SORRY: THE WW3
By Skallz
Chapter 1: The Midnight Stir
Sam lay in his king-sized bed, the luxurious silk sheets tangled around his body. The room was a sanctuary of modern opulence—polished marble floors, ambient lighting strips that shifted with his mood, and the ever-present hum of the AAC, the AI air conditioner, keeping the summer heat at bay. Only his head remained uncovered, dark hair matted against the pillow.
The massive traditional pendulum clock in the corner ticked steadily. Its hands glowed faintly: 1:00 AM.
He was half-awake, restless. The soft rustle of sheets and the faint creak of the mattress filled the silence as he shifted, curling tighter into himself. Sleep refused to come. Frustration built like a storm. With a sudden grunt, he threw the white blanket off, his face twisting in irritation.
He sat up sharply, upper body rising to a ninety-degree angle. His heart hammered—not just from frustration, but from a creeping fear. He scanned the dark room. No one. Nothing out of place. Still, the terror lingered.
Sam reached for the lamp on his nightstand, clicking it on. Soft golden light flooded the space. His eyes fell on the remote beside the bed. He grabbed it and pressed the power button. The AAC responded with a crisp chick sound and fell silent.
Barefoot, he padded toward the bedroom door, thoughts racing to his parents. Are they home? He opened the door with cautious, gradual steps, peering into the hallway. His gaze darted left and right, as if invisible eyes watched him from the shadows. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his neck and chest.
He moved toward his mother’s room. The light was on—”they are not home?”. the house felt empty. He cracked the door open. No one. The same with his father’s room.
Panic surged. Sam bolted back to his bedroom, whispering to himself, “Calm down… calm down…” He slammed the door shut and locked it, then checked the clock: 1:03 AM.
“They should be home by now,” he muttered. “Something important must be going on. But there was nothing in the news. It’s too suspicious.”
His eyes drifted to the three doors in his room. He approached the first—his private washroom. Inside, he splashed cold water on his face, trying to steady his nerves. The second door led to his gaming room. He flicked on the lights, the glow illuminating high-end monitors and ergonomic setups.
He powered up his computer and quickly tracked his mother’s location. White House.
“She must be in some kind of important meeting,” he whispered. “I need to get the video.”
His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing lines of code. Then he froze.
“Holy shit!”
He had nearly forgotten. His mother was no fool. She had taps and ai privacy protector (a.p.p.)apps layered on her devices. Normal remote utilities would trigger the AI Privacy Protection system—those telltale green dots appearing the moment he tried to record.
Sam glanced over his shoulder, paranoia spiking. His heartbeat thundered: Duk-duk-duk-duk…
“Fuuuuuu.” He exhaled deeply. “How could I forget?” A nervous giggle escaped him. “I need to do some meditation.”
He had already installed Pegasus Plus on her phone long ago. That bitch is damn smart… but , huhh I’m smarter.
He locked the gaming room door, set his own phone aside to monitor her live location, and resumed typing. This required precision. He couldn’t use Pegasus’s built-in features—the a.p.p would detect them. Instead, he wrote a custom script: one-second voice recordings, automatically deleted after upload to a private cloud server. The fragments would stitch together into near-live audio with only a one-second delay.
Lines of code scrolled. A progress bar filled. 100%.
Sam grinned with excitement. He entered a few more commands, and a play button appeared. He slipped on his headphones—their lights glowing to life—and hit play.
Thud thud…
Master… Master Sam…
Sam jolted upright in bed, blanket flying off. “Coming!” he called out, half-awake.
Was it a dream?.
He went to the door and opened it. Darlene, the household maid robot, stood there holding a tray. “Your coffee, Master.”
“Okay, put it there.”
Sam sipped the coffee, mind replaying the strange dream. Is Mom home?
“No, Master,” Darlene replied before leaving.
He checked his phone again, unease growing. The room AI should have announced Darlene’s arrival and opened the door automatically. “It can only happen if someone locks it manually”.
The AAC was off. His mother was still gone.
Sam rushed to the gaming room. The code was still there on screen. It hadn’t been a dream.
“Who are the Yakuzas?” he muttered.
He opened a new program—AntiC AI—and searched. The results made his stomach drop.
This is bad…
“Forget that,” he told himself. “Just get ready for work.”
In the washroom, Sam called out, “Hi, AntiC. What’s the date today? Tell me it’s Saturday.”
The white AAC unit responded calmly: “Sorry, but today is Friday, 17 July 2037.”
“ohh! Damn it.”
