The last thing I remembered was the flickering glow of my TV screen as the credits rolled on the final episode of Sweet Home. After three days of nonstop binging, surviving on power naps, and snacking on whatever was within reach, my body had finally shut down. I'd slumped over on the couch, surrounded by empty wrappers and half-finished soda cans. My mind had been buzzing with everything I'd just seen—the heartbreak, the horror, the insane twists. And then... nothing.

Now, I was waking up to something entirely different.

The room felt wrong the moment I opened my eyes. My couch was gone, replaced by a ratty mattress on the floor. The walls were cracked and yellowed, stained with years of neglect. A sharp, musty smell filled my nose, and the dim light seeping through the blinds made the air feel oppressive. Slowly, I sat up, trying to shake the fog from my mind. My thoughts felt sluggish, like they were moving through molasses.

"Is this a dream?" I muttered, running a hand through my hair. My voice sounded off—deeper and unfamiliar. I froze. That wasn't my voice. My hand went to my hair, and my chest tightened when I realized it was straight. I was supposed to have the tight, curly hair of an African American.My gaze darted to my hand. Pale. White.

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening. This didn't feel like a dream. The scratchy texture of the blanket, the chill of the floor beneath my bare feet—it was all too vivid to dismiss as my imagination.

I stumbled to my feet, searching the apartment. I needed a mirror. I needed to see what was happening. My breath hitched as I found the bathroom and flicked on the light. The reflection staring back at me was completely foreign.

I was Asian.

The face in the mirror was lean, athletic, and—if I was being honest—handsome. A faint outline of abs peeked through my shirt, I instinctively checked my pants. A relieved sigh escaped my lips. At least some things hadn't changed.

"What kind of dream is this?" I whispered, poking my reflection. "It feels so real."

Before I could process further, a sudden burst of pressure filled my head. It wasn't pain, exactly, but a flood of information—memories that weren't mine. Passwords, locations, snippets of knowledge that felt distant but accessible. And then, an ominous message: Four days.

The words echoed in my mind, sending a shiver down my spine.

I left the bathroom and made my way to the window, my heart pounding. Pulling back the blinds revealed a view that made my stomach drop. Rows of gray apartment blocks stretched endlessly, their windows dark and lifeless. A faint chill crept up my spine as I stared at the cracked pavement below, the overgrown weeds, the rusting playground equipment.

Déjà vu hit me like a sledgehammer.

"No way," I whispered, gripping the windowsill. The layout, the bleak atmosphere—it was hauntingly familiar. My jaw dropped as realization hit. "This… this looks like—"

A grin spread across my face. "Sweet Home. I'm dreaming about Sweet Home!"

I let out a small laugh, the absurdity of the situation dawning on me. "I guess this is what happens when you binge-watch a show for three days straight. Lack of sleep probably fried my brain or something."

I paced the room, the worn floor scuffing under my bare feet. "Maybe this is a coma dream. My body's out cold, so my brain is pulling out all the stops to keep me entertained."

I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting to wake up any second. Hospital lights. A nurse shaking me awake. Something. Anything.

When I opened my eyes, I was still standing in the dingy apartment.

"Okay," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "Looks like I'm stuck here for a while."

But deep down, in the recesses of my mind, I couldn't shake the gnawing doubt. Dreams didn't last this long. And they definitely didn't feel this… solid. Every breath I took, every faint creak of the building—it all felt too real to ignore.

I pushed the thought aside and focused. "If this really is Sweet Home, I need to figure out when I am."

A loud growl from my stomach pulled me out of my thoughts. Hunger was apparently unavoidable, even in dreams. I shuffled to the kitchenette, hoping for something edible. The fridge hummed faintly as I opened it, revealing a sad collection of leftovers: a single can of soda, a half-eaten packet of dried seaweed, and a carton of milk that had gone rancid.

The cabinets weren't much better—just a few instant ramen packets and a dusty jar of pickles.

"Well," I sighed, grabbing a ramen packet and the soda. "At least I won't starve immediately."

I boiled some water and ate in silence, my mind racing. If this was Sweet Home, then the monsters hadn't arrived yet. I hadn't heard screams or crashes, and the power was still on. That meant I had time—not much, but enough to prepare.

Four days. The memory of the warning gnawed at me. Was that how long I had until everything started?

