June 1, 2025 AD.
Inside the Azure spacecraft, Ye Feng gazed at his younger sister, Ye Shanshan, lying in the hibernation pod. His expression was a tangled mix of emotions.
"Starting today, we're kids without a home," he murmured.
Through the ship's monitoring system, he cast a glance toward Earth. By now, the planet had shrunk to a third of its original size.
"Xiaozhi, report the ship's status."
Xiaozhi was the artificial intelligence core of the Azure, a program Ye Feng had acquired thirteen years ago from the Atlantis central brain. It was a step above even Tony Stark's JARVIS in terms of brilliance.
"Captain," Xiaozhi replied, "the Azure has successfully broken free of Earth's gravitational pull. All systems are functioning smoothly. The escape consumed 22.33 kilograms of metallic hydrogen, leaving us with 77.67 kilograms in reserve. Additionally, as of our departure, 70% of humanity's memory data has been fully uploaded to the Earth Simulator, which is operating normally."
"Back up Shanshan's consciousness too," Ye Feng instructed. "And keep pushing forward at 7G acceleration. Let's hope nothing goes wrong this time."
As he watched Earth continue to collapse inward, compressing further, a deep unease gnawed at him.
Thirteen years ago, when the 2012 doomsday prophecy had gripped the world, Ye Feng had stumbled upon the Atlantis core brain by chance. From it, he learned the rough outline of the world's end. The solar storm of 2012 wasn't the catastrophe itself—it was merely the spark. It had set off a chain reaction: the melting of the polar ice caps, the release of ancient viruses trapped within, and a slow descent into chaos. After thirteen years of buildup, Earth would meet its doom on June 15, 2025.
Then there was that cryptic message perpetually displayed on the core brain's interface:
"Extreme danger! Flee the solar system immediately!"
At first, Ye Feng had tried to warn the world, sharing bits of what he knew through every channel he could. It nearly got him branded an "extremist doomsday terrorist." Eventually, he realized the truth: even if everyone believed June 15, 2025, was the end, what could they do? The outcome was inevitable. Broadcasting it would only plunge humanity into despair and anarchy, a chaotic freefall born of fear.
Better to keep it quiet, he decided. Let people live out their final thirteen years in peace rather than dread.
That year, at seventeen, Ye Feng dropped out of school without a second thought. Armed with the advanced tech stored in the Atlantis core brain, he secured funding, started a company, and in just a few years, rose to the top of the industry. When shareholders were gearing up to reap the rewards of their success, he pulled the rug out from under them, funneling massive sums into a new project. With the Atlantis core brain as its control hub, he built the Azure—a (pseudo) sub-lightspeed spacecraft—equipped with a prototype sub-lightspeed engine completed on January 1, 2025.
The Azure was a beast: 200 meters long, 50 meters wide, weighing 4,500 tons—far beyond what aerospace norms deemed feasible. It earned its "pseudo" sub-lightspeed label because, while it could technically hit those speeds, limitations in fuel and materials kept it from sustaining them. The thruster nozzle, for instance—despite being crafted from tantalum hafnium tetracarbide with a melting point of 4,215°C at an exorbitant cost—could only handle up to 15G acceleration. At full sub-lightspeed, theoretical data suggested the nozzle would burn out in just 10 seconds.
Using medical tech, VR films, and gaming pods as cover, Ye Feng collected cellular and genetic data to build a gene bank. He scanned and copied memories, uploading them to the Earth Simulator within the ship's core brain. Modeled after Earth and humanity's collective recollection, this virtual world preserved their legacy—a digital ark for human memory.
If not for the fact that the Atlantis core brain required an external human operator, Ye Feng might've uploaded his own consciousness too. The human body was just too fragile for the vastness of space. Even with relentless training, he could only endure 9G overloads for brief bursts before passing out—or worse.
The simulated Earth, though, was nearly indistinguishable from the real thing. It offered an illusion of home, a comforting lie that the planet still existed. Living in that virtual world sounded far more appealing than drifting alone through the endless void.
Ye Feng's original plan was to escape Earth on June 10, giving the Azure five days to break free of its gravity. But on June 1, the Atlantis core brain issued a dire warning: the end was coming within the hour.
Panicked, Ye Feng dragged Shanshan aboard, knocked her out, and tossed her into the hibernation pod designed to cushion overloads. Ignoring first and second cosmic velocities—or fuel efficiency—he gunned the ship skyward at 7G acceleration, racing away from the sun.
Barely ten minutes after takeoff, Earth began to crumple, as if squeezed by some unseen force. Its gravity spiked, forcing the Azure to burn even more energy to escape the intensifying pull.
"We're almost at the moon," Ye Feng muttered. "Next stop: gather some helium-3. Deuterium and helium-3 fusion produces no neutrons—clean and safe, perfect for the Azure."
"With a refuel, we should be set for a while. No emergencies on the horizon. I'll let Xiaozhi take the helm and slip into the simulated Earth for a break."
After years of relentless work, a rest sounded heavenly.
*Boom…*
The ship jolted, as if seized by an invisible hand, slowing abruptly. Ye Feng nearly flew out of his seat.
Instinctively, he glanced at the monitor displaying Earth. Calculations showed it had shrunk smaller than the moon. Xiaozhi's update flashed: ten seconds ago, Earth's collapse had accelerated, its gravity surging. The moon, too, had broken orbit, hurtling toward the planet. That sudden drag Ye Feng felt? Earth's gravity spiking again.
But that wasn't what froze him. Another data point seized his attention: the collapse had sped up ten seconds ago—then stopped dead one second ago.
Sudden collapse. Sudden halt.
"Oh no," he whispered. "Earth's about to blow."
The planet was like a mountain of gunpowder. If it exploded, it could disrupt the solar system. But this? This was that mountain compressed into a tiny shed. If it went off, the blast wouldn't just sweep the solar system—it'd ripple across half the galaxy.
"Holy crap, this is it! It's trying to take me out! What do I do? What do I do?"
"Calm down. Calm down! I've got to stay calm!"
"Earth's dangerous, sure, but it can't explode *right now*—"
The words barely left his mouth when Earth erupted in blinding light, outshining the sun.
In that instant, Ye Feng's heart skipped a beat.
"Earth… really exploded!"