In just ten to fifteen months, humans wouldn’t have to work anymore. Advanced General Intelligence (AGI) would handle everything. Unlimited vacation. The thought brought a small, hopeful giggle.
He dressed quickly, then commanded the AAC, “Get the car out.”
Downstairs, he ate breakfast in the grand hall before stepping into the waiting AI car. No driver. The vehicle glided smoothly through the futuristic streets. People rode floating bicycles overhead. Sam spotted his friend Andrew walking with a sleek robot dog.
“Car, stop!”
The window glass lowered. “Hi, Andrew! It’s been months. How are you doing?”
Andrew turned. Sam’s eyes widened. One of Andrew’s legs was robotic.
“Your leg…”
“Oh, nothing. My dog glitched and attacked me. Lost the leg in the process. It’s fine now.”
“Take care of yourself,” Sam said, unsettled. “Get going, damn car.”
The AI car pulled up to a towering building crowned with the glowing logo: Skallziest.
Sam took the elevator to the 9th floor. The doors opened to a bustling workspace filled with engineers and robots assembling mechanical prototypes. He settled into station 933 and dove into his tasks.
Meanwhile, across town, a woman in a striking red dress stormed into the family mansion, exhaustion etched on her face.
“Darlene! Pack my stuff. I’m going to California.”
The robotic maid asked politely, “Ma’am, if you’re interested in food—?”
“I said pack my stuff! Didn’t you hear that?” She hurled a glass mug from the side table. It shattered near Darlene. “Okay, ma’am. I’ll do that.”
The woman collapsed onto the sofa. “Darlene! Serve me lunch and coffee. Can’t you see I’m tired?”
Darlene hurried to obey. After the meal, the woman threw her plate. “Why are you standing there? Clean it!”
Later, fresh from the shower, she yelled again. “Where is the packing? I told you to pack my stuff!”
“Sorry, ma’am. When I was packing, you yelled for coffee.”
“Are you debating with me? Do it now.”
A sleek yellow autonomous car—hover-capable, no tires—pulled up. A man waited inside. “You’re looking gorgeous, Anny.”
“You too, honey,” she replied with a tired smile.
Back at Skallziest, Sam typed intently when a weak audio leak crackled from his speakers:
“On 11 November 1918, WW1 ended. On 2 September 1945, WW2 ended. On 30 April 1945, Hitler died. But now, in 2038, almost 100 years later… World War 3 is taking…”
A 26-year-old woman—Elena—leaned over his shoulder. “What is this? You’re watching TikTok?”
Sam slammed the computer off. “Nah, I was just—”
“I saw you.”
“You know you can get three years in jail for that,” Elena warned. “NEAI—National Emergency Artificial Intelligence—will detect it. Calm down, Elena. I was just checking something.”
“Whatever.”
Sam stood to leave.
“Where are you going? You can’t just abandon your work.”
“I finished it.”
Elena blinked in surprise. “In just four hours?”
“Yeah.” He headed for the elevator, then called back, “Yo! Elena, come to my garage tomorrow morning, okay?”
That evening, Sam worked shirtless in his personal garage, surrounded by monitors and half-assembled robots. Sweat glistened on his skin after hours of tinkering.
Should have quit my job… But it’s not certain WW3 is coming. And even if it does, we’re America—the world power. We can’t be defeated.”ohh! Sorry sakelzenia”
He took a break, scrolling Instagram Reels.
“Hi, Darlene. Is dinner ready? I’m getting hungry.”
“Yes, Master. Dinner is ready. Your mother left for California for some important work. I haven’t seen your father since yesterday.”
After eating, Sam asked, “Where’s Shalya?”
“She’s in the movie room. I’ll serve her food.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Open the door!”
Thud. Thud.
“We are from the FBI!”
The door burst open. Agents with laser weapons stormed in, pointing them at Sam and Darlene.
“Hands up!”
sam he
wants to speak but can't”why are you hear” .
He yells soundless “help me ! Help me mom dad”.
Chapter one of novel sorry:the ww3 ends
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ABOUT THE NOVEL AND AUTHOR
The novel "SORRY: THE WW3" is a fiction story about ww3. It is written by Skallz and content creator on instagram @skallz_knows .
The story set on 2037 fiction world.
Where Humanity is dependent on agi and ai.
And how his all commotion creates ww3.
The main cahracter is a 20 years old boy sam manalt from newyork America. he is selfmade hacker and a genius robotics enthusiastic guy. how he survives the worst event known to humanity the world war 3.
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