He didn't hand the drive over to the Archive Authorities for credits. Instead, he labeled the drive “Normal Tuesday” and tucked it into his jacket. In a world of ruins, it was the only thing he owned that still felt alive.
The dog hadn't sat at all; he was rolling in the grass, but the person behind the camera laughed—a warm, resonant sound that made Elias’s chest ache.
"Good job, kiddo," a voice said from behind the lens. "Record date: October 14th. Just a normal Tuesday." Then, the screen flickered and went black.