Aren didn't move for a long time.
Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, casting pale lines across the floor. Dust floated lazily in the air, illuminated like tiny drifting stars.
The sounds outside—traffic, distant horns, people talking—felt unreal, like noise leaking in from another world.
Or rather, from the past.
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. His heart had slowed, but it hadn't settled. It beat with a strange, uneven rhythm, as if his body hadn't yet accepted that it was alive again.
Day Zero.
That was what resistance planners had later called this day.
The last day before everything changed.
Aren raised his hands and studied them again.
No scars.
No calluses from years of weapon handling.
No faint tremor in his fingers from exhaustion that never truly went away.
His body felt lighter. Younger. Wrong.
He flexed his left arm slowly.
There was no pain.
No corruption crawling beneath the skin.
He swallowed.
It was real.
The screen hovered silently beside the bed, translucent blue and perfectly still.
[Maximizer System: Standby]
"So you're just going to sit there?" Aren muttered.
The screen responded instantly.
[Awaiting host directive.]
That simple line sent a chill down his spine.
In the old world, nothing waited for instructions. Everything broke, failed, or turned hostile. The idea of something obedient—something structured—felt unsettling.
Aren stood and crossed the room, stopping in front of the mirror mounted crookedly above his desk.
The man staring back at him was twenty-four.
He knew that without checking the date.
His face was lean but not yet hardened by starvation and loss. His eyes—still sharp—lacked the constant tension he'd carried for a decade. His hair was longer, messier, not yet cropped short for practicality.
He looked… normal.
Aren stared into his own reflection and felt a strange disconnect.
This version of me has no idea what's coming.
A flicker of memory rose unbidden.
Sirens.
Screaming.
The first breach report dismissed as a hoax.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
"Focus," he said aloud.
Normal pacing.
Normal actions.
If he moved too fast, he'd draw attention.
If he moved too slow, he'd waste the most valuable resource in existence.
Time.
He turned back to the screen.
"Explain your rules," Aren said.
The screen pulsed faintly.
[System Bound: Maximizer][Primary Function: Optimize host outcomes through informed decision-making.]
"That's vague," Aren said flatly.
[Clarification:]• No forced actions• No direct control• No guaranteed success
Aren frowned slightly.
"So you're not going to tell me what to do."
[Correct.]
"Or make me stronger."
[Growth is conditional.]
He let out a slow breath.
That made sense.
Nothing ever came free.
"What can you do?"
The screen refreshed.
[Available Functions:]• Risk Projection (Limited)• Outcome Comparison (Short-term)• Missed Opportunity Alerts• Growth Optimization Tracking
Aren's eyes narrowed.
"Limited how?"
[Data access restricted by timeline divergence.][The more events change, the less certainty is possible.]
That was important.
In other words, the moment he started altering major events, the future he remembered would begin to fracture.
Useful—but dangerous.
He nodded slowly.
"Alright. First priority?"
The system paused.
[Survival probability optimization suggests immediate environmental verification.]
"…In plain terms?"
[Confirm current date and location.]
Aren glanced at the desk.
His phone lay there, screen dark.
He picked it up, fingers brushing over smooth glass that hadn't been cracked and replaced with scavenged parts three times over.
The lock screen lit up.
June 14th.
Ten years ago, to the day.
He stared at it longer than necessary.
This was the day before the first confirmed breach.
Before the emergency broadcasts.
Before the world learned a new definition of fear.
A knock sounded at the door.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Aren flinched.
His body reacted before his mind—muscles tightening, breath catching. It took a second for him to force himself to relax.
"Yeah?" he called.
The door opened slightly.
"Hey, you alive in there?" a familiar voice asked. "You're going to be late."
Late.
The word felt absurd.
Aren stood and opened the door fully.
The man outside was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a jacket slung casually over one arm. His hair was neatly trimmed, his expression relaxed.
Marcus Hale.
His roommate.
In the future, Marcus had died on the seventeenth day of the Collapse, crushed under debris during an evacuation gone wrong.
Aren's throat tightened.
"…Morning," Aren said carefully.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You look like hell. Didn't sleep?"
"No," Aren admitted.
"Figures. Coffee?"
Aren hesitated.
So many responses flashed through his mind—warnings, plans, things Marcus wouldn't understand yet.
Normal pacing.
Normal.
"Yeah," he said. "Give me a minute."
Marcus shrugged. "Hurry up. You said you'd help with the presentation."
The door closed.
Aren leaned against the frame, eyes shut.
He's alive.
That alone was dangerous.
People were variables now.
Every saved life would change something else.
He straightened and grabbed his jacket.
As he stepped into the hallway, the Maximizer System flickered briefly.
[Missed Opportunity Detected][Emotional leverage available: HIGH]
Aren stopped.
"…Don't," he warned quietly.
The alert vanished.
He exhaled.
So you're like that.
Downstairs, the café buzzed with early-morning activity. The smell of coffee and warm bread filled the air. People laughed. Complained. Scrolled through news feeds that still believed the world was stable.
Aren took it all in with unsettling clarity.
This was what they'd lost.
He sat across from Marcus, fingers wrapped around a paper cup.
"Presentation's at ten," Marcus said. "After that, I'm free. You still up for hitting the gym later?"
The gym.
Another memory surfaced—crowded shelters, ration lines, bodies wrapped in sheets.
"Maybe," Aren said. "Depends how the day goes."
Marcus snorted. "You sound dramatic."
Aren didn't reply.
His phone buzzed.
A notification.
BREAKING NEWS: UNIDENTIFIED ATMOSPHERIC DISTURBANCE REPORTED — OFFICIALS INVESTIGATING
His grip tightened.
That was early.
He hadn't expected it this soon.
The Maximizer System pulsed.
[Risk Projection Updated][Local anomaly probability: RISING][Recommended action: OBSERVE]
Aren looked out the café window at the calm street beyond.
People walked by, unaware.
The world wasn't ending today.
Not yet.
But it had started.
He took a slow sip of coffee, eyes steady.
"Guess I'll skip the gym," he said quietly.
Marcus laughed. "Your loss."
Aren didn't smile.
Day Zero isn't peaceful, he thought.
It's just quiet enough to lie to you.