Doomsday Shopping Spree
Elora tapped the confirmation prompt on her screen without a second thought.
If this voice was an
auditory hallucination born from exhaustion, she lost nothing more than money she already planned to spend. If it was real, hesitation
would cost her everything.
The transaction cleared in a split second. She had selected ten bulk cases of five staple
flavors, from braised beef stew and garlic shrimp to spicy pepper and herbal chicken broth. Each case contained twenty-four individual
bowls. With wholesale discounts applied at digital checkout, the charge came to just over two thousand dollars.
A sharp shift ri
ppled through her mind the second the banking notification pinged her screen. The dim living room faded from her inner sight, replaced
by an expanding mental void. A patch of clean, empty terrain formed within her consciousness, measuring roughly twenty square feet.
The space felt real, solid, and devoid of dust or moisture.
Above the open square hung a luminous translucent progress tracker
. At the far end of the gauge sat a dull, unlit silver trophy marked with the title *Big Spender*. Directly
beneath the tracker rested a massive segmented wheel. A slender pointer hovered over the hub. The wheel was split into dozens of distinct colored wedges
, though a thick blur obscured the text and icons marking each prize tier.
Elora recognized the layout immediately. It was
a milestone lottery panel.
To test the spatial mechanics, she reached across the low coffee table and picked up a ceramic
mug. The porcelain was warm, filled with freshly boiled water that still sent curls of steam rising into the air. With
a focused thought, she directed the mug into the storage space.
The cup vanished from her fingers.
Inside
her mind, the mug sat steady on the floor of the empty zone. What caught her attention was the vapor. The delicate
wisp of steam rising from the liquid had stopped mid-rise. It hung frozen above the ceramic rim like carved glass.
There was no movement, no drop in temperature, and no condensation forming on the inner walls.
Time inside the storage dimension
did not flow.
Anything placed within those borders would remain in its exact state forever. Hot soup would stay scal
ding. Fresh fruit would never rot. Freshly cooked meat would never spoil or lose its flavor.
Elora set
her jaw, a fierce, burning thrill rising in her chest. Spending money was the easiest assignment she could have received.
Earning millions took years of grind, compromise, and patience, but throwing wealth away took seconds. Once the viral disaster
struck, banknotes and digital account balances would be reduced to useless numbers on fried servers. During a harsh winter in the ruins
, a single bowl of hot noodles would be worth more than a suitcase of diamond rings.
She had 167 hours left on
the clock. Seven days to exhaust every cent to her name, expand this personal vault into an impenetrable stockpile, and claim
the milestone reward before society collapsed into blood and ash.
Basic rations were only the foundation. She opened the luxury grocery
vendors on the wholesale platform, searching for premium noodle brands. She bypassed the standard cardboard packs and went straight for imported artisan ramen
kits. Spicy tonkotsu broth, roasted black garlic pork, slow-simmered beef shank, chili sesame paste
, and smoked teriyaki noodles filled her order sheet.
She bought twenty cases of each style without looking at the price tags
. When those were locked down, she searched for the premier dehydrated bowls produced by a high-end gourmet line. Each container included
vacuum-sealed packets of real braised beef cubes, freeze-dried quail eggs, and thick bamboo shoots. In regular
grocery stores, two bowls sold for fifty-five dollars. In her past life, she had saved up to buy them twice as a rare
treat, savoring every drop of the rich broth.
Now, she ordered a thousand bowls in one continuous transaction.
By the time she submitted the final order and closed the gourmet food portal, her credit card charges totaled over one hundred thousand dollars.
Her mental vault expanded in an instant, its borders racing outward until the floor covered over one thousand square feet of clean,
silent space.
Yet when she checked the tracker above, the progress bar toward *Big Spender* had crept
forward by only three percent.
Elora let out a short, quiet laugh. The system demanded true extravagance.
Ten years of scraping through the ruins had taught her what true deprivation felt like. She had chewed tree bark in freezing winters
. She had drunk murky runoff strained through dirty rags. She had hidden under floorboards while beasts torn apart survivors in the street
above. This time around, surviving was merely the baseline. She was going to live comfortably, eat well, and watch
her enemies burn from behind reinforced walls.