I leaned back against the counter, my mind darting between possibilities. If I was stuck here, survival was my top priority. I couldn't count on anyone else—the show had made that painfully clear. Most of the residents had turned on each other the moment things got tough. Allies weren't an option.

Still, despite the creeping dread, I couldn't deny the spark of excitement bubbling under the surface. As terrifying as this was, part of me was… curious. I'd spent hours watching others navigate this nightmare, and now I had the chance to experience it firsthand. It was insane, reckless, and probably suicidal—but I couldn't help the grin spreading across my face.

"Alright," I said, standing up and stretching. "Let's see what this world's got."

I pulled on some clothes and rummaged through the apartment for cash. If I had four days, I could stock up on supplies. Debt didn't matter—none of it would matter once everything went to hell.

For now, I had time. And I wasn't about to waste it.

"Debt doesn't matter," I muttered to myself, gripping the car keys tightly in my hand. "Four days until the world goes to hell. Might as well act like a king while I can."

After dressing in a plain hoodie, some jeans, and sneakers I'd scrounged from the apartment, I headed downstairs. The air in the hallway was stale, and the distant hum of someone's TV filled the silence. Outside, I found the car in the lot, exactly where my newfound memories said it would be.

A plain silver sedan. Not flashy, but functional. I didn't need it to impress anyone; I needed it to get me to the mall and back.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I adjusted the mirrors and gripped the steering wheel. The keys fit perfectly, and after a sputter, the engine roared to life. A small smile tugged at my lips as I pulled out of the lot.

The drive through the city was oddly serene. Streets bustled with life as if the apocalypse weren't waiting just around the corner. People hurried about their day—commuters on their phones, kids on bikes, couples walking hand in hand. All blissfully unaware of what was coming.

I reached the mall a few minutes later, parked, and stepped inside. The smell of fried food and cleaning chemicals hit me immediately, and the hum of chatter and footsteps filled the air. It was all so ordinary, and yet, knowing what I knew, it felt surreal.

No time to waste.

First stop: the grocery store.

I grabbed a cart and began loading it with the essentials—rice, canned goods, instant noodles, bottled water, snacks, and some seasoning packets for variety. Anything non-perishable was fair game. I kept going until the cart was nearly overflowing.

A few people gave me odd looks as I passed, but I ignored them. Who cares if I looked like a paranoid prepper? In four days, I'd be the one eating comfortably while they fought over scraps.

The cashier didn't even blink at the mountain of food I unloaded. I paid in credit , bagged everything, and carted it out to the car, stuffing the trunk until it barely closed.

Next, I hit the hardware store. This time, I grabbed duct tape, a crowbar, rope, a flashlight, and an assortment of batteries. I eyed a set of multi-tools and added it to the pile.

"Always better to be over-prepared than under," I murmured as I paid and hauled the goods back to the car.

On my way out, I passed a pharmacy and decided to swing in. Medicine was going to be just as important as food once things went south. I grabbed bandages, antiseptic, painkillers, cold medicine, and even a few vitamins for good measure.

By the time I finished, the trunk and backseat of the car were packed tight with supplies. I stood back, hands on my hips, and surveyed my haul. It wasn't perfect, but it was a solid start.

As I drove back to the apartment, a strange mix of satisfaction and unease settled over me. Satisfaction because I'd done something tangible to prepare, and unease because, for all my efforts, I still didn't know if it would be enough.

Back at the apartment, I hauled everything upstairs, one bag at a time. By the end, my muscles burned, and I was drenched in sweat. I spread everything out on the floor, taking inventory.

Food, water, tools, medicine.

It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

I leaned back against the wall, staring at the supplies and letting my mind wander. In the show, the first signs of chaos didn't hit until the fourth day. That meant I had three more to prepare, to plan, to figure out how I was going to survive.

The thought was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Pushing off the wall, I began sorting the supplies into manageable piles. Food and water went into the kitchen, tools and medicine into a corner of the living room. The apartment felt a little less empty now, a little more like a bunker.

As I worked, a faint grin crept onto my face. I'd always wondered how I'd handle a situation like this, watching characters on TV make their choices, suffer the consequences. Now, I had the chance to find out.

This might be a dream, but that didn't mean I needed to treat it like a game wasn't a game. What if there were no do-overs.

"Alright," I said aloud, clapping my hands together. "Tomorrow, I hit the sporting goods store. Maybe a few more trips after that. Let's see just how ready I can get."

