Mallory sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room, frowning at the ancient board ga she had unearthed from one of the many mysterious compartnts her apartnt had suddenly decided to provide. "Zombie-opoly," she muttered, turning the box over in her hands. "A property ga for the undead. Who cos up with this stuff?"
Blinky beeped curiously from its position on the coffee table, its antenna glowing faintly.
"You think this is funny?" Mallory asked, holding up the ga. "This is literally my life now."
Alex, sprawled on the couch with his feet propped on the armrest, looked up from his book. "I think it’s poetic."
Greg, who was cleaning a rifle at the kitchen counter, snorted. "More like ironic. You’re living in a zombie apocalypse, playing a ga about zombies. What’s next, a cooking show?"
Mallory’s eyes lit up with a mischievous glint. She turned to Blinky, tapping its tal casing like a drum. "Did you hear that? Cooking show!"
Blinky emitted a series of questioning beeps.
"What?" Greg asked, his brows furrowing.
Mallory jumped to her feet, tossing the ga aside. "A bake-off! We’re doing a zombie apocalypse bake-off!"
Clara, entering the room with a basket of scavenged supplies, raised an eyebrow. "A what now?"
"A bake-off," Mallory repeated, already rifling through the cupboards. "We’ve got flour, sugar, canned fruit... It’s perfect! A little wholeso competition to lighten the mood."
Alex groaned. "Mallory, we have bigger problems than baking right now. Like the fact that zombies are constantly trying to eat us."
"That’s exactly why we need this," Mallory argued. "If we don’t stop and enjoy the little things, what’s the point of surviving? Besides, Blinky can be the judge."
Greg set his rifle down and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "And what exactly are the stakes?"
Mallory paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Winner gets to skip chore duty for a week."
Clara’s eyes glead with interest. "I’m in."
Alex groaned again but finally threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine. But don’t expect to go easy on you."
Mallory grinned triumphantly. "Great! Blinky, fetch the aprons!"
The little robot whirred off toward the supply closet, its antenna glowing with excitent.
---
The apartnt’s kitchen was soon a chaotic ss of flour, sticky batter, and questionable levels of enthusiasm. Greg, true to his thodical nature, carefully asured each ingredient for his banana bread, muttering calculations under his breath.
Clara, on the other hand, had decided to go rogue, throwing random spices into her batter with reckless abandon. "Sweet and savory is the way to go," she said confidently, sprinkling a pinch of cayenne pepper over a tray of cookies.
Alex’s approach was equally chaotic, though less intentional. His dough resembled cent, and his attempt to use powdered milk turned into a small explosion when he accidentally added too much water.
anwhile, Mallory had donned an oversized chef’s hat she had found in the supply closet. She was determined to create a masterpiece: a triple-layer cake with canned peaches and chocolate frosting.
"Blinky," she called, pointing at the robot, "pass the whisk."
Blinky beeped dutifully, extending a chanical arm to hand her the utensil.
Greg glanced over at her workstation, his eyes narrowing. "You’re using peaches and chocolate?"
"Don’t question my genius," Mallory said, her tone haughty. "This cake is going to win."
Alex laughed. "You’re going to poison us, more like."
"Keep talking," Mallory shot back, "and I’ll make you eat two slices."
---
By the ti the tir on the oven dinged, the kitchen looked like it had been hit by a sugar-coated tornado. Flour coated every surface, batter dripped from the ceiling, and Clara’s cayenne-laced cookies had sohow caught fire in the corner.
"Ti’s up!" Mallory announced, dramatically slamming her spatula onto the counter. "Present your creations!"
Greg stepped forward first, holding a loaf of banana bread so perfect it could have been in a magazine. "Classic and reliable," he said with a proud smile.
Clara followed, placing her charred cookies on the table with a sheepish grin. "They’re... rustic," she said, as the cookies emitted faint wisps of smoke.
Alex placed his "cake" on the table next—a lumpy, grayish blob that sagged in the middle. "I call it... abstract art," he said, trying to look confident.
Finally, Mallory unveiled her triple-layer cake, which was leaning precariously to one side but still held together. "Behold!" she said, gesturing grandly.
Greg squinted at the cake. "Is that duct tape holding it together?"
Mallory scowled. "It’s structural support."
Blinky rolled forward to begin the judging process. It beeped and whirred, scanning each dish with its tiny sensors. When it reached Mallory’s cake, it hesitated before emitting a long, low sound that suspiciously resembled a sigh.
"Don’t judge ," Mallory said, crossing her arms.
After several minutes of deliberation, Blinky spun in a circle, its antenna flashing green. It beeped twice, pointing toward Greg’s banana bread.
"Ha!" Greg said, punching the air. "I knew it!"
"Rigged," Mallory muttered, glaring at Blinky.
Clara patted her on the shoulder. "Better luck next ti."
Despite the competition, the group ended up sharing all the food, laughing and teasing each other as they ate. Even Alex’s "abstract art" cake was surprisingly edible, though no one dared to try Clara’s cookies.
---
Later that night, as Mallory cleaned up the kitchen with Blinky’s help, she couldn’t help but smile. For a few hours, they had all forgotten about the zombies, the danger, and the uncertainty of their situation.
It was monts like these, Mallory realized, that made survival worthwhile.
"Well, Blinky," she said, wiping her hands on a towel, "what do you think we should do next? Zombie karaoke?"
Speaking of karaoke, she rembered how she was irritated by Greg’s karaoke in the past as it disturbed her rest and ti. Ti sure too fast and we wouldn’t know what will happen tomorrow.
The robot beeped enthusiastically, its antenna flashing bright blue.
Mallory grinned and shake her head. "I’ll take that as a yes."
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