DAY 2: THE AFTERLIGHT

By the first full day, the planet was still burning.

Cities lay paralyzed. Highways locked with abandoned vehicles; their drivers vanished into the chaos. Emergency crews never arrived. No signals, no power, no command structure to call them back.

Supermarkets became dark caverns of heat and panic. The first hours saw crowds, the next saw fists. Looting spread as food spoiled in dead refrigerators. Smoke rolled over city blocks as gas lines ruptured and planes that had fallen overnight burned where they landed.

Water pressure failed before noon. Treatment plants went silent, pumps inert without power. People filled bottles from fountains, gutters, and what remained in their homes. By nightfall, taps ran dry.

The air itself felt wrong, thick with metallic dust and static. Those who ventured out beneath the red haze said it stung the eyes and made their skin crawl.

Across the planet, the same image repeated. Fire, silence, and the ghostly shimmer of the auroras that refused to fade. Humanity’s first day without the Sun’s mercy had ended.

Status: Global systems collapsed. No communications. No clean water. Civil order broken. The Afterlight endures.

[END TRANSMISSION]