I stepped back, surveying the room one last time.

Four days.

Four days until everything fell apart.

And I wasn't about to waste a single second.

I woke up to the faint hum of traffic and the distant chatter of morning commuters. For a brief moment, I almost forgot where I was. The soft light filtering through the blinds, the faint ache in my muscles from hauling supplies the day before—it all felt too mundane to belong in an apocalypse. But the neatly stacked stockpiles in the corner of the room quickly brought reality crashing back.

"Three days," I muttered to myself, stretching. My joints cracked in protest, but I ignored it. Time was ticking, and I couldn't afford to waste a second.

Breakfast was quick and practical—instant ramen and a bottle of water. As I ate, I mentally planned the day. Sporting goods were a priority. I needed weapons, tools, and anything that could give me an edge when things started spiraling. After that, I'd consider hitting up a bookstore for survival guides or maps. Knowledge was just as valuable as supplies, and in this world, I had a lot to learn.

I grabbed the car keys and headed out, locking the apartment behind me. Not that it mattered—soon enough, locks would be nothing more than decorations in a world ruled by chaos.

The mall parking lot was busier than I'd expected for a weekday morning. I parked near the entrance and headed straight for the sporting goods store, weaving through the crowd. The store was massive, rows of gear stretching as far as the eye could see. A faint buzz of excitement coursed through me. This was the kind of place that could make or break a survival plan.

I started with the basics: a sturdy backpack, gloves, and a pair of durable boots. My sneakers were fine for now, but they wouldn't last long in the kind of terrain I'd soon be facing. Next, I moved to the camping section, grabbing a compact tent, a sleeping bag, and a fire-starting kit.

Weapons were next. I scanned the aisles, trying to balance practicality with discretion. A baseball bat caught my eye—solid, metal, with enough weight to do some serious damage. I tested its grip and swung it experimentally. "Not bad," I murmured, tossing it into the cart.

Further down, I found hunting knives, and I added a couple to the haul. They were smaller than I'd have liked, but they were sharp and versatile. I also picked up a slingshot and a packet of steel pellets. It wasn't much, but it could work in a pinch.

Before leaving, I grabbed a few extra items—a first-aid kit, some energy bars, a water filter, and a multi-tool that looked like it could handle anything from opening cans to cutting wires. By the time I reached the checkout, my cart was full again.

The cashier gave me a raised eyebrow as she scanned my items. "Going camping or something?"

"Something like that," I replied with a smile, handing over my credit card. It felt strange, knowing that this mundane interaction would soon be a relic of the past.

Once everything was loaded into the car, I considered my next move. The idea of raiding a bookstore still lingered in my mind, but I decided against it for now. It'd be better to buy a couple of hard drives, a generator, and a computer to download useful videos. The supplies I'd gathered were already a lot to manage, and I needed time to organize everything back at the apartment.

The drive back was uneventful, the city around me bustling with its usual rhythm. But as I pulled into the apartment lot, a faint unease settled over me. Something felt... off.

I parked the car and sat for a moment, scanning my surroundings. The lot was quiet, the building as lifeless as ever. But the air felt heavier somehow, charged with a subtle tension I couldn't quite place.

Shaking it off, I grabbed a few bags and headed upstairs. The apartment was exactly as I'd left it—silent, dim, and faintly musty. I set the bags down and began unpacking, sorting everything into its designated piles.

The baseball bat went by the door, within easy reach. The knives and slingshot joined the crowbar in a small "weapons" corner I'd set up. Food, tools, and other essentials were organized neatly in the kitchen and living room.

By the time I finished, the room looked more like a survivalist's bunker than a bachelor pad.A solid start.

I collapsed onto the mattress, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The weight of the situation was starting to sink in. Three days. That was all the time I had left to prepare.

But I wasn't scared. Not yet.

If anything, I felt a strange sense of purpose. For the first time in my life, I wasn't just watching a story unfold—I was living it. And I was determined to survive, no matter what it took.

My stomach growled, pulling me from my thoughts. I groaned and dragged myself up, heading to the kitchenette for another ramen packet. As I boiled water, I couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring.

More supplies, more planning, more preparation.

And then, after that...

I shook my head, refusing to dwell on it. For now, I had work to do.

The real fight was still three days away, but I'd be ready.

I had to be.

However, before I could even take a bite of my food, my nose started bleeding