Mallory Greene was the kind of person who believed in living life the easy way. A self-proclaimed "couch potato extraordinaire," she had mastered the art of doing absolutely nothing while somehow keeping herself alive and reasonably well-fed. Her apartment was her sanctuary, a cozy one-bedroom retreat filled with mismatched furniture, a perpetually messy coffee table, and an alarming number of snack wrappers tucked behind the cushions of her oversized couch.

The morning the apocalypse began, Mallory had no idea anything unusual was happening. She was exactly where she wanted to be—buried under a mountain of blankets on her couch, binge-watching a drama series while cradling a half-empty bag of cheesy puffs. The chaos outside might as well have been on another planet.

She barely noticed the faint screaming in the distance, the sound blending seamlessly with the background noise of her show. A few thuds against her apartment door caught her attention, but she shrugged it off as her neighbor Jerry trying to borrow sugar again. She hated Jerry.

The real shock came when the power went out. Her TV screen flickered to black, the hum of her fridge faded, and the entire apartment fell into an unsettling silence.

"Are you kidding me?" Mallory groaned, tossing the empty snack bag onto the floor. She fumbled for her phone, ready to call the power company, but paused when the lights flickered back on a moment later.

Only now, things felt… different.

The fridge began to hum louder than usual, its internal light flickering erratically. Her apartment thermostat beeped on its own, adjusting itself to a comfortable 72 degrees. Even her aging microwave suddenly lit up, its digital display showing an unfamiliar message:

"System Initialization Complete. Welcome, Resident Mallory Greene."

Mallory blinked at the microwave, certain she was imagining things.

"Did I fall asleep on the remote again?" she mumbled. But before she could investigate, her phone buzzed with an emergency alert:

"Zombie outbreak confirmed. Seek shelter immediately. Avoid infected individuals."

For the first time that day, Mallory stood up. Shuffling to the window, she peeked through the curtains and froze.

The city outside was chaos. Smoke billowed from distant fires, people were screaming and running in every direction, and… were those zombies? A horde of staggering, snarling figures swarmed the streets below, their decayed faces and jerky movements straight out of a horror movie.

Mallory's mouth dropped open. "Oh, hell no."

She backed away from the window, her mind racing. Should she run? Barricade the door? Call someone for help? None of those options seemed appealing. Running required effort, and she didn't even own a hammer to properly barricade anything.

But as her panic began to rise, the apartment chimed. A soft, cheerful ding echoed through the living room. Turning toward the sound, Mallory saw a message appear on her TV screen:

"Threat Detected. Safe Zone Activated. Security Protocols Engaged."

Before she could process what that meant, a loud crash shook the hallway outside her door. Something—or someone—was pounding against it, growling and snarling. Mallory grabbed the nearest weapon she could find, which happened to be a half-empty soda can, and braced herself.

The pounding grew louder, but then, just as suddenly, it stopped. A faint hum filled the air, followed by another cheerful chime from her apartment. The TV screen updated:

"Intrusion Neutralized. Zone Secured."

Cautiously, Mallory crept to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty, except for a crumpled figure on the floor—a zombie, slumped over and motionless.

"What the…?" she whispered, her heart racing.

The apartment chimed again, almost as if it were responding to her confusion. A final message appeared on the TV:

"Relax, Resident Mallory Greene. Your safety is guaranteed."

She stared at the screen, then at the zombie outside her door, then back at the screen. Slowly, she lowered the soda can and shuffled back to her couch.

"Well," she said, sinking into the cushions. "I guess I'm staying home."

Mallory reached for a new bag of chips, flipped her TV to a rerun of her favorite sitcom, and decided to wait out the apocalypse from the comfort of her living room.

Because if her apartment was going to protect her and restock her snacks, why bother doing anything else?