The red-haired girl stood still outside the building, the cold biting through her clothes, arms crossed over her chest as Raven emerged into the light. Raven didn’t look at her long—just long enough to register that she was still there, still quiet, still smart enough not to ask questions.
She tossed a set of car keys. The girl caught them awkwardly.
“Thank you for saving my life. My name is—”
Raven raised her left hand—the one not holding her Beretta—and cut her off.
“Save the thanks. I don’t give a fuck about it.”
The girl froze.
“I didn’t save you out of kindness,” Raven said, voice flat. “I was already going to kill Neil. He just died earlier than planned because he made the mistake of hurting an innocent woman.”
She walked past her and gestured to the gravel lot.
“Take Neil’s car. Drive about two miles out from the nearest town, then park it somewhere secluded a wooded off-road path, and then park it."
The girl held the keys tighter.
“Use the liquor he keeps in the car. Pour it over the seats. Light it up. Then hike the rest of the way into town and take a taxi home.”
Raven paused.
“Don’t ask dumb questions. Of course he has liquor in the car. He is a rapist and a walking garbage fire. And never mention me. Never talk about what happened here. That bastard has friends. You say one wrong thing and they’ll find you.”
She looked the girl dead in the eyes.
“Be smart. Pretend none of this happened.”
The girl opened her mouth, looking like she might protest. Maybe she wanted to say she’d go to the police. Maybe she still believed in justice.
But then she remembered.
No one came for her.
She’d been locked up in a government-connected hatchery and no one noticed. No cops. No agents. No rescue.
She nodded slowly.
“I’ll do what you said. I’ll destroy the car, hike to town, and keep my mouth shut. Thanks… for everything.”
Without another word, she got into the rusted hatchback car near the side of the parking lot. The engine coughed but turned over as she started it. Then the car drove away down the dirt road, disappearing between the trees.
Raven didn’t watch her leave.
She turned toward the fish tanks.
Rows of sloshing water. Big, cracked containers holding months of careful cultivation.
She exhaled.
Then lifted her hand.
The Apocalypse Ascendancy System responded immediately. Thin pulses of light shimmered around each tank as contents vanished in controlled bursts—siphoned into her Sanctuary space like water being poured through a divine funnel.
The freshwater tanks vanished first:
Carp. Golden shiners. Albino catfish. Largemouth bass. Rainbow trout.
Then the saltwater yields:
Blue crab. Dungeness crab. Snow crab. Red snapper. Tiger shrimp. Flounder. Juvenile octopuses. Striped bass.
Each species blinked out of physical space, sorted and indexed in real time.
“That’s what I call sustainable living,” Raven muttered.
A new notification lit up in her mind, sterile and exact.
[Apocalypse Ascendancy System Notification:]
Aquatic species successfully acquired.
Saltwater and Freshwater Ecosystems updated within Sanctuary Module.
Independent Living Environment Development Progress: 41%.
User is advised to enter Sanctuary for interior configuration.
Raven arched one brow.
Forty-one percent.
She was getting there.
But first—cleanup.
She walked back into the hatchery, stepping over blood smears and burnt fragments of plastic. Inside the office, she found Neil’s emergency stash of booze tucked behind a broken cabinet—a half-dozen bottles of bottom-shelf whiskey and cheap rum.
Perfect.
She poured it across the floor, letting it soak into paperwork, carpet, and old furniture. When the last bottle was empty, she stood at the door, then lit a match and tossed it onto the ground. People are right fire realy dose burn all of life's problems to the ground.
Fire bloomed instantly.
Orange and yellow flames surged upward, catching on every flammable surface like the place had been begging to burn. The walls curled inward as smoke billowed out the open windows.
The bodies burned.
The files burned.
Everything that tied this place to anything was ash.
Raven stepped back into the cold winter air.
She didn’t look back.
Her Beretta vanished into her system storage space. She climbed into the Ironhowl X4 and shut the door, the engine starting with a low, hungry growl.
For the first time since her rebirth, she allowed herself a real smile.
One name off the kill list.
One survivor saved.
And a freezer full of seafood waiting in a hidden world that only she could enter.
“Time for a shake and a burger,” she said, flipping on the heater.
The Ironhowl rolled back down the path, tires crunching through gravel and snow.
She had work to do. But not today.
Today, she was going to eat.
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