The last corrupted cat dissolved at her feet, its body breaking into drifting grey ash that spiralled lazily on the wind. A cold metallic chime rang through Talia's skull—no softer than the first dozen times she'd heard it.
"Could you at least change the tone?" she muttered in the empty air.
She barely had time to brush blood off her sleeve before the pressure behind her eyes tightened. "Oh, for—"
The vision snapped in without waiting for permission.
Mum was in the family car.
Pale, trembling. Her hands were locked white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
Something prowled around outside.
Something big.
Talia felt Mum's pulse hammering, breath shaking as she fumbled at the door lock. A corrupted hound launched itself at the window. The glass trembled under the impact with a sickening crack. Mum didn't scream—she gasps, that distinctive sharp inhale that always meant she was trying not to make things worse. She performed an amazingly agile leap from the driver's seat to the passengers. I don't know how and observing her half stunned, half blank expression she didn't know how either.
Grandpa Arlen barreled in from behind the car, swinging his wood axe like a man who'd done this before. He hadn't. The last time he swung an axe was chopping wood in the camping trip of 2018, when he complained the whole time and insisted "electricity exists for a reason."
Now? He swung like a war hero—or a man too angry to die today. Striking the beast hard at the base of the neck.
The beast reeled.
Brielle, following Grandpa, stabbed its flank with a kitchen knife, her stance surprisingly stable. Talia could practically hear her complaining about ruining her shirt even while being attacked by demon dogs.
The hound dissolved.
Before the trio could breathe, another sprinted in from behind. Striking Mum's window again and she again dove across the seats. Grandpa and Brielle repeated the frantic, messy fight, this time with far more yelling and directing.
The vision flickered out.
Back in the forest, Talia exhaled hard, rubbing her temples. "Annoying," she muttered. "But at least they're fighting better than expected. Honestly, Grandpa with an axe is nightmare fuel."
She pushed herself upright and forced her breathing to settle. She'd finished the last fight before the vision this time—that was progress. If her foresight wanted to ruin her life, it could at least respect her battle rhythm.
"Alright," she decided, "rewards first, then move. Target today: the hut."
She glanced at the treetops. The canopy was thick, heavy with shadows. Too many unknowns on the ground. She'd planned a rope course through the branches for training, but the thought of balancing twenty metres above, with a forest floor full of homicidal wildlife and the tree tops littered with leaping beasts, wasn't appealing.
"Forest floor it is," she sighed. "Worst case, I get more military training. Yeah, Dav will be proud."
She flicked her gaze to the floating interface.
[Kill Count: #11]
[Reward #10 Pending → F-Rank Armour]
"Okay, show me the goods."
A shimmer appeared, and something heavy dropped into her hands. Leather. Thick. Reinforced with subtle stitching patterns.
"F-Rank vest?" she murmured.
It wasn't flashy—just solid dark leather, fitted with just enough flex to move comfortably. She shrugged off her ranger vest and pulled the new one on. It hugged her torso snugly, slightly cool to the touch, but warm once settled, Like the system had taken precise measurements, but she thought that it was more likely an auto-adjust item. Sounds cooler that way.
"Stab protection from beast horns? Yes please." Talia, Twisted this way and that in the mirror, getting a good look at the coverage of the vest. No good expecting the defence to cover her ribs and then get struck with no protection.
Finishing her modelling shoot, she moved on to checking the blindbox items waiting in queue.
"Zip ties. Great—apocalypse handcuffs."
"Fever tea—wait, does it cure fever or give it?"
"Solar torch. Nice, seriously nice if I have to fight at night."
"Soap. Sure. Cleanliness is survivability."
"Small hatchet—oh hello there."
She held the hatchet up to the light. Light-weight in her hand and perfectly balanced. The metal wasn't anything she recognised. She gave it a test swing.
"Oh yeah," she breathed softly. "Very handy."
Next, holding the Solar torch she zip-tied it to her vest's shoulder straight away, so it could charge.
