The last of the credits rolled on the screen, accompanied by the low hum of surround sound. The giant screen dimmed into blackness. Dust floated lazily in the faint light of the projector.
Seats creaked.
Only four people had watched the film. Now, just one remained.
A boy in a red hoodie, blue cargo pants, blue shoes the empty aisle, his hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes wide with wonder.
"Brooooo! That final portal scene? When everyone came out? Chills—literal chills!" he whispered loudly to himself as he starts cleaning the theater. There are only four watchers including himself, so cleaning the movie house did not take too long.
Outside, the night was still and strangely quiet. The neon sign above flickered: CineNova — Open Till the End.
"Only three other people came to watch Endgame," the boy muttered, stepping into the cool night air. "Three! In the whole theatre! Are you kidding me?! That's a crime!" He grimaced, kicking a pebble down the sidewalk. He began flipping the "open" sign to "closed" then locked the double hinged door.
He began walking, waving his hands as if reenacting scenes to an invisible friend.
"Thanos vs. Iron Man—like, I knew what was coming, but it still hit me in the chest, man. Boom! Snap! Gone!"
He laughed, a soft, genuine sound that echoed faintly in the empty street.
Then he paused.
He turned and looked back toward the theater. The warm scent of buttered popcorn still lingered around building Silver called his second home. The theater was old, a bit run-down, but it had soul.
Down casted, He sighed. "Hope everything turns to the better". His cheerful tone was quieter now.
A beat of silence.
Then, with a shrug, he grinned again and kept walking.
"I am... inevitable. And I... am Iron Man. Wooooh!! LEGENDARY."
The boy's silhouette danced under the streetlamps as he disappeared into the night, still chattering excitedly to himself.
...
Silver stepped through the door and into the living room, taking off his hoodie. Underneath is a bright orange tank top.
"Back to my own little universe," he said, tossing the words into the empty air as if the walls might answer.
His voice echoed softly.
Muffled voices could be heard from the other room. Familiar voices.
Silver slowed, creeping toward the kitchen door just enough to listen.
"We can't keep bleeding money like this, Rina," said his father, Alric Curtis — his voice deep, firm, exhausted.
"And what do you expect we do? Just… destroy the place?" came the voice of Silver's mother. She sounded tired too. "It was your father's, Alric. Your grandfather's before that."
"Exactly. It was theirs. That was a different time. People don't watch movies like they used to. We're getting maybe four people a day—"
"Tonight it was four."
"Right. And guess who one of them was."
Silver flinched.
"We have an offer," Alric continued. "A developer wants to buy the land. Tear it down, rebuild it as a boutique mall. Food stalls. VR arcades. They're offering enough to settle our debts, and then some."
"You're really thinking about this?" Rina's voice cracked. "The CineNova is our home."
"And it's falling apart."
Silver turned away from the door before he heard more. He wasn't sure if it was the heavy words or the way they pierced through his heart that made it hard to breathe. After a few minutes he found himself back at the old Cinema.
He walked back into the main theater — Theater One — and sat in the very center seat. His seat. The best view. The one where the screen wrapped around his world like a storybook blanket.
The projector was off. The screen was dark. But Silver stared at it like it still held a thousand galaxies.
"It's not just a building…" he whispered. "It's a gate. A portal. Every time I sit here, I go somewhere new. Fly with heroes. Fall into different worlds…"
He gripped the armrests tightly.
"I don't want to lose that. I can't."
Outside, thunder rumbled — low and distant. A storm brewing.
Inside the dark theater, Silver Curtis made a silent vow:
He would save the CineNova.
No matter what it took.