"Hello, everyone... hey. Welcome. This is... recording 2208, tape 2208. The streak remains unbroken!" A man, seated at a cluttered desk, continued to record himself. "So... nothing noteworthy today—yet! We might have promising news regarding the new cancer treatment... we're edging closer, we think, to our... goal." His words faltered, a flicker of doubt seeping into his voice.

He cast a fleeting glance at his reflection in a mirror—its corners crudely chipped away, as if some violence had once been visited upon it. Just for a second, his gaze locked onto his own growing dread, the green of his irises shrinking as his pupils dilated, consuming the space with a darkness that mirrored the chaotic thoughts in his mind. His disheveled black hair, damp from the day's anxiety, fell limply over his brow.

"S-So... I think that's it for now. Yeah, I know this one's short, but I really don't know what else to say," he muttered, sweat beading on his forehead. "I spend all my time buried in research here, so if there's no breakthrough... nothing to talk about. Bye, guys." He ended the recording abruptly, his hand shaking, his movements stilted and erratic.

"You see that bird over there...?"

"Hm, yeah, and?"

"Isn't it... beautiful...?"

"Man, it's just a crow. What's wrong with you today?"

"A crow... shadow swallowing the sunlight... yeah... right?"

"Hey! Tyler, Simon! I can stop talking if I'm interrupting."

"Sorry, miss."

Simon and Tyler were eerily similar in appearance—both with messy black hair, almost identical facial structures, and lanky frames around 6'1". If not for the difference in personality—and the color of their eyes—they could have passed for brothers.

Simon had always been the quiet one, his gaze often distant, as if his thoughts were floating just out of reach. He had his odd moments, but people trusted him. He was sharp, observant. He took after his father in nearly every way—hair, body type... except for his eyes, which were an icy blue like his mother's. His father's had been green. Simon had always dreamed of becoming a scientist, just like his father.

Tyler, on the other hand, was more volatile. He couldn't sit still, always causing minor disruptions, little rebellions. His eyes were a deep brown, matching both of his parents'. People trusted Tyler too, but only Simon truly confided in him. Tyler had a way of letting things slip—secrets, promises—but not Simon's. They were inseparable.

The bell rang, four minutes after the crow incident. The history teacher rolled up the map of World War II as the students filtered out of the classroom.

"What do you think of conflicts, Tyler?"

"Wha—? You've asked me that like, three times already," Tyler said, caught off guard.

"Yeah... but still?"

"I mean, they're bad, obviously... but they're also inevitable. It's how the world keeps evolving... progress, right?"

"Yeah... I guess so..." Simon hesitated, wanting to ask more, but Tyler had already slipped away, moving quickly, as if compelled by some unseen urgency. Moments like these were common.