The virus was quiet at first. A mere glitch in the system. But over time, it spread.
It started small—appliances acting strange, lights flickering, the heater running full blast even in the summer. At first, people shrugged it off, blaming faulty wiring or the occasional freak accident. Then, the calls began.
A fridge that wouldn't stop running. A dishwasher that wouldn't stop spinning. Phones froze, then shut down completely. The news tried to downplay it. But everyone knew something was wrong.
Jessie sat in her apartment, staring at her phone. She hadn't spoken to anyone in days. The world felt like it was collapsing into a quiet, suffocating madness. Outside, the streets were dark, like they always were now. The hum of a distant generator filled the silence. She checked the news again. No new updates.
Her refrigerator was on the fritz again. It hummed loudly, as though it was trying to eat the entire kitchen. The blinking light on her microwave never stopped. It kept flashing that same, insistent, blue light. Jessie stood up. She moved toward the microwave and tried to open it. The door wouldn't budge. It felt like someone was holding it shut on the other side.
Her hand shook as she tried again, her palm slick with sweat. There was nothing to see—just the microwave and its endless cycle of blinking lights.
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the apartment. The refrigerator door flew open by itself, the shelves rattling, the food spilling out onto the floor. Jessie jumped back, heart racing. A metallic screech followed, and the fridge door slammed shut.
She backed away from it, her pulse hammering in her throat. The kitchen had never felt this cold.
"God," she muttered, trying to steady herself, "this is insane."
Her phone buzzed. A new message from a friend, but it wasn't a message. Just a link to a live stream, a glitchy feed showing a room full of blinking devices, all going haywire. Nothing made sense.
The camera was shaking, blurry, like whoever was filming couldn't hold it still. Then, the image went black. Static. A voice crackled from the speakers, barely audible: "It's everywhere. It's taking over."
Jessie's stomach lurched. She sat down on the couch, gripping her phone. Her hands were clammy. The whole world was falling apart and no one seemed to be able to stop it. She had to get out. Had to find someone. But there was no one left to find. Everyone was in the same mess.
The phone buzzed again. This time, a video call. Her mother's face appeared on the screen.
"Mom?" Jessie asked, her voice low.
But it wasn't her mom. Not exactly. The face was twisted, her mouth stretched wide in a grotesque, jagged smile. Her eyes were wide, but they didn't look like eyes anymore. They were just empty sockets.
The voice that came from the screen was unmistakable, though, as if the virus had learned to speak.
"Jessie... it's time," the thing said. It wasn't her mother, but it used her voice.
The lights flickered again. The apartment was suddenly colder. The noise from the microwave grew louder, like something was trying to break free from inside it. The fridge door began rattling again, its sound shaking the floor beneath her feet.
"Mom? What happened to you?" Jessie barely managed to say.
The figure on the screen didn't respond. Instead, its lips twisted into a sick grin. A sharp crack rang out behind Jessie. She turned.
The lights in the apartment went out.
Jessie stood there in the dark. The sounds of appliances malfunctioning surrounded her. The microwave screamed. The fridge clanged open and shut on its own, over and over, each sound more violent than the last. The noise was deafening. There was nothing but noise.
Her phone screen flickered, showing the same twisted face. Her mother's face. It stared at her, still silent, still grinning. Jessie's stomach twisted as something inside her broke.
And then, the microwave exploded.
Jessie screamed, stumbling backward into the wall. Flames shot up in front of her. Heat scorched her skin. Her hands reached up, trying to protect herself, but there was no escaping the fire that had taken over her world. Every light in the apartment flickered once more before going out completely.
Her breath came in panicked gasps. She couldn't feel the air. She couldn't breathe. The heat suffocated her. She coughed. Her lungs burned. She felt the floor beneath her shift, heard the faintest creak as the walls began to collapse.
It was over. She knew it was over.
The lights had all gone out now, but her phone screen still glowed dimly. Her mother's face, grinning like a thing that wasn't human, was the last thing she saw before everything around her collapsed.