Next step: loot everything not nailed down.
Which, unfortunately for the tower, included everything nailed down.
She moved through the cramped ranger outpost like a tornado in slow motion. Curtains? Gone. Cookware? Into the void. Bedding? Space pocket. Cleaning supplies? Absolutely. Her old pantry of emergency snacks? Emptied. Even the laminated wildlife ID sheets she usually used to tease new rangers—stored.
She eyed the old wooden shelves. They suddenly disappeared.
"Hmmm…What?"
Looking in space she found the shelf, bringing it back out.
"So I don't have to touch, Just intent. Perfect, how far away?"
"Within 1m" Talia found through trial and error. "Well that was fun now back to business."
She picked up the hatchet.
Thirty minutes later, the shelves were reduced to neat, perfectly stackable planks.
"This is therapeutic," she admitted, wiping sweat off her brow.
The tower now looked deserted, you couldn't even stage a horror film here. Bare walls, empty hooks, dust outlines where decorations used to hang.
She nodded in satisfaction. "Beautiful."
Then the pressure returned—a vision knocking at her skull.
Talia inhaled deeply.
Not this time.
She pushed. Hard. Not enough to erase it, just enough to hold it at the edges of her mind. It clawed for entry, but she grit her teeth, focused on organizing her space pocket. Resources to the right, food first stored in a crate, than stacked in beside the water and medical supplies. Clothes piled in the back until storage boxes or vacuum bags were available packing, Odds and ends in the back right corner.
Now there was order; pack, stack, space. Repeat.
Her skull throbbed. Sweat beaded at her hairline. But the vision stayed back—a caged storm instead of a tidal wave.
Five minutes in, the pressure eased.
Ten minutes in, it didn't force itself through.
She blinked in disbelief. "I… did it?"
She sat on the tower floor and exhaled. "Okay. Vision obedience training is coming along nicely."
Tentatively, she reached for the tether.
The world lurched.
Dad appeared.
Sitting in his tiny office at the residential complex, wearing his usual striped work shirt, phone pressed to his ear. A clock above the window read 8:00 a.m. His brow furrowed at whatever tenant was complaining this time.
The earth shook. The phone was cut off.
Dad ducked under the desk until the tremor passed, then popped up with a muttered, "Bloody hell."
He tried the phone again, dead. Outside the office window, screams erupted. Dad grabbed his largest spanner (the one he jokingly called his "problem solver") and inched toward the door.
A corrupted Labrador (the neighborhood stray he fed,) stood just outside.
It lunged at the closed door, slamming into it.
Dad braced against the door. The dog charged again, splintering a corner of the door. Backing for a third charge, the door splintered along the hinge and fell inwards.
Dad swung the spanner with full body force—straight into its jaw. The beast reeled, snarling.
A sharpened broomstick pierced its flank and stayed.
Allen, the teenage tenant who always forgot bin day, stood behind it, shaking like a leaf.
"Allen, the spear—!" Dad shouted.
Allen didn't hear; he dropped the spear hid in the corner, his courage quota used up.
Dad groaned. "Kids these days," and finished the job with three heavy blows.
Glancing through the open door Dillion Rowe saw four more dogs sprinted toward the open gate. Dad grabbed his toolbox and jogged over to the gate, barely managing to drag it shut before they arrived.
As the vision faded.
Talia staggered against the tower wall as the forest returned.
"…He's fine," she rasped, relief washing through her. "He's stressed. Panicking. But fine."
She checked her watch.
8:23 a.m.
"If I leave now… I can reach the hut by two. Town by five. Home by…" She winced. "Four a.m. ish. Love that for me."
She gathered her remaining gear. Rope, hatchet, knife strapped to her leg, metal tray held like a lopsided shield. She shrugged her pack into place and gave the gutted tower one last look.
"Empty, bare, and emotionally accurate. Goodbye, home."
She opened the door and stepped into the forest.
The world was falling apart.
But she was already moving.