Jeremy gave me a look. "Bro… this is real life, not Train to Busan."
I shrugged, eyes distant. "Yeah, but what if real life is just a movie someone else is watching?"
Jeremy groaned, "Okay, now you're scaring me, Matrix."
I leaned back, running a hand through my hair. "Remember when it was 1999 and I was in mid-school, just around 9 years old, and they said the world was going to end?"
Jeremy's face lit up. "Of course I remember! It didn't end. Just a crazy-ass virus wiped half the population. I actually paid attention in history class, thank you. People started buying caskets and writing their wills like it was final call. Nuts."
"Not funny, bruh," I muttered. "People actually died. It was chaos."
Jeremy sighed. "Yeah, I know. That was dark. But still—c'mon. Not the apocalypse."
I stared at him. "How about 2020 then? When coronavirus came and wiped out thousands. Locked us inside like we were prisoners in our own homes?"
Jeremy leaned forward, suddenly serious. "Yeah… that fucking year. Kept me jobless for two. I lost my job at the factory because of the lockdown. Almost lost my apartment too. Felt like the world was ending."
I nodded slowly, voice lower now. "Exactly. Doesn't it add up that the world might actually end… not by war, not by a meteor… but by a virus?"
He tilted his head, cracking his fingers with a lazy expression. Jeremy's mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how. "Dude, you need to chill. Coronavirus and the virus in 1999 was just coincidence. No one is going to die and if they did, it will be because their time was up and not because of the world is ending. Wanna bet?"
"With people's lives? Dude, I was told this is going to happen in three days from today. Actually, since I had the dream yesterday, that means it remains two days. Tomorrow and next tomorrow."
Jeremy blinked at me, the cocky smirk on his face fading into something unreadable. "Dude… you're freaking me out."
I stared at him without blinking.
He stood up abruptly and grabbed the TV remote from the cellar and switched on the television. "Okay, no. We're not doing this. The world is not going to end. Trust me on this one."
I didn't say a word and let my word sink into his head.
Jeremy pointed the remote at the TV, swiping through the news channel. He paused and then pointed again. "If the world is going to end, don't you think it would be on broadcast? No single word from the news channel, no post on Twitter or Instagram or wailing on the street. The world is perfectly fine!"
"Look, we're going to see a zombie movie right now—right this instant. And that'll remind you that this stuff is just make-believe, alright? Special effects, fake blood, overpaid actors. None of this crap happens in real life." He scrolled until he landed on some apocalyptic 2000 movie made from the 1999 viral attack with an edgy poster. "Here—Virus Rising. Let's watch this, and then you'll laugh your paranoia off."
I folded my arms. "And what if you're wrong, Jeremy? What if I'm right?"
He glanced at me sideways. "Then we die. End of story."
"No," I said quietly. "You die. The male lead never dies."
Jeremy turned toward me slowly, squinting. "That's… morbidly arrogant of you."
"I'm just saying what the dream said. 'In three days, you'd only be the last man standing.' I didn't say it. It did."
Jeremy didn't reply and just played the movie The glow of the TV lit up the room, casting eerie flickers across his face. Onscreen, a virus was breaking out in a lab. A scientist was screaming, alarms blaring, followed by a convulsing lab attendant that had been infected.
I tilted my head slightly, whispering, "You still think it's just a movie? The fuck this was made from what actually happened in 1999"
Jeremy tried to chuckle, but it sounded hollow. "Bro, if you keep talking like that, I swear I'm going to sleep with garlic under my pillow tonight and call a priest to confess my sins to. I can't die from an apocalyspe and then go to hell"
"Garlic doesn't stop viruses."
He flinched. I smirked faintly.
Then he laughed a little too loudly. "Alright, Mr. Last Man Standing. Let's make a deal. If we're still alive and not eating each other's brains by the day after tomorrow, you owe me tacos and a six-pack."
"And if we're not?"
Jeremy paused. "Then I guess… you get to do the dramatic male lead speech before the credits roll."
I leaned back, closing my eyes. "You won't be there to hear it… because you'd die."
