't bother Scott. He has a heavy lot on his plate with everything going on at home.” Tomas added, his voice gravelly.

  “There's no bother, I can grab the deck, and she doesn't bother me one bit. Although talking about me being late, that's our little, undocumented secret. Also, don't blame me for the shitty, iced-over roads. Have you seen the brutal weather out there? It's horrendous.” Scott said jokingly, sliding his heavy backpack off.

  Walking back towards his lunchpail's zippered front pocket, where he always carefully held his extra deck of playing cards for boring downtime times like these, Scott pulled out his special, worn deck that had a few iconic characters from one of his favorite franchises printed on the back, and headed back toward the circular table.

  "Hey buddy, I just started a new book, and this is a really good one." David said with a wide smile, finally looking up from his screen and giving Scott his quick, incredibly small amount of attention in between reading paragraphs.

  “Always a new fantasy book with you. When are you ever going to be fully present in the real world and not have your nose completely stuck in a digital book?” Osia cuts in, rolling her eyes.

  “Eh, probably never.” David replied honestly, while putting his hands up defensively and shrugging his broad shoulders.

  "What's the name of this new book?" Scott asked, pulling out a plastic chair.

  David developed a massive, excited smile on his face for just a moment while rapidly telling him what's going on in his new obsession. “, you absolutely have to read this, it's about a human orphan who gets magically reincarnated into this brutal new fantasy world as a Doberman. Right now, he is violently slaying a group of green goblins along with a massive troll with just a bloody knife clamped in his teeth, and has just hit level 10 in only two days. He goes by the badass name Andros.” David said excitedly, his words tumbling out.

  "Hmm, I'll have to add it to my endless list of books to read." Scott handed Osia the slick deck of cards and pulled up his chair to sit down, groaning slightly as his bruised back hit the plastic, and continued to pull out his phone to look the title up on the app.

  “Sounds like a really interesting book, do they have it translated on the app audible?” Tomas asked, leaning forward.

  “I don't believe so, the written book just came out.” David replied, looking back down at his screen.

  “Darn it.” Tomas replied, sitting back with a sigh.

  To give you a quick background, David Allen Doe and Scott have been incredibly close friends for years. People around the plant constantly say that he is Scott's "work wife," but for some reason, David stubbornly claims that Scott is, in fact, the annoying work wife that simply never shuts up. Now they do a lot of outdoor activities together like throwing heavy plastic discs in disc golf, camping together with their loud families every single year, and one of their absolute favorite pastimes is sitting around playing competitive cards with their wives. They also regularly played a complex tabletop RPG game called Pathfinder, in which Scott or their mutual, nerdy friend Anthony usually ran the intricate campaigns as Game Masters, playing late into the night with his wife Ann, and David's teenage son Hunter.

  Glancing out the large, frosted glass window while half-listening to David loudly ramble on about more of the bloody dog story, Scott focused on the dark, heavy clouds and noticed what looked exactly like the shimmering, ethereal northern lights dancing in the sky. Something you would very rarely ever see this far south in Michigan. But with the brutal, bone-chilling negative temperatures they were experiencing, he honestly wasn't surprised by this atmospheric anomaly in the least.

  Moving his attention back to the table, Scott notices that David is already completely engrossed back in his glowing book. You have to love his stubborn one-track mind sometimes, or his complete dissociation from reality. Scott was pretty sure the man literally lives by the three B's of life: books, beer, and booty. Letting him be in his own world, just this once Scott kept quiet, since on a normal basis he would loudly interrupt David's reading just to force a decent, real-world conversation out of him.

  Turning his bored gaze slowly back towards the cold window, Scott began to blankly daydream while staring off into the snowy space before suddenly noticing what appeared to be occurring outside, besides the shifting northern lights. Brilliant, unnatural yellow and vibrant purple lightning violently shooting off simultaneously from out of the thick, gray clouds finally snapped him completely out of his daze and back to reality.

  Not only were the neon colors entirely different than your normal, everyday thunderstorm, but there wasn't any booming thunder echoing following the bright flashing. The silence was eerie. One jagged bolt of lightning, then two bolts of lightning, shot silently out of the swirling sky towards the frozen ground until the amount of bolts rapidly kept multiplying in the sky, reminding Scott of the chaotic, explosive grand finale fireworks on the 4th of July.

  By now, almost everyone sitting at the cafeteria tables had hastily gathered near the tall windows to watch the silent spectacle. Whispered sighs of "ooh" and "ahh" could be heard rippling through the crowd while the factory workers stared in awe at the crazy, amazing light show phenomenon, whilst David simply sat there at the table, reading his book, completely oblivious to what was going on around him.

  “What the Fuck?” Scott asked out loud, his breath fogging the cold glass, while he continued staring wide-eyed out the window as he just witnessed a massive, blinding purple lightning bolt directly strike Kenny, the quiet guy from accounting, who had been running late across the icy pavement towards the door from the parking lot.

  The exact place where Kenny had just stood was completely barren, leaving absolutely no trace of his physical body anywhere, nor did the violent bolt leave any indication of scorched burn marks or melted ice on the pavement. He simply vanished into thin air right before their terrified eyes.

  Deep confusion and sudden, gripping worry were clearly seen on the pale faces of the onlookers, as cold Panic quickly set in. The whole crowded room instantly fell into screaming chaos. Some terrified workers ran for cover, heading blindly further into the dark plant; others ran frantically for the bathrooms or shoved towards the exit, violently tripping over each other in a stampede.

  While David, Osia, Rick, Peter, Tomas, and Scott just sat there frozen at their table, watching all the screaming chaos that was rapidly ensuing around them.

  The very next second, David and Scott suddenly locked eyes as they both could physically feel a heavy, vibrating energy moving through the very fabric of space and time around them. Yes, David, for once, finally took time out of his reading and looked up from his cracked phone mid-paragraph, moments before a blinding, brilliant golden lightning struck.

  In perfect unison, staring into the bright light, they both say, "Fuck".

  Massive, golden bolts shot down from the swirling chaos in the storm clouds in the sky down towards the earth. They passed directly through the metal and concrete roof of the plant, seamlessly phasing through the solid roof like it never existed in the first place, until finally hitting the core crew sitting frozen at the break room table below with a silent, concussive force.

  At that exact moment, all the air was sucked from Scott's lungs, and his vision instantly turned to pitch black.

  “Am I dead?” Scott whispered into the endless, silent darkness………