Orion had his headphones on, nodding to some lo-fi beats, a spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other. The eggs sizzled like they had something to prove.
"Yo, you want cheese or not?" he called out, glancing over his shoulder.
"No cheese," came the reply from the small, cozy dining nook. Leah sat cross-legged on the chair, her notebook open and a bunch of messy sketch lines already filling the page.
"Classic," Orion muttered with a smirk. He turned back to the pan. "One day, you'll regret not choosing cheese. But hey, live your truth."
Their apartment wasn't anything fancy. Just a 1.5 BHK unit buried somewhere in the middle floors of a stacked high-rise in Southeast Asia. But it had warm yellow walls, a fridge covered in dumb magnets, and a window that let in just enough sun to make the couch look like the VIP lounge for naps.
Leah was a sophomore, fifteen and already more talented than he'd ever be. She loved sketching weird hybrid animals—today looked like a giraffe with jet thrusters.
Orion plated the eggs, tossed some bread on the side, and dropped the plate in front of her like it was a fine-dining experience.
"Madam," he said with a mock bow.
"Your presentation lacks drama," she replied without looking up.
"Next time I'll wear a tux," he said, flopping onto the couch and grabbing his controller.
The startup screen for Eclipse Protocol VII lit up the screen. He hadn't played this one in ages, and his break from college meant he could finally get some guilt-free grind time in. Classes were on pause. No assignments, no projects, no awkward eye contact with instructors who couldn't remember your name.
It was kind of nice. For now.
Leah munched her breakfast while adding sparkles to the tail of her giraffe jet-thing. The TV beeped as Orion's character dropped into a post-apocalyptic arena full of zombies and bad decisions.
Then he paused the game.
"Okay," he said, turning toward the imaginary camera that didn't exist in the real world. "Time out."
Yep, fourth wall: shattered.
"I know what you're thinking. 'Bro, isn't Earth wrecked? Why's this dude playing video games and making eggs like it's a Saturday morning in 2020?'"
He leaned back, one arm over the backrest, still holding the controller like it was part of his soul.
"Well, yeah. Earth's kinda wrecked. You've probably heard the usual story—volcanic winters, megatsunamis, quakes that flipped cities like pancakes. And sure, 75% of the population got wiped out like someone pressed a reset button too hard. But that's just the symptom."
He tapped his temple.
"Here's the real tea. Governments? Not as clueless as they pretended to be. They were poking into stuff they weren't supposed to—hunting down alien artifacts, secret tech, lost civilizations. Playing Indiana Jones meets Area 51."
A small smile tugged at the edge of his lips.
"There was this cold war vibe, except it was hot. Like, really hot. Behind the scenes, all these powerhouses were beefing in secret over who could unlock the next level of humanity first. So naturally, nature had enough. Like, 'You know what? Y'all gotta chill.' And boom—Collapse."
Orion gave the camera a dramatic shrug.
"Now, here we are. Just vibing."
The game resumed with a beep as he sent his character sprinting across a ruined city.
Leah looked up. "You talking to yourself again?"
"Talking to the void," Orion replied. "The void listens."
She rolled her eyes and went back to her drawing.
They had it down to a rhythm—this brother-sister dance of normalcy in a world that had stopped being normal before she could even remember it.
Their parents had died five years ago in Japan. A tsunami had hit while they were visiting extended family. Orion and Leah had stayed behind for school. It was supposed to be a temporary thing.
Now it was permanent.
He didn't talk about it much. Leah didn't either. They had pictures on the wall and some old videos on a hard drive. That was enough to keep the ghosts from getting too loud.
"Hey," Leah said suddenly, breaking the silence, "do you think giraffes would've survived the Collapse?"
Orion squinted at the screen. "Only if they learned to fly."
"Working on it," she replied, scribbling in jet turbines on its knees.
The morning drifted on. Outside, the filtered sun poked through the smog, painting everything in soft oranges and dusty whites. Drones buzzed past the window every so often, scanning buildings or delivering packages. Far below, the city's skeletal remains intertwined with neon scaffolds and regrowth tech—trees grafted onto steel, vines woven into power cables.
The Collapse hadn't just ended things. It had twisted them. The world now was part relic, part prototype.
Orion's phone buzzed beside him.
[Notice: Food Distribution Schedule Changed. Check app for updates.]
He swiped it away. Stuff like that came up all the time. Rations. Curfews. Environmental warnings. It was the background noise of life now.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the next big thing to drop.
"You finish your homework?" he asked Leah, just to mess with her.
"I'm drawing a rocket-giraffe, that is homework," she replied flatly.
"Can't argue with genius," Orion said, and dropped back onto the couch.
The screen flickered for a moment. Just for a second, his character moved before he pressed the button.
Orion frowned.
"Glitch?" he muttered, checking his controller.
The screen was normal again. Just lag. Probably.
Still, for half a heartbeat, it felt like something else. Like the game was watching him back.
But nah.
He turned the volume up and kicked his feet up, content to let the day drift by.