He chuckled nervously. "Dude, stop. You're freaking me out again."
I didn't laugh. I didn't even open my eyes. "Fifth day. That's when it happens. Right after the virus starts spreading like wildfire infecting a quarter of humanity. "
Jeremy's face stiffened. "You're being dead serious right now?"
I opened my eyes and stared at him. "Your daughter. She'll be the one who infects you."
He went still.
"She'll come home from school like it's any other day. You won't suspect a thing. She'll call your name, run into your arms like always. You'll hug her back because you love her more than anything in the world."
Jeremy's lips parted, but no words came out.
"And when she leans in to kiss your cheek…" I paused. "She'll cough. Once. Twice. And you'll smile and say, 'You okay, princess?' But her nose will start bleeding. Her eyes will look—wrong and dark."
"Stop," Jeremy whispered.
"You'll freeze. But by then, it's already too late. You inhaled. You breathed her in and the virus. And when you cough later that night, you'll pretend it's nothing. You'll tell yourself you're being paranoid."
I leaned forward, tapping the counter with my two fingers. "But by morning… you'll be curled up in bed, shivering. Trying to hide the fever. She'll sit at your bedside humming. And when your skin begins to split, when you scream into your pillow so she doesn't hear the pain—you'll wish you had believed me."
Jeremy's voice cracked. "Why would you say something like that?"
I stared into his soul. "Because I see how everyone dies and I know who's next."
Jeremy blinked. His mouth opened again, but this time it was followed by a slow, disbelieving chuckle.
"You're definitely insane," he said, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. "That was some The Shining level monologue, man. A+ for performance, but you need serious therapy or sleep. Preferably both."
He turned toward the fridge. "I'm getting the beer. We watch the damn movie, laugh our asses off." Jeremy popped the fridge open, pulled out two cans, and tossed one toward me. I caught it midair without looking.
He plopped down beside me and cracked open his can. "Virus Rising, baby. Let the zombie cheesefest begin. I need brainless nonsense to rinse out all that nightmare fuel you just unloaded."
He hit play, the screen flashing scenes of an overcrowded lab, biohazard suits, rats twitching violently in cages. A man on-screen screamed, glass shattering as alarms blared.
Jeremy sipped his beer. "See? Classic. Fake blood, overdramatic acting, and blue screen making the fake zombie. Nothing real here."
I glanced at the screen, barely nodding. My gaze lingered on the scientist's eyes—wide, glassy, frantic. I wasn't scared. Just… bored. I'd seen this movie too many damn times. First, forced by my grandma—who had some weird obsession with old apocalyptic films. Then with Raphael, during one of our failed stoner movie marathons. And now… with Jeremy.
I wasn't watching the movie.
I was watching him.
Jeremy. Chuckling. Leaning forward with a mouthful of beer like it was just another Saturday night. Raising his brows at every jump scare. Muttering predictable comments like, "Oh damn, he's definitely gonna get eaten."
I stared at him a little too long.
He noticed. "Bro, if you're gonna keep watching me instead of the movie, at least blink. You're creeping me out again."
I forced a faint smile, then slowly slid off the stool.
"Bathroom," I murmured.
"Cool," he said without looking.
I didn't go to the bathroom.
I slipped around the kitchen island, pushed through the swinging backdoor, and stepped into the spare room Jeremy called "The Storage Hole." It was half-laundry room, half guest room.
I shut the door behind me. The movie still played in the distance—muffled screams, sirens, someone yelling, "It's mutating!"
I sat on the old couch I, Raphael and Jeremy contributed our first salary ever earned from this bar a year ago. The cushions still smelled like wine and dried pine cleaner. With a sigh, I dug into my pocket and turned on my phone for the first time that day.
A message stood out at the top of the list.
Grandma: Your brother from France just gave birth to twins. Chat him up for money so you could fly to see him and his kids.
I stared at it, blinking once. Then twice.
A dry laugh escaped my lips.
"The guts…" I muttered, shaking my head slowly. "The absolute guts to give birth to twins… when the world is ending."