11/7

There's snow on the TV, and the hiss wakes Max up. He doesn't remember it being left on the night before— he doesn't watch much these days, and can't see why he would've last night— but it's a sound that kinda permeates a room, an apartment. He doesn't really sleep completely through the night these days anyway, and hasn't since before Darrow even, and it's only after about a minute of hearing it that he realizes he's not gonna nod off again and should probably get up anyway.

Padding to the TV in bare feet to turn it off, though, something feels off. He can't put his finger on it right away, but when he walks up to switch the set off, realizes that there's no background sound. No people honking in morning traffic, construction noises or even someone shouting for a cab.

It's fucking eerie, and he doesn't like it.

Because it pretty quickly starts to remind him of two years ago, of the city going dark and the ash falling, the hiss of the TV and the siren.

That goddamn siren.

He goes to the door to head outside and see it for himself, but he only manages to get the door open before it hits him.

All at once Max can't breathe. His heart is racing and he can't get a breath in. Last time, he almost died, there in the street, there in the dark.

"Shit, not again," he says, and he sinks to the floor by the doorway, his back against the frame as he tries to pull himself together.