Raven walked through the deserted depot, her footsteps quiet against the concrete floor. The last of the threats have been cleared, their corpses cooling. Her eyes moved systematically across the racks of XM7 rifles, crates of .277 Fury rounds, and stacked pallets of military supplies. With a single thought, she began absorbing it all into her System Space. The metal shined briefly in the bright warehouse lights, then vanished as if it had never been there.
Above, her two drones kept circling, scanning the perimeter. She watched through their feeds, her mind split between multiple viewpoints. One of them caught movement outside the gates: the deserters from Marcus's unit. They were loading an M1078 LMTV with crates of ammo, MREs, and fuel drums. Men and women hustled to pack everything they could before they were noticed.
Raven observed them silently. The poison still lingered in their bodies, dormant and waiting for her signal—but she didn't send it. Not today.
"Let them live for now," she said. "They're not bad people to begin with."
Her gaze lingered on the truck as it pulled away, kicking up dust. A smart choice. A dozen men and women couldn't hold a place like this. They'd be wiped out by raiders or another swarm of zombies soon enough. Better to cut their losses and run.
Raven turned back to the depot. She didn't waste time collecting more gear—she wasn't a hoarder. What she could build would always outpace what she could scavenge. Let the scraps rot for the next desperate fools as they figured out how to use them while she created new tech in the apocalypse.
A thought moved across her mind, and the Ironhowl X4 materialized in front of her. The SUV flashed into existence, pristine as ever. Her two drones shifted formation, hovering silently at her side. As she recalled them into their backpack base and removed it from her back.
She climbed into the driver's seat, scanning the quiet yard one last time. Then she drove away.
On the road, she saw the same convoy—the deserters rolling out in their transport. Their eyes moved toward her as she passed. They didn't stop her. They didn't raise their weapons at her either.
"Smart," she said. "Live to scavenge another day."
The streets stretched empty ahead. Fires smoldered in distant ruins. The world was breaking fast, but Raven was already ahead. Survivor bases would start forming soon—huddled pockets of people clinging to life. They'd fight over scraps, argue about leadership, kill each other for bags of rice or barrels of gas. They were behind. She'd taken the best of it—the food, the weapons, the fuel.
Her mind drifted as she drove. Memories as sharp as blades, cutting deeper than any drone's firepower could.
Dawn Salvatore. Her biological mother. Her name was a whisper from the past, fading under the weight of time. Raven had been told she died when she was young. Or, as her father William Salvatore used to say: "That damn bitch is dead."
Then came the new family—her stepmother Victoria and Brandon, their golden son. The one who could do no wrong. The one who always smiled a little too wide when he stole her ideas. The one who let her rot in the shadows.
Her father never cared. He'd always resented her, always watched her brilliance with a quiet, indifference. The mind that built his fortune was hers, but they hatrd her for it, called her the family's shame.
And now, knowing what she knew—his side dealings, the weapons, the drugs—Raven wondered. Had William Salvatore arranged her mother's death? Quietly removed the obstacle so he could marry the woman he wanted? Create the child he could control, the son he could mold?
Raven's hands tightened briefly on the wheel. The thought was cold and clinical, but it didn't shake her. It fueled her to discover the truth she was sure her family was fine they are like resilient cockroaches.
She would know the full truth eventually. The past is a blueprint, not a chain. And when the time came, they would all pay for what they'd done.
The Ironhowl turned off the main road, into a secluded stretch of trees. Raven pulled it to a stop, and shut off the engine, as she exhaled into the winter air.
A command moved silently across her mind, and she shifted into Sanctuary.
The quiet enveloped her.
Her feet hit the soft ground near the Botany Lab. The air was crisp, untouched. She walked forward, watching the Liana vines she was cultivating—long, dark green, coiling around her slowly like they were waiting for her touch.
Soon they would grow strong enough. Soon she would carry them like living weapons, tearing apart those who dared come close.
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