The streets of Canada were buzzing with luminous lights from numerous store signposts and street lamps. People walked along the sidewalks, and cars drove to and fro. The only issue was that it wasn't your regular, well-maintained street. The stores that barely lit up the area were all run-down and viciously showcased every aspect of their financial struggle.
On the staircase of one of them, a young man rested against the wall. His two legs lazily rested on two steps—one above the other. As expected, he was dressed in a ragged, worn-out jean jumpsuit and very old black boots.
He had striking dark skin—the type you usually see around Canada, but one that obviously didn't belong to the majority of its citizens. He also had noteworthy carved eyebrows and shoulder-length hair packed up in a bun. But everything looked poorly maintained, if not completely neglected.
For some reason, the young man stared into thin air with his emerald-green pupils—dazed.
He remained in that position for a few minutes, then let out a sigh after snapping back to reality.
A cacophony of whispers surged, forcing the young man to walk away. The whispers went:
"Is that Daniel Watchman?"
"My goodness! So he's one of them?"
"Since he doesn't bear the mark of a divinity, he definitely won't survive!"
The whispers only continued. Irritated, Daniel scowled at the muttering and quickened his pace, intending to avoid more distasteful situations like that.
"These guys never change, huh," he said dryly.
"Well… it's not like they're wrong anyway," a thought echoed in his mind as he stared at the stormy clouds gradually forming.
Immediately, a light reflected on his face. Daniel stared at it and groaned.
"Figures."
"It's back again," he muttered, looking at the glowing transparent window before him, which displayed a message:
[Time until selection: 00:01:26]
Seeing this, Daniel's shoulders slumped. He ignored it and walked up to a small stall by the roadside.
"How much for a plastic bottle of cola?" he asked, waking the salesman who seemed to have dozed off.
"That would be fifty box," the man replied, yawning.
Daniel remained silent for a while, then said,
"I see… I'll take it."
After grabbing his bottle of cola, Daniel flicked open the cap and gulped it down. As he drank, thoughts swirled in his mind.
"The Selection… an annual event where young people between the ages of 15 and 30 are randomly chosen and taken away from this world."
Daniel paused and lowered the bottle from his lips, breathing out a heavy sigh and wiping drops from his mouth.
"Damn! It's finished already?" he snarled, cradling the bottle in his hand before tossing it away.
Daniel chuckled, then sighed.
"Haha… aaah…"
His gaze drifted as his dire situation struck him once again.
"Seems like I won't be surviving… I don't have much time left to live, huh."
Of course, that much should be expected. The Annual Selection was a phenomenon that first occurred seventy years ago when humanity faced the aftermath of World War III. That year, people randomly disappeared, leaving behind not even a single trace, never to return.
This crisis escalated into a worldwide disaster as the human population began to decline.
That was until a year came when a new set of missing people returned to Earth after four months of disappearance. These individuals came back with something special about them—
Strange. Inhuman. Powers.
From that day on, they provided information that helped humanity survive. They were praised as heroes.
Well, this much information was only what Daniel managed to gather by eavesdropping on gossip and conversations from strangers.
Suddenly, the status window from earlier reappeared. This time, with a different message that caused dread to pool in Daniel's stomach.
[Humans… Prepare for your first encounter. The Selection will now commence!]
Instantly, a golden light surrounded Daniel, taking him away without a single trace.