She switched supplier apps, locating a poultry distributor with cold-chain warehousing on
the city outskirts. Boneless chicken wings were her favorite comfort food. Store-bought wings were often frozen for months, but
bulk farm orders offered plump, premium cuts. She placed an order for one thousand pounds of vacuum-sealed wings across four
separate suppliers, burning through another twenty thousand dollars.
A soft, rhythmic grunting sounded from the hallway near the guest
room.
The bedroom door nudged open with a light thud. A pale pink, barrel-shaped body w
addled out into the living room. Pearl trotted across the hardwood floor on her neat little hooves, her curled
tail wagging back and forth as she headed straight for the couch.
Elora looked down at the pig, her breath
catching in her throat. Her eyes stung with sudden heat.
Pearl was an indoor miniature pig, though she had grown
to nearly three feet in length and carried a round, well-fed belly. Arthur Voss, her adoptive grandfather, had brought
the pig home on a whim three years ago, chuckling about giving Elora an unconventional pet with actual brains. Pigs were remarkably
sharp creatures, cleaner than most domestic dogs when properly cared for, and emotionally intuitive. Pearl knew her name, used her
indoor litter pan without issue, and followed Elora like a loyal shadow.
In the previous timeline, when the initial
outbreak turned the city streets into slaughterhouses, Caleb and Tessa had fled to Elora's apartment, weeping and begging for a
safe harbor. Elora had welcomed them in, shared her food, and let them sleep in the master suite.
Three
days later, Elora had drifted to sleep from sheer exhaustion, only to wake up to the thick, unmistakable smell of roasting
fat drifting from the kitchen.
She had rushed out to find Pearl dead on the counter, carved apart with kitchen knives.
When El
ora had screamed at them in horror, Caleb had crossed his arms, staring down at her with pure disdain.
"Elor
a, learn to look at the bigger picture," he had snapped, his tone thick with self-righteous irritation. "Human
lives take priority over a stupid animal in a crisis like this. Pigs are born to be eaten. You call us your closest
friends, yet you turn stingy over livestock the moment things get rough? You are selfish, and frankly, I am disgusted
by your attitude."
Tessa had sat at the dining table, chewing on a greasy rib, nodding in agreement while offering
fake tears about how hungry they had been.
Back then, Elora had been so beaten down by years of emotional
manipulation from the Voss family that she had actually doubted herself. She had wondered if she truly was cold-hearted for mourning
her pet while her "family" starved. The memory made her blood run hot with bitter disgust. She wanted nothing more than to smash
both of their faces into the floor.
Pearl reached the edge of the rug, letting out a soft grunt. She
pressed her wet snout against Elora's calf, tilting her head to stare up with dark, trusting eyes.
Elora dropped to her knees, reaching out to scratch the wide, soft skin behind Pearl's ears. "
I have you now. Nobody touches you this time."
Pearl gave another contented snort, leaning her heavy shoulder into El
ora's palm, nudging her fingers for more attention.
Elora pulled her phone back out. She stood up,
dialed a contact, and held the receiver to her ear.
The line clicked after three rings. A brisk voice came through the
speaker. "Ms. Voss? How can I help you today?"
Elora did not waste time with pleasantries. "
I need you to list my three-bedroom downtown apartment immediately. Cash buyers only. Fast closing."
The broker gasped
on the other end. "Ms. Voss, are you serious? That property is prime downtown real estate in Galdor. Units
in that tower rarely hit the market. Even with current interest rates, that floor plan easily appraises between 2.5 and three million
dollars!"
"List it today," Elora said.
Downtown Galdor was a disaster waiting to happen. The density was
a death trap. Narrow streets, towering high-rises, and millions of daily commuters meant the virus would saturate the core within forty
-eight hours of emergence. High-rise condos would become vertical tombs with dead elevators and dry water pipes. Keeping real
estate here was suicide. The only value the property held was the liquid cash she could pull from it before the banking system went
dark.
