"My days are like dreams."
A man opened his eyes in the middle of something — making breakfast, singing in the shower, or picking up a bundle of newspapers dumped on the front lawn.
It was a strange habit of his.
Papers from across the world — different languages, different symbols, truths and lies. He gathered them, brought them to the table, and poured himself a cup of coffee.
He wore a suit and tie like a gentleman. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he dragged a chair and table to the center of the empty road outside.
Sat. Sipped. Read.
It was night. Silent.
He flipped through the pages slowly, savoring their voices — politics, science, war, panic, hope.
Then he stopped at a headline. His eyes locked onto the bold letters:
"THE MOON ON COLLISION COURSE WITH EARTH! DOES HUMANITY FINALLY MEET ITS END?"
The picture showed a swollen moon, looming like an omen. Out of curiosity, he raised the paper and glanced up.
And there it was — the moon, hanging heavy in the sky. Larger than life. Larger than the picture. A third of the sky devoured by that pale, cratered giant.
Then the man shook his head slowly.
As if he knew it wasn't true.
"Humanity — no, humans — will not die. At least… not because of the moon," he mumbled calmly.
As he lowered the paper, he saw it.
A dot in the sky.
Gray. Small.
Falling.
Straight toward him.
Still, he took another sip.
BOOOOOOM.
A distant explosion tore through the night.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a mushroom cloud bloom, painting the darkness in nuclear fire.
He stood, looking up again.
It was close now. Too close.
He smiled.
"I was right," he whispered, just before the light consumed everything.
---
Yellow opened his eyes with a sharp breath.
"No…"
He whispered. Then — one swift motion.
The knife plunged into the neck of the man before him.
Blood spattered across Yellow's face in hot streaks. He didn't flinch. He smiled.
What followed after…
He prayed it was a dream.
Just a dream with a terrible ending.
---
Day 7655. Eden — City of Immortals.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Yellow! Hey, Yellow, open the door, man!"
Yellow groaned in bed, his brain still fogged.
More banging.
"Hey man, you alive in there?"
He cracked one eye open. "Why all the noise this early..."
Stretching with a yawn, he reached for the watch buried under wrappers and coins.
"Ten o'clock?! Shit."
Sleep vanished. He shot out of bed and scrambled to find a halfway-clean shirt and pants that didn't smell like death.
Then came the voice again — too cheerful to be casual.
"You weren't waking up, so I came myself. I didn't come alone…"
Yellow froze mid-buckle.
"I brought some first-class beef and pork."
Pork?
He hated pork.
And Alex knew that.
"I didn't come alone…"
"Pork…"
"Pig."
His eyes narrowed. He turned slowly toward the window.
Silhouettes. Moving.
Guards.
"That bastard wasn't alone… and this was his house. Why is he asking me to open the door?"
His fingers stilled. He shoved a chair under the doorknob. Locked.
Then turned toward the bag in the corner — heavy, lumpy, full of last night's spoils.
He fished through the small pond of gold and jewels.
"Where is it…?"
Finally, he found it — a small gold ring.
"Bingo."
He dragged another chair to the center and stood on it, pulling the heavy bag up with him.
The ceiling above — a wooden panel. A weak spot he and Alex had made years ago. Emergency exit.
He pushed it open. Peeked out.
---
Outside, Eden's guards had surrounded the house.
Shotguns in hand. Eyes scanning the neighborhood.
Alex stood in front, grocery bag still in hand. Hesitant. Worried.
Across the street, their captain leaned against a wall, cigarette between his teeth. His patience dying faster than the light in his eyes.
Twelve hours. That's all he had to find the thief.
Inner district burglary? A death sentence if unsolved.
Then the captain saw it.
A boy. Yellow hair catching the breeze. Blue eyes peeking out of the roof.
And a bag beside him — bulging and stubborn, refusing to follow him out.
The captain squinted. His mouth twitched.
"HE'S ON THE FUCKING ROOF!"
Everyone froze — the guards, Alex, and Yellow himself.
'Why scream like that? Did they not teach stealth in the Academy?' Yellow thought.
But hey — their stupidity gave him freedom. He didn't mind.
He gave the bag one final pull and hauled it over the roof.
The guards finally sprang to life.
One climbed up. Another broke formation to flank. Alex ran, meat bag still in hand — he must've been caught mid-grocery.
"Good luck, Yellow," he muttered as he bolted.
The captain didn't stop him. The yellow-haired one was the prize.
Yellow slung the bag over his shoulder. The wind hit his face like a slap.
All around him: flat, rectangular rooftops stretching out like a maze of metal and stone.
He chose a direction.
Tightened his legs.
And ran.
"WHOOOOAAAAAH!" he howled, his voice soaring as he jumped from roof to roof.