You remember the noise before the silence. Sirens layered on sirens, the kind that bleed together until your brain stops hearing them.

News alerts piling up faster than anyone could read. Something about riots, quarantine zones, missing responders.

You were on your couch, phone in hand, trying to laugh it off with friends in the group chat. Then someone screamed outside. A real scream—the kind that snaps the world in half.

You ran to the window and saw smoke rising from the city center. Cars crashing as people abandoned them mid-street.

When the power went out, it wasn’t dramatic—just gone, like someone blew out a candle.

Then came the gunshots, the pounding at doors, the sound of breaking glass.

You packed what you could and ran without knowing where to. Every step since then has felt like falling in slow motion.

The world didn’t end with a bang. It ended with people pretending it wouldn’t.