"Damn AC," Rita muttered, her voice raspy. "I told the concierge I wanted 'breeze', not 'arctic blast'."
She fumbled for the remote on the nightstand, her fingers stiff. She pressed the 'OFF' button aggressively, but the chill didn't subside.
Grumbling, Rita kicked the covers off. She was wearing a silk slip that cost more than a mid-sized sedan, and right now, it offered about as much warmth as a wet tissue. She wrapped her arms around herself, marching toward the floor-to-ceiling glass panels that offered a panoramic view of the golden dunes.
"If this thermostat is broken, I am getting a full refu—"
She yanked the heavy curtains aside.
The words died in her throat.
Her brain stalled. She blinked once. Twice. She even reached up and rubbed her eyes, smudging her leftover eyeliner, thinking she was still hallucinating from a hangover.
"What the actual..."
The dunes were there.
Thick, heavy, pristine white snow smothered the landscape. The sky, usually a piercing, relentless blue, was a churning bruise of grey clouds, spitting down fat flakes that swirled violently in the wind.
"No way," she whispered, stepping back. "No freaking way. I'm in the desert. Is Ashton Kutcher here? Is this a TV show?"
She grabbed her phone from the charger. 8:00 AM.
She unlocked it, and immediately, notifications cascaded down the screen like a waterfall, freezing the interface for a solid three seconds.
CNN: GLOBAL CLIMATE ANOMALY. TEMPERATURES PLUMMET.
BBC: LONDON BURIED UNDER 10 FEET OF SNOW. THAMES FROZEN SOLID.
TMZ: IS THIS THE END? LA CELEBS TRAPPED IN MALIBU ICE STORM.
Mom: Rita! Where are you? Answer me! It's -20 in New York! The pipes burst! Call me!
Rita felt the blood drain from her face. Her hands started shaking, and not just from the cold. She tapped the weather app.
Location: Dubai Desert Reserve.
Current Temp: -15°C (5°F).
Condition: Heavy Blizzard.
"Minus fifteen?" she shrieked, her voice cracking.
"In the desert?!"
Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at her chest. She wasn't an outdoor survivalist. She was a pop star.
Her skillset included hitting high notes, navigating paparazzi scrums, and looking good on red carpets. It did not include surviving a sudden ice age in a tent made of canvas and good vibes.
"Okay, okay, Rita. Breathe." She scrambled around the room, grabbing the nearest clothes. She pulled on a pair of designer sweatpants over her silk slip, then a cashmere sweater, then a leather jacket. It wasn't enough. She grabbed a fur throw from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders like a cape.
"Dave," she gasped. "I need Dave."
"Dave!" she screamed into the wind.
Her pilot, Dave, was staying in the staff quarters, a smaller pod about fifty yards away.
The helicopter, a sleek black beast, was parked on the pad just beyond that.
She saw a figure stumbling through the whiteout. It was Dave, looking like a snowman that had been kicked over. He was waving his arms frantically.
"Rita!" he yelled, his voice barely audible over the howling gale.
"We gotta go! Now!"
"No shit, Sherlock!" she screamed back, fighting her way toward him. The snow was already ankle-deep. How long had it been falling? "Get the bird ready!"
"It's risky!" Dave shouted, grabbing her arm to steady her as she slipped on a patch of ice-glazed sand. "The rotors—the cold—it's not built for this!"
"I don't care!" Rita snapped, her eyes wide with terror. "Look at this place! If we stay here, we turn into popsicles. I am not dying in a glamping tent, Dave! Get us to the city. The hotels have generators. They have walls!"
They scrambled toward the helicopter. The sleek machine looked out of place, covered in a layer of frost.
Dave yanked the door open, and Rita practically threw herself inside, the fur throw tangling around her legs.
The cockpit was freezing. Dave jumped in the front, his hands shaking as he flipped switches.
"Come on, come on, baby," he muttered.
The engine sputtered, whined, and then roared to life. The rotors began to spin, slicing through the heavy snowflakes.
"Warning lights are going crazy," Dave yelled over the headset as Rita strapped herself in. "Oil pressure is fluctuating!"
"Just fly!" Rita gripped the safety handle so hard her knuckles turned white.
"Get us in the air!"
The helicopter lurched upward. The view from the window was terrifying. The endless expanse of the desert was gone, replaced by a white wasteland.
They climbed higher, the wind buffeting the helicopter like a toy.
"I'm trying to get a signal from Air Traffic Control!" Dave shouted. "It's dead air, Rita! Just static! I think... I think everything is down!"
"Just head toward the coast!" she commanded, trying to keep her voice steady, though her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"We follow the coastline to the airport!"
They flew for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of pure, unadulterated terror.
Roads were gone. Buildings were grey shapes in the fog.
Then, the sound changed.
SCREEEEEE!
"What the fuck was that?" Rita yelled.
"Ice!" Dave screamed, wrestling with the stick.
"Ice on the intake! We're losing power!"
The helicopter dropped fifty feet in a second. Rita's stomach slammed into her throat.
"Fix it!"
"I can't! The engine is seizing!"
They were over the ocean now. The Persian Gulf, usually warm and inviting, looked like a cauldron of black ink and grey slush.
Huge chunks of ice bobbed on the surface—impossible, insane chunks of ice.
"Mayday! Mayday!" Dave screamed into the radio, though no one was listening.
The helicopter spun.
"Brace for impact!"
Rita squeezed her eyes shut. This is it, she thought. This is how it ends. Not on a stage, not in a bed, but crashing into a freezing ocean because the world decided to break.
CRASH!
Water instantly flooded the cabin. It was darker than night and colder than death.
She thrashed, blind and disoriented. The seatbelt. She had to get the seatbelt off. Her fingers were numb, useless claws. She fumbled at the buckle. She floated free, but the helicopter was sinking fast, dragging her down with the suction. Her lungs burned. Her vision sparked with black spots. She broke the surface for a split second, gasping in a mouthful of air and freezing spray, before a wave slapped her back down.
She couldn't swim. Not in this. Her limbs felt like lead.
She sank.
Down into the dark.
So this is dying, Rita thought, her mind strangely detached. It's quieter than I expected.
She drifted, suspended in the icy void. Her heartbeat slowed.
Thump... thump... thump...
Her eyes fluttered closed. The darkness took her.
And then, a light.
It was a bright, neon blue rectangle, hovering right in front of her face, glowing with an intensity that pierced the murky water.
[Ding!]
Rita's eyes snapped open. She couldn't breathe, but she could see. The text scrolled across her vision.
[System Compatibility: 99.9%]
[Soul Resilience: High (Diva Level Detected)]
[Initiating Emergency Integration protocol...]
"What..." she tried to think, her mind sluggish.
[Congratulations, Host! You have been selected by the Great Villainy System!]
[Current World Status: Apocalypse Mode (Ice Age Scenario).]
[Objective: Survive. Dominate. Make them regret crossing you.]
A jolt of warmth, like a shot of straight adrenaline, surged through her chest. It started at her heart and blasted outward to her frozen fingertips.
[Activating Starter Pack...]
[Item Received: 10,000 Villains System Space.]
[Skill Unlocked: Cold Immunity (Level 1).]
The freezing water suddenly didn't feel cold. It felt... tolerable. Like a cool bath on a hot day.
[Host, your villain journey at the ice age begins! Do you wish to access the Villain Roster?]
She treaded water, the blizzard raging around her, her hair plastered to her face. She looked at the floating blue screen that followed her gaze.
"Villain journey?" she rasped, wiping saltwater from her eyes. "Well... I always did look better in black."