Chapter 10: The Completed Fortress

Brown

“Ma’am, we’re done.”

The gravelly voice of my father’s old contractor, Martins, broke the quiet of the underground bay. He wiped a streak of dark grease from his forehead with the back of his gloved hand and stepped back so I could look at the setup.

“We finished everything,” Martins continued, shaking his head a little. “Honestly, pulling off an off-grid industrial wiring job, hooking up high-voltage surge transformers, mounting a thermal surveillance matrix, and integrating a commercial solar freezer in under twenty-four hours… I didn’t think my crew could do it. But considering you paid us two thousand dollars cash upfront without asking for a discount, we made it happen.”

He paused. His weathered face tightened. He shifted his weight like he wanted to ask the one obvious question hanging in the air—Why build a military-grade fortress deep inside Mount Ironwood?

He hesitated, then swallowed the words.

I noticed the silent struggle in his eyes. Normally, I didn’t care about anyone’s curiosity. In this new life, empathy was a weakness I had scrubbed out of myself. But Martins had been loyal to my father for over a decade, and he had worked hard today without prying into my business.

“You want to ask why,” I said softly, my voice cold and even.

Martins blinked and took a small step back. “It’s not my place, Miss Brown.”

“Listen to me carefully, Martins,” I said, stepping closer until my shadow fell over him. “I’m only going to say this once, and I’m saying it because you were one of my father’s men. I won’t explain the details, but you need to pack up your crew, take your pay, and stock up on whatever food and water you can get your hands on. In two days… the world is coming to an end.”

Martins’s eyes froze. He stared at me like I had suddenly started speaking a foreign language. His jaw went slightly slack as he searched my face for any sign that I was joking.

“Coming to… an end?” he repeated slowly, his tone careful, like he was dealing with someone who might have lost their mind.

“Two days,” I repeated. I didn’t bother trying to convince him further. “Take it seriously, or don’t. That’s up to you.”

Martins stood frozen for a long second. He didn’t ask another question. Seeing the hard seriousness in my eyes, he simply nodded once, gathered his tools, signaled his crew, and left the mountain. The heavy outer steel door clacked shut behind them, leaving me alone in the quiet depths of the bunker.

I walked through the reinforced halls, checking everything.

The industrial diesel generator hummed smoothly in its soundproof chamber. The commercial deep-freeze refrigerator was already dropping to sub-zero temperatures, ready to keep long-term food safe. On the main wall of the command room, six high-definition security monitors flickered to life, showing clear 360-degree thermal feeds of the entire mountain pass.

I pulled out my phone and checked my banking app one last time.

Balance: $3,250.00.

I pulled out my notebook and looked at the checklist. The power grid, security system, tools, and refrigeration were all done. Only two items were left:

Heavy thermal protective gear and extreme-weather clothing.

Sanitation kits, and extra bulk rations for Rex.

$3,250 was all I had left in the world. Every cent of my inheritance, pawn money, and savings had to be used right now.

“Time for one last trip,” I whispered.

I drove the pickup back down the mountain. I avoided high-end stores and busy malls where someone might recognize me. Instead, I headed straight for the wholesale surplus district on the far edge of town—a place that sold heavy-duty commercial gear at lower prices.

At a large industrial supply warehouse, I picked out heavy insulated thermal coats, waterproof tactical boots, thermal undergarments, thick fleece layers, and heavy-duty work gloves built for extreme cold. The whole haul of winter survival clothing came out to exactly $1,800.

From there, I drove to a discount veterinary and medical surplus store. I spent the remaining $1,450 down to the last cent. I loaded the truck bed with the long-term dog food crates for Rex, and suvival clothings

My bank account hit $0.00.

By late afternoon, I drove back up Mount Ironwood and unloaded the final supplies into the storage vaults.

I stood in the center of the main living quarters, looking around at the steel-reinforced walls, the humming power grid, the glowing thermal monitors, and the neatly stacked crates of weapons, food, and protective gear.

My bunker was finally finished. A solid fortress ready to hold through the end of the world.

As I took a breath, my phone buzzed on the counter with a breaking news alert. I picked it up and unlocked the screen.

A large headline filled the local news portal, complete with a mugshot of Mavel slumped in a hospital wheelchair and Ginger covered in dried mud:

BREAKING NEWS: CROWN HOLDINGS EXECUTIVES ARRESTED FOR MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR TAX FRAUD & EMBEZZLEMENT. MAVEL VANCE AND GINGER ROYCE TAKEN INTO FEDERAL CUSTODY.

A cold, dark smile pulled at my lips as I skimmed the article. The media was tearing them apart. Their assets were frozen. They were sitting in a remand cell waiting for a trial that would never even happen before the world ended. My revenge against them was complete.

Just as I locked my phone, my system spoke inside my skull.

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: NEW URGENT MISSION UNLOCKED.]

[OBJECTIVE: SECURE ONE FULL TRUCKLOAD OF INDUSTRIAL SYRINGES & MEDICAL INJECTORS BEFORE DAY ZERO.]

[NOTICE: SYSTEM VISUAL INTERFACE & DIMENSIONAL STORAGE SPACE LOCK WILL REMAIN SEALED UNTIL THE APOCALYPSE OFFICIALLY BEGINS.]

I froze, rubbing my temples as the voice faded.

New urgent mission unlocked?

I exhaled sharply, trying to process the words. The System’s full visual interface and dimensional storage space were still locked until Day Zero officially hit. Same as the antidote it mentioned earlier.

But right now, it was giving me a strict, non-negotiable order to secure a whole truckload of syringes.

“Industrial syringes…?” I muttered to myself in the empty vault.

What on earth did the System expect me to do with thousands of syringes?

My mind raced, trying to figure out why a survival system would suddenly demand medical needles. But the voice had gone silent, leaving me with zero answers and a strange, urgent directive.

A wave of frustration washed over me as I ran a hand through my hair.

Fuck.

“One whole truckload…” I whispered, my voice tight.

I had just spent every single dime I had. My bank account was sitting at zero dollars and zero cents. I had sold my luxury goods, pawned my father’s heirlooms without receipts, and spent the last of my money on winter clothes and dog food.

Where was I supposed to get the money to buy an entire truck filled with industrial syringes in under twenty-four hours?

I looked out the reinforced observation window toward the darkening mountain sky, feeling the clock ticking down inside my head.

Only one day left until Day Zero. Zero dollars in my pocket. And a voice inside my head demanding a truckload of needles before the end.

I was completely screwed.