The night settled in heavier than usual, the kind that presses against the windows and seeps into the bones. Michael sat at his kitchen table, the dull hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. He'd been staring at the same cup of black coffee for nearly an hour, his mind restless. The system interface had been quiet all day no new updates, no sudden quests. Just silence. That silence bothered him more than anything.
In his years as a commander, Michael had learned that quiet usually meant something was about to break.
From across the yard, Joel's porch light flickered on. Michael saw his neighbor step out, a bottle of beer dangling from one hand. Joel leaned against the railing, staring out at the street as if the shadows themselves might bite. Michael could almost feel the man's unease from here.
Sarah came out a few minutes later, holding a blanket around her shoulders. She said something to Joel, her voice muffled by distance, then leaned against his arm. The sight softened Michael for a moment. They looked normal, like any father and daughter. But normal was a fragile thing these days.
Michael stood, walked outside, and leaned against his own porch post. Joel noticed, raised his beer slightly in greeting, and Michael nodded back.
"You ever get the feeling," Joel called quietly, "that something's not sittin' right with the world lately?"
Michael smirked faintly. "You mean besides the news screaming about riots, curfews, and contaminated crops?"
Joel huffed. "Yeah. Besides that."
Michael didn't answer right away. His instincts were screaming, the same instincts that had pulled him alive out of warzones when better men hadn't walked away. Something was brewing he didn't need a glowing blue interface to tell him that.
Instead, he walked over. Sarah waved politely when he reached the porch, and Joel handed him a beer.
"Appreciate it," Michael said, twisting the cap off. He wasn't much for drinking these days, but sometimes you needed the ritual.
They stood there a while, the three of them, staring out at the quiet street. A dog barked in the distance, sharp and nervous. Sarah eventually excused herself, muttering something about finishing homework, leaving the two men alone.
Joel broke the silence first. "Tommy called me this morning. Said Austin's gettin' locked down tighter than a drum. Curfews, checkpoints. He even saw a squad of soldiers dragging a family out of their house."
Michael frowned. "What reason?"
Joel shook his head. "Didn't get one. Just told me it's 'safety measures.'"
Michael felt a cold prickle along his neck. He didn't say it, but he knew what that meant: the government was scared. When governments got scared, soldiers followed orders without asking why.
Joel must've read the expression on his face, because he asked, "You know something I don't?"
Michael hesitated, weighing the cost of honesty. He couldn't exactly say, Yeah, I've got a strange system in my head feeding me data like a damn video game. Instead, he leaned on his background.
"I've seen this kind of buildup before," Michael said carefully. "Back overseas. When higher-ups know something bad is coming but don't want to start a panic. They lock everything down first, then try to spin it as control."
Joel cursed under his breath. "Hell of a comfort."
The two men fell quiet again. Michael's thoughts drifted back—memories he usually buried deep. Special ops missions in countries that never made the news. Streets lined with burned-out cars. Civilians caught in the crossfire because some politician thousands of miles away made a decision over a phone call. He'd walked away from that life because he thought he'd had enough.
And yet here he was again, staring down another storm.
The system flickered faintly at the edge of his vision:
[Passive Alert: Environmental Instability Rising. Probability of Societal Collapse within 120 Hours: 68%]
Michael squeezed the bottle harder than he meant to. He looked over at Joel, who was watching him with that same quiet suspicion. Joel was a man who didn't trust easily, but he wasn't stupid either. He could tell Michael was hiding something.
Before either of them could say more, the distant wail of sirens cut through the night. Not the usual one or two. This was a chorus, a rising storm of sound bleeding in from the highway. Joel stiffened, muttered a curse, and leaned over the railing.
On instinct, Michael's hand drifted to the knife clipped at his belt. Not much, but it was always there. He scanned the street, every shadow, every corner. Years of muscle memory, never forgotten.
After a minute, the noise faded, leaving only silence again. But it wasn't the peaceful kind. It was the kind that leaves your skin crawling.
Joel let out a slow breath. "Think we oughta check the news."
Michael nodded. "Yeah. Good idea."
Back inside his house, Michael flicked on the TV. Every channel was chaos. Grainy footage of riots, hospitals overflowing, soldiers in gas masks shoving civilians into trucks. Anchors with pale faces reading scripts they clearly didn't believe.
Sarah called from next door, her voice carrying faintly through the quiet night. "Dad? What's going on?"
Michael turned down the volume. He could almost picture Joel answering her with that steady, gruff reassurance he always used, even when he didn't believe his own words.
Michael looked at the system overlay again. The numbers had shifted.
[Environmental Instability Rising: 72%]
Time was running out.
He shut the TV off, sat back in the chair, and rubbed his face. A part of him wanted to go next door, tell Joel everything he suspected—the outbreak, the collapse, the fact that things were going to spiral faster than anyone could control. But how could he explain it without sounding insane?
Instead, he opened the small lockbox under his bed. Inside were the tools he'd sworn he'd never need again: a sidearm, a few spare mags, and a field knife older than Sarah. He ran his hand over the grip, feeling the weight of old choices settle back on his shoulders.
The storm was coming. And when it hit, no one on this street would be ready.
Except maybe him.
By morning, the neighborhood looked normal again. Kids biked past on their way to school, sprinklers ticked across green lawns, and mailboxes clanged shut. But Michael felt the tension humming beneath the surface. He saw the way parents glanced nervously at their phones, how police cruisers rolled slower than usual down the street.
Joel waved him over while loading lumber into the back of his truck. "Gonna head into town. Sarah's got a project comin' up, and the school's askin' for supplies. You need anything?"
Michael shook his head. "I'll pass. Crowds aren't where I want to be today."
Joel chuckled. "You and me both. But try tellin' that to a teenager."
Sarah leaned out the passenger window, giving Michael a bright grin. For a moment, the darkness in his chest lifted. She was too young, too innocent to be swallowed up by the kind of world he knew was coming.
As they drove off, Michael leaned against his porch rail, scanning the horizon. The system pulsed again.
[Event Chain Detected: Initial Outbreak Phase Approaching. Prepare Resources.]
Michael exhaled slowly. Whatever was coming, it wasn't far now. And when it hit, every choice he made would decide whether Joel, Sarah, and maybe even the whole neighborhood survived or burned with the rest of the world.