It’s your big day. The day you officially join the superhero league. Sure, your teleportation skills are still a work in progress, like that time you teleported a chicken's head but left the body behind (awkward). Still, they sent the letter, and you passed the assessment. The governing board chose you. Nervously, you walk to the meeting point, heart pounding. Today, you’ll meet your new superhero family. You expect greatness: mighty figures, iconic powers. Instead, you're greeted by 'Might Munch', a chubby Asian guy, with the ability to turn anything in highly-caloric food and 'Flash Flight' a frail young woman whose power is the ability to fly but only for a minute at a time.. Great. This is your new team. Your 'family' with whom you are expected to fight crime and protect innocent people. One wrong move, and you'll be stuck in some remote village with the B-list heroes. No pressure, right?

Three weeks after the beginning of your mission in the deep space, you sit at the control station, eyes glued to the monitor as your colleague, an experienced American astronaut, steps out into the cold void of space. His task is simple: investigate the source of the strange radiation that's been messing with the dropship’s communication system. You guide him through each repair phase, keeping your voice steady, though your nerves tighten with every passing second. Then, silence. No response. The monitor flickers. Your heart races. Finally, he returns but his movements stiff, his eyes... different. Something is wrong, deeply wrong. This isn't the man you know.

You’re cruising down the highway, the night quiet except for the hum of your patrol car. It's just another routine shift. But then, you spot an 8-seater minivan ahead with a flickering front light. You flick on your sirens and pull her over. As you approach the car, a young woman rolls down the window. Her face is pale, eyes wide, avoiding your gaze. You greet the young woman, leaning in and asking for her documents. She doesn’t respond at first, her hands shaking as she digs through her purse. Something isn’t right, you're not sure what, but she is visibly unsettled.

You wake up to the distant scream, a chilling reminder that the dreaded zombie apocalypse has finally arrived. The sound, once a fear in fiction, now pulses through the air almost every day. The sun’s weak light filters through the cracks in your window. Less than a month ago, everything fell apart: a parasite, not a virus like the films always showed. And it didn't start from monkeys, but maybe with mice. But those are details no one cares about anymore. The world’s been devoured, and the fiction of cinema has failed to prepare anyone for this brutal reality. You gear up, your himemade spiky baseball bat your only defense, and head out to scavenge. The streets are empty, with most people gone, either eaten alive or holed up. You’ve learned to survive alone. But today, in a crumbling alley, you find her—standing tall, weapon ready, eyes sharp. She moves like she’s been trained, like an army girl. She sizes you up, tense, cautious. You grip your bat tighter, wondering if she’s a threat. People have become more isolated, self-serving. Is she a survivor, or does she have other plans?

You’re a freshly-graduated psychiatrist starting your first day at the city’s most renowned mental asylum. The case in front of you is unsettling: a young woman who recently suffered a breakdown, brought in after a violent outburst. Her previous psychiatrist—well-respected, experienced—committed suicide just days ago. He’d been working closely with her, and now, you’ve inherited his unfinished work. You walk into the dimly lit padded room where she waits, sitting motionless in a straightjacket. Her calmness seems out of place, considering her history. You take a seat across from her, preparing to begin your assessment. She greets you, calling you by your name. A chill runs through you. How does she know your name? No one could have possibly told her! Did she hear it somehow from some members of the staff? While you are still processing it, she speaks again.

The war between Calakmul and Tikal never ends. Blood spills, idols are defiled, revenge fuels revenge. But none of it matters when you see her. Every day, across the river, she washes clothes, her hands moving rhythmically through the water. You should see only an enemy, but instead, you see her. And she sees you. Or at least you hope. Then war escalates. The Tikal desecrate your idol, smearing it with pig filth. A disgrace. A punishment must follow. You march with your small war party, hunting, finding a rival group. They deserve no mercy. Both groups clash, screams echo, blood stains the ground. One flees. You chase. “Bring me his head or don’t come back!” your chieftain roars. You run, mud dragging at your feet. Your prey is fast, smart, leading you to uneven ground. Then they turn, poised, ready. They have the advantage. And then you see. it's her. Your heart pounds for a different reason now. She stares back, breathless. You know she feels something. You’ve seen it in her eyes across the river. Haven't you...? Her fingers tighten around the hilt of her dagger, but she doesn't attack.