"What is your bottom-line figure for an expedited sale?" the broker asked, his voice eager.
Elora glanced toward the hallway window. "Two million flat, provided the funds clear escrow within forty-eight hours.
You know the market. Two million for three bedrooms in this district is a steal."
Before the agent could respond, the
front door lock gave a sharp, metallic click.
The heavy deadbolt turned smoothly. The brass handle pushed down, and the door swung
open. A young woman in a tailored designer coat stepped inside, followed closely by a tall man in a leather jacket.
T
essa Voss kicked off her designer flats, tossing her handbag onto the entryway console table. She did not even look at the phone
in Elora's hand before launching into a barrage of complaints.
"Elora, what is wrong with you?" Tessa
demanded, her voice shrill with annoyance. "I told you Aunt Dora spent weeks arranging that dinner with Gus! He
comes from a prominent family, and you walked out after twenty minutes? Do you have any idea how bad that makes me look?"
Caleb walked behind her, shutting the door with a loud thud, looking down his nose at Elora.
The sight
of their faces hit Elora like a physical strike.
Memories of her final moments—the freezing cold of
the abandoned warehouse, the gnawing hunger, the sound of Caleb and Tessa stripping her supplies before kicking her into a pit
of infected beasts—rushed behind her eyes. Her fingers dug into the edge of her phone until her knuckles turned chalk
-white. A primal urge screamed in her skull to grab the cleaver from the kitchen and hack them into pieces right where
they stood.
She forced her breath to stay level.
Killing them now was too easy. A clean death before
the world crumbled would be a mercy. They had not felt true thirst, true terror, or the hopeless agony of being
torn apart in the dark. They deserved every second of the nightmare that was coming.
Elora raised her free hand
toward Tessa, her eyes cold as slate. "Be quiet."
Tessa froze mid-step, her mouth still
half-open. She blinked, taken aback by the sheer frost in Elora's posture. Elora had spent years yielding
to her demands, always quiet, always eager to keep the peace. The woman standing before her felt like a stranger.
Elora returned her attention to the phone, speaking with crisp precision. "Two million is the floor. If a
buyer can transfer the full balance by tomorrow afternoon, the deed is theirs. Draft the contract and email it to me within
the hour."
Tessa’s jaw dropped. The complaint about Gus vanished from her thoughts instantly.
"What
did you just say?" Tessa stepped forward, her voice rising an octave. "You are selling this place? Are you out of your mind?"
Caleb stepped up beside Tessa, his brow furrowed in deep disapproval. "Elora, what are you doing
? This is a prime location right by the subway hub. Why would you dump it for two million? That makes no sense at
all!"
Elora tapped the screen, ending the call, and lowered the device to her side. She looked
at them with an unreadable expression. "It belongs to me. If I decide to sell it, give it away, or burn
it down, that is entirely my business. Why would I need your permission?"
Caleb stiffened, caught off guard. For years,
they had managed Elora's choices, steering her finances, her schedule, and her personal life under the guise of familial
guidance. Being shut down so bluntly left him grasping for words.
He cleared his throat, puffing out his chest to regain moral high
ground. "We are your best friends, Elora. Tessa is your sister. When you make a massive financial blunder
like this, of course we have a say. We are looking out for you."
Elora looked at Caleb
, then shifted her gaze to Tessa. A faint, razor-thin smile pulled at the corner of her lips.
Best friends.
In the past life, she had believed that lie right up until the knife slipped between her ribs. They preached
loyalty to her face while treating her like a convenient cash source and a naive scapegoat behind closed doors.
Her
gaze dropped to the key ring dangling from Tessa's fingers.
The brass key on that ring was the only
duplicate to this apartment. Back when Gus had ambushed her in her own living room, the lock had shown zero signs
of forced entry.
She looked back up at Tessa's indignant face, the cold certainty settling into her bones
. Gus could have never stepped foot into this building without someone unlocking the door for him.