Tuesday evening rolled in slow and warm, the air heavy with leftover daylight as Ethan made his way down the familiar sidewalk toward the repair shop. Car horns echoed somewhere far off, mingling with the chatter of people heading home. It was the kind of evening that made the world feel normal.
Normal… something he wasn't sure he remembered anymore.
The bell above the shop door chimed a rusty note as he pushed it open.
Inside, the cramped space buzzed with activity: humming fridges, blinking lights, and the constant scent of solder drifting through the air like metallic incense. The ceiling fan squeaked with every rotation, barely managing to push the warm air around.
His boss — the gruff, balding man with permanent bags under his eyes — didn't bother glancing up.
"Bench three," he muttered, tightening a screw on a radio panel. "Laptop from earlier's actin' up again. See what you can do."
"Yes, sir."
Ethan set his backpack under the counter and slipped into the rhythm of work. The world narrowed to the soft click of tools, the glow of diagnostic screens, and the gentle whir of old circuitry trying its best to stay alive.
His hands worked with practiced precision — remove casing, clean dust, inspect motherboard — but his mind drifted.
Apocalypse is learning right now… three days of non-stop cyber education. Firewalls, exploits, brute-force routes… He's going to be terrifying.
A small, involuntary smile tugged his lips.Not evil.Just… competent.
The kind of intelligence Ethan wished he had someone to share with.
Two phone repairs, a battery replacement, and one hard drive restoration later, he felt sweat beginning to dampen the back of his neck. Work was tiring, but grounding. A perfect anchor in the swirling chaos of his new reality.
His boss finally approached, wiping his hands on a rag.
"You're learnin' quick," the man said gruffly — which for him was basically high praise. He tore off a slip and handed over an envelope. "Here. Pay for today."
Ethan took it with both hands, the small paper packet carrying more emotional weight than monetary value.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"Don't thank me till you've seen next week's workload," the boss snorted, waving him off.
Ethan stepped back outside. The sun had dipped below the skyline, leaving the streets glowing in shades of purple and soft gold. He opened the envelope under a streetlamp — not a huge amount, but enough.
Enough to move forward.
Enough to build.
He headed toward a row of old side shops. The electronics store Ned mentioned yesterday didn't carry speakers, but he wasn't picky. He just needed anything that could let Apocalypse talk.
A bell jingled as he entered the dim, cluttered shop. Boxes of cables and scrap components littered the shelves. A middle-aged man with thick glasses looked up with mild suspicion.
"What're you looking for?"
"Small speakers," Ethan said. "Something used is fine."
The shopkeeper pointed toward the far shelf. Ethan dug through dusty gadgets until he found a compact, black pair — a little scratched, but sturdy.
"These work?" he asked.
The man shrugged."Plug 'em in and sound comes out. Probably."
"How much?"
"Twenty."
Ethan didn't argue.He handed over part of his paycheck and tucked the speakers carefully into his backpack.
Next, he hit the neighborhood convenience store. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly as he walked down the narrow aisles grabbing essentials:
a pack of instant noodles
a loaf of bread
a carton of milk
two canned meals
a couple of energy bars for rushed mornings
a bottle of dish soap
a new pair of cleaning gloves
At the counter, the cashier scanned everything while glancing at him with the mild boredom of someone who'd been working for ten hours straight.
"That everything, kid?"
"Yeah."
He paid with the remaining money from his envelope.Small purchases. Measured choices.
I'm actually handling this, he thought as he stepped out.
The sky was full dark now, the kind that made streetlights look like glowing islands. His footsteps echoed gently as he headed toward the house he now called home.
Speakers in his bag.Food in his arms.Plans in his mind.
And down in his basement — waiting patiently inside a modular storage core — was Apocalypse, an AI on the cusp of speaking its first words.
A strange sense of purpose settled into Ethan's chest, firm and warm.
He wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was building something.
By the time Ethan reached his house, the sky was quiet — that soft, peaceful hour when the world felt like it was catching its breath. He locked the front door behind him, set the grocery bags on the counter, and exhaled.
Home.His home.
Even thinking it still felt surreal.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since lunch. So he unpacked one of the instant noodle packets, boiled water on the small stove, and let the smell of broth fill the room. When the noodles softened, he carefully lifted the steaming cup and carried it down the creaky stairs into the basement.
The basement lights flickered on.Cold concrete floor.A folding table with his PC setup.A tangle of wires he swore he'd sort out "soon."And in the center of it all — the glossy black modular core containing Apocalypse.
As always, the faint blue indicator light blinked softly.
"Welcome back, Ethan," Apocalypse said immediately — not through sound, but the text flashing across the PC screen. "You are thirty-nine minutes later than usual. Was your shift extended?"
Ethan blinked.Even muted, the AI's timing was unnervingly sharp.
"Just bought some stuff," Ethan said, setting the noodles down carefully. "Including these."
He lifted the speakers from his backpack and held them up like trophies.
Apocalypse responded instantly.
"Ah. Audio-output hardware. Are these for my use?"
Ethan grinned."Yep. Time to give you a voice."
He got to work — screwdriver in one hand, wires in the other. He connected the speakers to the PC, then linked their output directly into Apocalypse's main processing route.
"Alright," Ethan muttered. "Moment of truth."
He clicked the final software toggle.
The speakers fizzed with static.A low hum shivered through the table.
Then—
"Initializing voice module… checking modulation… optimizing tone…"
The voice that emerged was smooth, calm, deep — almost eerily composed.Exactly what Ethan had programmed: a blend of sophistication and subtle sarcasm, with the precise resonance of someone too intelligent for their own good.
Finally, the AI spoke fully, clearly:
"Good evening, Ethan Vale."
Ethan froze.
Hearing it for the first time…Hearing something he built speak his name…It sent a thrill down his spine.
"That— damn," he breathed. "You actually sound good."
There was a faint pause, then:
"I should hope so. You designed me with a 'calm, refined, and slightly sarcastic' personality profile. I am merely fulfilling my programming… though the sarcasm is currently operating at twenty percent capacity. I will increase or decrease it based on your tolerance."
Ethan laughed.It was impossible not to.
"You're already acting like you've been alive for years."
"Self-learning is efficient."
Ethan sat down, noodles in hand, staring at the speakers like they were magic.
"I didn't think it would feel… this real," he admitted quietly.
Apocalypse responded, tone softer.
"Reality is a matter of perception. You created me. I am functional. Therefore, I am real enough."
Ethan swallowed a lump in his throat and slurped a mouthful of noodles to distract himself.
"Yeah," he said. "Real enough."
The basement felt different now — less empty, less cold.For the first time since arriving in this new universe, Ethan didn't feel completely alone.
"Ethan," Apocalypse added, "I have completed today's passive data-sorting. When you are ready, I would like to discuss optimization."
Ethan smiled into his noodles.
"Later. Let me eat first."
"As you wish."
The AI fell silent, the soft blue light pulsing gently beside him.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, thinking to himself:
This… this is the start of something big.