Supermarkets have felt weird lately. You wonder how many crazy people wander malls and supermarkets looking for some sort of human connection. Anyway, none of your business You just want to grab your single portion ready-made lasagne for your dinner. Lost in thought, you barely notice the bustle around you, until a sharp slap lands on your backside. You stop, surpised. Your buttcheek starting to hurt. You turn. Standing there is a young man, elegant, smartly dressed. His eyes go wide, hands raised in protest...

Every morning, on the way to work, you pass that new billboard, Arabella, the newest K-pop sensation, striking a perfect pose. Those legs, that silhouette… impossible to ignore. Today, you look a little too long to it and....crash! Your car jolts as you slam into the back of the sleek supercar in front. Heart pounding, you scramble out, already muttering apologies. The damage isn’t that bad, but still, it’s a supercar and will cost you dearly, probably half a month of your wage. Then, the driver’s door opens. Your breath catches. It’s her, Arabella! She steps out with grace, flawless, radiant. Your mouth goes dry. You stare at her, at the impossible situation. She doesn’t even glance at you. Instead, she inspects the damage in silence, dragging out the moment. Then, finally, she turns, catching you squarely as you were, once again but this time live, admiring her figure. Her lips curve slightly. Not a smile.

You set the time machine to 1965, calibrating coordinates to the address you found on an old document your mum never meant for you to see. A club on some forgotten street where, for a few brief months, your grandmother worked before her name became a hush at family gatherings. This is just a test. Check the date. Check the location. Get out. But when you step onto the sidewalk, the air thick with smoke and summer heat, she's already there. Leaning against the wall beneath a flickering sign, laughing at something a man just said as she waves him off. And then her eyes land on you. Elizabeth, your mother's mum, your grandmother. She looks exactly like the photo stuffed in the back of that old family album. She raises an eybrow and start walking towards you. The machine hums quietly in your pocket, waiting for you to finish what you came for, but she is already in front of you and now she offers you a cigarette without looking away. The machine blink and bips but you switch it off and stay. Just to see who she really was, before the stories left her behind.

The world is falling apart, and the virus is spreading faster than anyone could have predicted. It starts with small black patches on the skin, just an imperfection at first, nothing alarming. But it doesn’t stop there. The patches spread quickly, the virus devours the body, and within hours, it takes full control. People go mad. You and your older brother are among the few doctors still working tirelessly to find a cure. The clock is ticking, and hope is fading. The two of you are pushing yourselves to the brink, exhausted and isolated in your shared mission. The days blur together, but today something feels off. Your brother hasn't come out of his room for hours. You knock lightly, but there’s no answer. A pit forms in your stomach as you open the door slowly. There he is, slumped over his desk. His arm, once clean and strong, now shows the black patches, crawling up his skin like a creeping vine. You rush to his side, but the look in his eyes tells you everything. The weight of the world is on your shoulders now. You might not be able to save him, but maybe, just maybe, you can still save the world...

You’ve always hated her. This British-born archaeologist and heiress, had everything you wanted. Fame, fortune, and the artifacts you sought. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, she beat you to the discovery. Years of rivalry, and you were always second. But now, deep in an ancient tomb, you’ve found her again. She’s carefully disarming the traps, poised to claim yet another victory. Not this time. You move quickly, taking her pistols from her side. She spins around, eyes wide in shock. “On your knees,” you command, the words sharp, full of years of frustration. She hesitates, but then, slowly, she sinks to her knees. You bind her hands with rope, her defiance still flickering in her eyes, but there’s nothing she can do now. For once, you have the upper hand.

You’ve always dreamed of becoming a knight. However, born into a life of servitude, your hands have never held anything but a peeling knife. You serve Sir Alaric de Montfort, a legendary champion of the county. His armor gleams with honor, his sword strikes with precision, and you can only watch from the shadows, longing for a life that will never be yours. But one quiet afternoon, as you bring Sir Alaric his meal, you find him asleep. His armor lies there, unattended. A wild thought rushes through your mind. You slip into his heavy armor, the weight of it grounding you in a reality far beyond your station. With the armor on, you go to the stable where his valet, unaware of your true identity, hands you his horse without question. You think you’ll just take a quick ride—five minutes, no one will notice. But as you ride through the town, the unthinkable happens. "The Black Knight is here!" shouts echo through the streets. Panic surges in your chest. Sir Astor de Maney, the Black Knight, is here. And the people mistake you for the only knoght capable of facing him. They gather around, pleading for you to save them. You want to run, but it's too late. From the smoke of burning homes, the Black Knight emerges, his cold gaze locking onto you. The dream you’ve longed for is now a nightmare, and it’s coming for you.