Beneath the eaves of a decrepit house in the small town, Arno, who was previously lying still as if in death's repose, suddenly sprang awake. His vision met the spectacle of utter chaos, with yellowing scraps of paper taking flight in the gentle breeze before pirouetting to the ground. The dilapidated dwelling was surrounded by ruined wells and collapsed buildings, the shattered layers of cement scattered about. The eerie quiet was unnerving; the bustling past was now only echoed in the rustling leaves of roadside trees.

  Arno Vines' mind struggled to keep pace with the reality. He couldn't comprehend how he, who had been in the bustling city of New Mountain, ended up in such a peculiar place after awakening from a deep sleep. His surroundings seemed post-apocalyptic, bereft of human presence. Arno sprang up frantically from the ground. To his surprise, he found himself instinctively performing an agile handspring and landing on his feet.

  "What in the world is happening?" Arno asked himself. As far as his memory served, he was a simple denizen of New Mountain City. Thanks to his relatives' assistance, he secured a civil service position in the New Mountain District Statistics Bureau in 2020. His job was relaxed; apart from his habitual tardiness by half an hour, his duties mainly included web surfing and occasionally perusing the day's newspaper for the satisfaction of his superiors. Just two years into his job, Arno, who had barely turned twenty-four, felt his body weaken due to lack of exercise.

  Previously, Arno, tall and thin at 178 cm, would have been left breathless with a few simple jumps, but his recent performance could match a seasoned athlete's. He couldn't believe it. His physique hadn't changed; there were no extra muscles, yet he felt as if he was brimming with power. His formerly slightly myopic eyes could now discern minute details hundreds of meters away.

  Not far off, three cars lay haphazardly strewn across the street, their windshields shattered into a thousand shards. A sticky black liquid had solidified on the car doors, resembling a black blossom. Adjacent to the cars was a small supermarket. Its aluminum rolling door was riddled with finger-wide holes and a gaping gap at the center. Scattered around the gaping hole were various snacks, a trail of spilled rice extending all the way to the middle of the road.

  Arno felt his eyelids twitch uncontrollably. He couldn't understand why he described the hole in the rolling door as if it had been blown open. Could it be that someone, under the threat of execution, used explosives to rob a small supermarket? And from the look of the snacks strewn around the door, it appeared that the culprits' target was merely these snack foods.

  A gust of wind stirred the scattered paper on the ground, lifting several red hundred-yuan notes from the roadside, which finally landed in front of the supermarket. Arno was once again at a loss. He couldn't fathom why these thieves would forsake valuable cash for snack foods. As the wind blew the debris around, a small piece of newspaper flew toward Arno's forehead.

  Arno caught the paper with swift reflexes and gave it a cursory glance. It seemed to be a news piece reporting the successful launch of an American spacecraft, headed toward a target asteroid. The fragmentary report was only a few sentences long, and Arno discarded it without much thought. The small town gave Arno an eerie discomfort. The surroundings, with their decaying buildings, solidified pools of black liquid, pungent, nauseating odors, and desolate streets, filled him with profound unease.

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  Arno discovered a seamless timepiece on his wrist, its emergence as enigmatic as the peculiar luminescence flickering off its dark green case. Such a watch had never graced his arm before, and though he attempted to unclasp it, it adhered perfectly to his wrist without any perceivable seam to manipulate.

  A sense of peculiarity pervaded every facet of his current situation. The disquieting solitude, the inexplicable watch, and his own disorientation combined to form a jigsaw puzzle Arno was struggling to piece together. Attempting to retrieve his phone from his pocket, he encountered nothing but void. His usual reality had been replaced by this disconcerting realm, where nothing except his enigmatic watch and clothes remained on his person.

  His inner turmoil erupted into a tirade, "Damned jokers! If I find who's responsible for this madness, I swear their brains will meet my boot!" Yet, his outraged sentiments resulted in no course of action but to trudge onward. If this were a film set, he reasoned, there must be some crew members around.

  Navigating through the quiet town, traversing its seven or eight streets, Arno's unease deepened. Buildings stood dilapidated or desolate, their doors ominously agape. The interiors resembled scenes of plunder, their contents strewn about. Among the disarray, weathered bills fluttered in the wind, painting an almost surreal picture.

  Arno picked up a note. It felt real enough to dispel any doubt of its authenticity, though the sight of money littering the streets confounded him. This kind of extravagance had no place on a film set. Yet there it was, money amounting to no less than a fortune, scattered as if by some capricious wind. What kind of production had this scale of budget? Yet, in his disbelief, Arno failed to notice the uncanny detail – the date on the bills read '2050'.

  Despite the tantalizing sight of all that money, Arno discarded the bill, continuing onward, unsettled by the thought of unseen surveillance and unseen consequences. He arrived at a crossroads, the shattered glass front of an Agricultural Bank inviting him in.

  The interior was a scene of disarray: documents were scattered everywhere, chairs upturned, and the once polished floors were stained with a dark liquid that trailed towards the entrance. The strong scent of iron hit him, making his brows furrow in suspicion, yet he assured himself it was just a prop, nothing more.

  Advancing further, he found even more chaos. Computers askew, and an overwhelming amount of paper and money mixed together, suggesting a sudden, desperate exodus. The heavy metal door stood wide open, hinting at hasty retreats. Yet Arno could not comprehend what could have caused such a scene. Was this part of the set-up?

  Standing at the crossroads, no film crew member in sight, Arno’s unease surged into panic. He felt as though he'd been cast into a forgotten world. "Is anyone there?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the eerily empty streets.

  His outcry seemed to stir the silent town into life. The muted whispers of movement began to fill the void: doors creaking open, metal cans clattering, the crumple of stepped-on paper. Car doors swung open, and figures staggered out, moving towards him in a slow, menacing convergence.

  As the reality of the situation began to dawn on Arno, a figure finally emerged. To his surprise, it was a woman, dressed in avant-garde attire that left little to the imagination. Arno was far from lecherous, but he couldn't help appreciate the tantalizing sight. As his mind played through these thoughts, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, every hair standing on end in terror.