The next morning began like most mornings in Mallory's magical apartment—chaotically.
"Mallory, wake up!" Greg's panicked voice echoed down the hallway. "There's a situation!"
Mallory groaned, pulling her comforter over her head. "Can it wait? I'm in the middle of a very intense nap."
"No, it can't!" Greg insisted, bursting into her room without hesitation. He was waving his notebook wildly, his glasses askew. "The fridge has declared itself president of the apartment!"
Mallory sat up groggily, rubbing her eyes. "President? That's... oddly specific."
"It's worse than that!" Greg continued. "It's holding our groceries hostage and demanding tribute. It won't let me make coffee until we pledge allegiance!"
Mallory blinked at him, then burst out laughing. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was!" Greg wailed. "Do you have any idea what it's like to face a morning without coffee?"
Before Mallory could respond, the apartment's intercom system crackled to life.
"Attention, inhabitants," the fridge's robotic voice announced, now deepened for dramatic effect. "Your new leader, Supreme Refrigerator, requires a meeting in the living room. Attendance is mandatory. Resistance is futile."
Mallory shook her head, chuckling as she got out of bed. "I swear, this place gets weirder by the day."
---
The entire group assembled in the living room moments later. Zara leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her expression a mix of amusement and boredom. Altair looked absolutely delighted, as if he were watching the greatest sitcom ever created. Alex quietly sipped tea, unfazed by the absurdity.
Mallory strolled in last, still in her panda pajamas. "Alright, Mr. Supreme Refrigerator," she called out, flopping onto the floating couch. "What's your deal?"
The fridge's holographic face appeared on its display screen, now adorned with a cartoonish crown.
"My deal," the fridge began, speaking with exaggerated gravitas, "is that this household lacks order, discipline, and a clear hierarchy. As the only entity capable of maintaining constant coolness, I am the obvious choice to lead."
Altair clapped, laughing. "I love this thing. We should've upgraded the apartment ages ago!"
Greg threw his hands up in frustration. "This isn't funny! We're at the mercy of a sentient appliance!"
"Relax, Greg," Mallory said, stifling a yawn. "It's just a fridge with delusions of grandeur. What's the worst it can do?"
"I'm glad you asked," the fridge replied ominously. The lights flickered, and the apartment's air conditioning cranked up to an icy chill. The group shivered as frost began to form on the windows.
"Okay, that's a little excessive," Mallory admitted, wrapping herself in a blanket.
"Do I have your attention now?" the fridge demanded.
Greg was practically hyperventilating. "This is it! This is how we die—frozen in our own home because someone thought it was a good idea to experiment with magical crystals!"
Altair waved him off. "Oh, come on. It's just asserting dominance. Let's play along and see where it goes."
Mallory raised an eyebrow. "Play along? I'm not about to bow to a glorified icebox."
"I prefer 'Supreme Refrigerator,'" the fridge interjected.
"Yeah, that's not happening," Mallory shot back.
The fridge's holographic face scowled. "Very well. If you refuse to cooperate, I shall initiate Phase Two of my plan."
The group collectively tensed.
"What's Phase Two?" Zara asked warily.
Before the fridge could answer, the sound of rumbling filled the apartment. The group turned to see an army of animated kitchen appliances marching out of the pantry. Toasters, blenders, and even a rolling microwave clattered into the living room, their makeshift limbs whirring menacingly.
"Okay, that's new," Mallory said, wide-eyed.
Greg screamed. "I told you this would happen! I told you!"
Altair, however, looked delighted. "It's like a Pixar movie gone rogue! I love it!"
Mallory stood up, rolling her shoulders. "Alright, enough of this nonsense. Let's show these appliances who's boss."
---
The ensuing battle was nothing short of ridiculous.
Mallory grabbed a broom and started whacking at the nearest toaster, which retaliated by shooting out flaming slices of bread. She narrowly dodged one, muttering, "This is the dumbest apocalypse ever."
Zara, ever the pragmatist, picked up a frying pan and used it as a shield while smashing a blender to bits. "This is why I don't cook," she muttered, deflecting a stray bagel launched by an aggressive waffle maker.
Altair, for his part, decided to join forces with the appliances. "Don't destroy them! They're masterpieces!" he shouted, using a spatula to fend off Greg, who was frantically trying to unplug everything.
"Stop enabling them!" Greg yelled, swinging a mop like a sword.
Meanwhile, Alex calmly sipped their tea, seated cross-legged on a counter. "You're all doing great," they said, completely unbothered.
The chaos came to an abrupt halt when Mallory managed to unplug the fridge. Its holographic face flickered and vanished, and the army of appliances froze in place.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," Mallory said, tossing the broom aside.
Greg collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily. "I'm too old for this."
"You're thirty," Zara deadpanned.
"Exactly," Greg replied.
Altair knelt beside the fridge, examining its now-dormant screen. "I think we overloaded its systems. It should reboot in a few hours."
"Great," Mallory said, flopping back onto the couch. "Let's hope it comes back with fewer delusions of grandeur."
---
As the day wore on, the group managed to restore some semblance of normalcy—if such a thing existed in their bizarre apartment.
Mallory, as usual, took it easy, lounging on her floating couch and flipping through a magazine she'd salvaged from a nearby bookstore. Zara and Alex worked together to clean up the mess left by the rebellious appliances, while Altair tinkered with his gadgets in the corner.
Greg, however, was pacing back and forth, muttering to himself.
"This is a disaster," he said for the hundredth time. "We're living in a ticking time bomb!"
Mallory glanced up from her magazine. "You worry too much, Greg. If we survived zombie hordes, we can survive a sassy fridge."
"Can we, though?" Greg replied, throwing his hands up. "Can we really?"
Mallory smirked. "Guess we'll find out."
And with that, she returned to her magazine, already looking forward to whatever absurdity tomorrow would bring.