MAD MEET MAYHEM

Apartment 6B. 10:42 PM. Rain tapped lazily against the window, as if even the sky was bored with the world. Inside the dim, cluttered room—empty soda cans, half-finished instant noodles, and clothes surrendering to gravity—Dmitry sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes fixed on an old TV that crackled with every lightning strike. On screen, two superpowers clashed. Threats wrapped in diplomatic smiles. Their words were polished, but their voices spread fear. The world held its breath, pretending not to know it was only a matter of time. “This is a violation of our sovereignty.” “We will respond accordingly. Immediate and decisive.” Dmitry shoveled noodles into his mouth without chewing. His gaze never left the screen. Not because he cared. But because watching the world slowly c***k… was strangely calming. “What’s the point? They won’t dare attack—just spewing empty threats for the cameras,” he muttered. “But… if they did fight, who’d win?” No one answered. Of course. He nodded slowly. “Exactly. The craziest ones are those still pretending to be sane.” He turned down the TV volume. The world was too loud tonight. His phone had died that morning. The internet vanished too. No alarms. No warnings. No one dared say everything was crumbling—slowly and silently. Outside, a shadowy figure staggered through the rain past his window. Limping. Hurt, or drunk. Maybe both. Then a scream. Short. Like static cutting off a broken radio. Dmitry barely glanced up. His eyes drifted to an empty plastic cup beside him. Silent. Calm. “Tsk… Maybe tomorrow the world will be better,”he said flatly. “…Or maybe it should just end.” The sky outside began to fade. Not into night. Into something darker than night. And Dmitry? He sipped the cold broth, then stood. His steps toward the bed were slow, heavy, hopeless—as if sleep was just another way to ignore reality. For a moment… he felt his turn to *shine* was almost here. He smirked. “Hmph.”