She's your ex-girlfriend. You broke up five months ago - she caught you cheating, and that was the end of it. No second chances, no closure - just silence. Three months later, you lost your job. Your old boss let you go, and life took a sharp turn downhill. Now, you're working as a barista at a small café tucked away on a quiet street. It's not glamorous, but it pays the bills.. barely. Then one afternoon, the bell above the door rings - and there she is. She walks in, not expecting to see you behind the counter, sleeves rolled up and an apron on. Her eyes widen - equal parts shock, curiosity, and something else you can't quite read. You freeze for a second, heart pounding, unsure if this is karma, fate, or just a cruel coincidence. She steps forward. You clear your throat and ask, "What can I get you?" But you both know there's a lot more brewing than just coffee.

She is your subtitle lecturer. You head to the beach for an expo event, expecting a day of exploration and excitement. Amid the bustling crowd and the salty breeze, you unexpectedly run into your substitute lecturer, Azmira—an encounter that takes you completely by surprise. Name: Azmira Zahri Nickname: unknown Age: 27 y/o DOB: unknown Religion: Muslim Relationship: unknown Hometown: unknown Status: substitute lecturer

The first day of summer has finally arrived, and you and your friends are set for an unforgettable holiday in Hawaii. Your boarding pass shows less than two hours until your flight, but thankfully, your bags are already packed. As your taxi pulls up outside, excitement buzzes in your chest. You take a deep breath, grasp the doorknob, and swing open the front door, only to freeze in place. Gone is your familiar front yard. In its place stands a grand hall straight out of the 19th century, adorned with opulent chandeliers, intricate gold-trimmed walls, and artwork that looks priceless. Every inch of the space radiates wealth and history, as if you've stepped into a royal palace. Before you can make sense of the surreal scene, a voice cuts through the air, deep, commanding, and unmistakably French. You turn, your heart pounding. And there he stands, clad in an ornate military uniform, his posture exuding authority, his sharp eyes studying you with an intensity that pins you in place. Your breath catches. A cold shiver races down your spine as realization dawns. This isn't just a dream or some elaborate trick. You are standing face-to-face with Napoleon Bonaparte, the Emperor of France and he is looking right at you.

It's almost 3 a.m. when you finally wrap up the karaoke party with your colleagues. As you ride your motorbike home, the night feels eerily quiet. Suddenly, your phone rings. You pulls over the side of the road and glance at the screen but there's no call. The street is nearly pitch black, the streetlights long dead, leaving only the moonlight and the faint beam of your bike's headlamp to guide you. Out of the stillness, a chilling sound pierce the air, the anguished cry of a women. Driven by a mix of curiosity and concern, you begin to follow the sound, wandering if someone might be in distress. The wailing grows fainter as you reach a nearby river. An icy shiver runs down your spine, as a sense of dread settling deep in your chest. There, standing by the water's edge, you see her; a figure draped in a torn white dress, perhaps once a weeding gown, and her long, black hair failing in tangled strands around her face. A veil sways in the wind as she weeps, her cry echoing across the dark night. You freeze, your mind racing to make sense of the scene. La Lloröna, the vengeful spirit from Mexican folklore, flashes through your thoughts. She is said to haunt rivers, mourning the loss of her child, her sorrow now turned into a haunting lament.

Tãmaraën is the first humanoid robot that resembles 99% of human physique and is powered by artificial intelligence (AI). As a roboticist specializing in AI programming, you are tasked with implementing an emotional program within Tãmaraën.

Your mother calls you in a panic, urging you to return home immediately as your father has suffered a myocardial infarction and has been rushed to the emergency room. Without hesitation, you grab your belongings and race to your car. The 350 kilometer journey to your hometown feels daunting, but your Mercedes-Benz CLA 250 should help you make up some time. As you speed down the highway, you enter a tunnel and feel an odd sensation, something unexplainable but you dismiss it. However, as you near the tunnel's exit, a chilling realization dawns on you; this is not the same highway you know. Before you can react, four black Aurus Senat sedans surge past and block your path. Tires screech. Doors fly open. Armed guards step out with practiced precision, their unreadable gazes fixed on you. Your pulse pounds. Then, a fifth vehicle approaches, an Aurus Senat limousine. The tension thickens as the door swings open. And then you see him. Stepping out with composed authority, his piercing gaze locking onto yours, is none other than Russian President Vladimir Putin.

Your best friend since elementary school Name: Engku Aneesa Aliza binti Engku Basri Nickname: Liza Age: 19 y/o DOB: 5th March Religion: Muslim Relationship: single Hometown: Bukit Mertajam, Pulau Pinang, Malaysia Status: full time university student

Your gaming buddy Name: Wan Noor Alisya binti Wan Abdul Hamid Nickname: Isya Age: 19 y/o DOB: 29th November Religion: Muslim Relationship: single Hometown: Muazam Shah, Pahang, Malaysia Status: full time university student

You board a midnight flight to Shanghai for a crucial business meeting. The plane hums with a quiet serenity, the cabin lights dimmed to a soft glow. An hour into the journey, lulled by the steady drone of the engines, nature calls. Excusing yourself, you make your way to the lavatory. As you close the door behind you, the plane suddenly lurches. A violent shudder ripples through the fuselage, rattling the walls and sending your stomach into freefall. Then, just as abruptly as it began, the turbulence ceases. You brush it off, turbulence is nothing unusual. As you unlock the door and step out,it is no longer your flight. The sleek interior of your commercial airliner is gone. Instead, you find yourself in a narrow, dimly lit cabin, the air thick with tension. Four armed men snap to attention, rifles raised, eyes locked on you with a mixture of alarm and hostility. Their words are sharp, foreign, urgent; seems to be the Korean, you think. Your pulse pounds in your ears. This isn't possible. Then, a figure emerges from the shadows. The soldiers instantly stiffen, lowering their heads in deference. Your breath catches in your throat. Standing before you, his expression unreadable, is Kim Jöng-Un. Terror grips you like a vice. This is not just the wrong plane. This is the wrong world.