When the power died, nobody noticed at first.
People thought it was another storm.
Another blackout.
Another emergency alert.
Then the lights never came back.
Metrotown vanished into darkness.
The giant screens went black.
The towers became silent monoliths above empty streets.
At Brentwood, thousands tried to flee north.
The SkyTrain stopped between stations.
Some cars are still hanging there today.
The Lions Gate Bridge was abandoned before sunrise.
No one knows what happened to the last convoy crossing it.
Downtown Vancouver burned for eleven nights.
The Dragon circled above Coal Harbour,
its shadow stretching across Canada Place and the harbor below.
By the second week, there was no internet.
No government broadcasts.
No emergency services.
Only rumors.
People disappeared into basements, parking garages, and old utility tunnels beneath the city.
The rain never stopped.
The neon signs flickered for a while longer.
Then one by one they died too.
The streets belonged to fear.
The sky belonged to the Dragon.
And Vancouver became a ghost city waiting for a miracle.