The smell of bleach and stale air clung to everything.
Raven Salvatore opened her eyes to the familiar sight of cracked white ceiling tiles, the slow whirl of a battered ceiling fan barely stirring the heat pressing down on her small bedroom. For a few seconds, she simply stared upward, listening.
The television in the living room blared another grim COVID-19 update. The low, venomous murmur of her father's voice — William Salvatore — drifted down the hall, punctuated by the brittle laughter of her mother, Victoria. Somewhere closer, the shrill snapping of Clarissa, her sister-in-law, scolding Jason, their bratty eight-year-old, echoed against the walls.
For one disorienting moment, Raven thought she was dreaming.
Then she saw the battered nightstand. The cracked screen of her old phone. The calendar app blinking insistently: January 1st, 2020.
Her heart seized. Her nails dug into the cheap bedspread.
She wasn't dreaming.
She was back.
Memories rushed her in jagged, bloody flashes — boarded-up cities, burning streets, the stench of rot. The virus, they called it at first. COVID-19. The great pandemic. But Raven knew better. It wasn't a natural disaster. It was a controlled collapse. A cover story.
The real apocalypse began January 10th.
Nine days. Nine days before everything drowned in blood and bone and ash.
Raven sat up slowly, muscles trembling with the weight of the past — and the future. Her body was young again, but the bruises were familiar: old injuries layered over years of neglect. She touched her ribcage lightly where a hairline fracture had never healed right. Courtesy of Brandon, her golden brother. The Salvatore family legacy wasn't money or power — it was cruelty.
William, Victoria, Brandon, Clarissa. Even little Jason. They hadn't just ignored her. They had beaten her down, belittled her, starved her of affection until she had learned to expect nothing.
And when the world ended, they hadn't changed.
They had survived — comfortably, disgustingly — by selling her for food and favors the moment supplies ran dry. Raven could still taste the betrayal, could still feel the chill of chains biting into her wrists, the mocking jeers of the very people who had called themselves her family.
But not this time.
A soft mechanical chime snapped her out of the spiral.
Floating in front of her was a shimmering pane of blue light, faintly pulsing.
[Apocalypse Ascendancy System Activated]
- Welcome, Raven Salvatore
- Personal Sanctuary: Unlocked
- Storage, Crop, and Livestock Management Systems: Unlocked
- Growth Missions: Pending
Prepare yourself. Survival is no longer optional.
The words were sterile. Efficient. No false comfort. Just the facts — exactly how Raven liked it.
A second window unfolded underneath:
[Sanctuary Overview]
Private living dimension detached from Earth's timeline.
Time-frozen storage of supplies, food, weapons, and livestock.
Expandable through resource acquisition.
Raven exhaled slowly, her eyes burning.
It was more than she could have ever dreamed of. Her own world. Untouchable. Unspoiled. She could strip this crumbling civilization clean, tuck it all away where time couldn't rot it, and build her own empire on the ashes.
The muffled pop of a champagne cork from the living room yanked her attention back. Her family, already toasting a new year that wasn't going to save them.
Raven pushed herself off the bed, bare feet landing soundlessly on cold wood. She padded quietly to the cracked door and peered out into the sprawling luxury apartment — polished marble countertops, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering corpse of Manhattan.
The Salvatore fortune was vast. William's empire included grocery supply chains, warehouse distribution centers, and firearm companies — both above-board and underground. He made a fortune off fear, selling overpriced "survival kits" to conspiracy theorists and apocalypse preppers, sneering at their paranoia while pocketing their desperation.
He would survive the first storm. She remembered it clearly. Salvatores always survived.
But this time, Raven thought coldly, she would be waiting for them.
They would live long enough to suffer. To understand exactly what they had created.
She glanced at the battered leather wallet abandoned on the kitchen counter — her father's usual carelessness when drunk enough to stop pretending he cared.
Raven crossed the living room, past the gaudy furniture, the sterile photographs that never included her. She scooped up the wallet and flipped it open with smooth fingers.
The black corporate credit card gleamed under the dim lights. Unlimited spending power. No oversight.
Perfect.
She tucked it into the waistband of her jeans, her mind already racing through plans — grocery stores first, then pharmacies, gun shops, hardware outlets. She would empty everything she could before the city even realized what was happening.
Nine days.
Nine days to build her Sanctuary into a fortress.
Nine days to ensure her survival.
Nine days to sharpen her knives.
Raven allowed herself one last look at the living room, where Clarissa fussed over Jason, where Victoria giggled behind a glass of wine, where Brandon lounged like a king.
She smiled.
Not the brittle, broken smile they were used to.
Something sharper. Stronger.
"Happy New Year," Raven whispered to herself, turning toward the door. "Try not to miss me too much when you're starving."
The city outside was already beginning to rot. She could feel it — the tension, the decay, the fear.
But Raven wasn't afraid.
Not anymore.
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