Black Aviator Sunglasses Blackout Crisis Origin Story
The underworld buzzed with anticipation. The Seven Princes of Hell, having finalized their latest plan for humanity’s suffering, gathered around a massive obsidian table in the depths of Pandemonium. A red, swirling mist hung over the room, distorting the demonic sigils carved into the black stone walls.
"So, how do we make this happen?" Belphegor yawned, slouching in his infernal throne. "I’d rather not put in too much effort."
Lucifer steepled his fingers. "Simple. Humanity is already teetering on the edge. We give them one final push. A few well-placed power grid failures, some cyber-attacks, and a handful of strategic EMPs should do the trick."
Satan grinned, his jagged teeth gleaming. "The panic will spread faster than any virus. No lights, no internet, no digital distractions—just raw, primal fear."
Leviathan drummed his claws against the table. "And envy will fester when the rich hoard what little power they have. The divide will be sharper than ever."
Mammon sighed. "Speaking of power, I suppose the stock market will crash again. It’s almost too predictable. I enjoy a little creativity in my financial destruction."
"Don't worry," Beelzebub said, licking honey from his fingers. "With food shortages inevitable, people will tear each other apart for the last bite of cold, expired pizza."
"And the lust-driven masses will be left swiping through their useless dating apps, lost without validation," Asmodeus added with a smirk. "It's going to be delicious."
The final vote was cast, and the Princes each signed a contract—sealing the fate of humanity. The countdown had begun.
The First Flicker
At exactly 11:59 PM, as billions of people around the world scrolled through their phones before bed, the first signs of darkness took hold. A quiet, creeping failure.
A TikTok influencer in Los Angeles noticed her ring light flicker mid-livestream. A finance bro in New York cursed as his laptop screen froze during a late-night crypto trade. Deep in the Arctic, researchers tracking climate data watched in horror as their instruments blinked out one by one.
Then, at the stroke of midnight, everything stopped. Every light, every screen, every hum of electricity—gone. A silence more deafening than any explosion settled over the planet.
And then, the screaming began.
Day One: No Signal
Panic spread like wildfire. Cities plunged into darkness, their towering skyscrapers reduced to ghostly silhouettes against a moonlit sky. Traffic came to a standstill, horns blaring uselessly as electronic systems failed. Hospitals scrambled to switch to backup generators, only to find many had mysteriously short-circuited.
People rushed outside, searching for answers in the sky, only to find the same cold, indifferent stars looking back at them.
"Is it a cyber-attack?" some speculated. "An EMP? Alien invasion?"
"Did Russia do this? The Illuminati?" others whispered.
But no news would come. No tweets. No livestreams. No emergency broadcasts. Just silence and the ever-growing realization: they were truly on their own.
Meanwhile, In Pandemonium
Satan leaned back, watching the chaos unfold through a swirling portal of dark energy. He let out a low, satisfied chuckle. "Look at them. Running in circles like ants whose hill just got kicked over. Beautiful."
Lucifer adjusted his immaculate suit and took a sip of a soul-stealing vintage wine. "And this is just the beginning. By day three, they’ll turn on each other. By day five, they’ll beg for their screens to come back."
"By day seven, they’ll be animals," Leviathan mused. "What happens then?"
Lucifer smirked. "Then we vote again."
Satan reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek pair of black aviator sunglasses. He slid them on, even though there was no sun in Hell, and grinned.
