Chapter 6: The Forgotten Guard

Brown

The sharp, angry barking of a dog jerked me awake.

I sat up fast in the big soft bed, heart slamming hard against my ribs. For one wild second my mind spun out of control. Thinking I was back in the red rain again—knee-deep in blood-soaked mud, monsters screaming all around me, the smell of death thick in the air. Then the barking cut through the haze again. Urgent. Familiar. Desperate.

Rex.

My breath caught in my throat. A wave of cold horror rushed straight into my chest. In all the chaos of locking down Mount Ironwood, dealing with Mavel, and handling Ginger, I had completely forgotten about him.

Rex was never just a pet. Years ago my parents died in a sudden car crash that ripped my whole world apart overnight. Every relative stepped back, saying they were too busy. Friends disappeared like smoke. I was left alone in a huge empty house with no one on my side. But Rex never left. He stayed through every dark, lonely night. He never cared that I had a heavy, broad body. He never cared about money or status. He just loved me, pure and steady, long before Mavel and Ginger ever came into the picture.

And in my past life—before the timeline reset—when Mavel and Ginger locked the gates and the Stalkers tore my throat out, I was sure poor Rex had been trapped alone in the penthouse. No food. No water. Nowhere to run from the horrors outside. The thought made my stomach twist hard.

“Rex!” I shouted, throwing the expensive silk sheets off and racing down the spiral stairs. My boots slammed against the steps. My heart was still racing from the nightmare.

I hit the ground floor and ran straight into the kitchen. His ceramic food bowl sat empty on the floor, licked clean down to the bare porcelain. Panic and deep guilt clawed at my stomach. How long had he been waiting? How many times had he looked for me while I was out chasing revenge?

I yanked open the heavy stainless-steel fridge door. Cold air hit my face. I grabbed a thick cut of prime raw beef, the best piece left, and dropped it heavily onto his rubber mat.

Rex didn’t wait even a second. He lunged forward and tore into the meat, powerful jaws working hard just inches from my boots. The sound of him eating filled the quiet kitchen.

I dropped to my knees beside him. My hands sank deep into his thick, warm fur. My throat burned with emotion.

“I’m sorry, boy,” I whispered, voice shaking. “I got so wrapped up in those monsters wearing human faces that I almost left you behind. Not this time. Never again.”

I looked straight into his intelligent, loyal eyes. “This time you’re coming with me to Mount Ironwood. I’d rather trust a dog at my side when the world ends than let another human near my back ever again.”

Rex gave a soft, understanding huff and nudged his heavy head against my palm. That simple touch almost undid me. For a long moment I just stayed there on the kitchen floor, fingers buried in his fur, letting the guilt settle and then harden into something useful.

Finally I stood up and walked into the quiet, dimly lit living room. On the mahogany side table sat the framed silver photograph of my parents. They were smiling on a bright sunlit afternoon, long before the crash stole them away. I picked the frame up carefully and ran my thumb over the cool glass.

“Why did you both have to leave me alone in such a cruel world?” I murmured into the empty room. My throat felt tight and burning. “You left me to face parasites who tried to carve me up for meat. But don’t worry… I’m not that weak, naive girl anymore. I’m surviving this. And this time I’m not doing it alone.”

I set the picture back down gently. The grief didn’t disappear, but it hardened into cold, steady resolve. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and checked the time on my phone.

Only four days left until Day Zero.

I opened my banking app.

Remaining balance: $4,850.00.

My mysterious System had drained every single cent of my multi-million-dollar fortune to drag my soul back through time. I was practically broke. Yet looking at that small remaining balance, I realized I hadn’t spent a single dollar of it yet. I had been saving it without even thinking, waiting for a real crisis steep enough to demand every last cent.

Well, that crisis was right here at my doorstep.

I needed a proper, lethal arsenal. In a post-apocalyptic world crawling with mutated Stalkers and hostile scavengers, a tactical blade and an iron bar weren’t going to be enough. I needed a solid sniper rifle, a reliable AK-47, sidearms, and thousands of rounds of heavy ammunition.

I quickly checked black-market arms prices online. Reality crashed down hard. A decent sniper and tactical assault package alone ran over thirty thousand dollars. My four thousand wouldn’t even buy a proper crate of rifle rounds, let alone the actual hardware.

I paced back and forth across the penthouse hardwood, boots clicking rhythmically. What was I going to do? I needed heavy firepower and I needed it now. Sitting around feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to keep me alive.

Then a sudden memory hit me like a lightning bolt.

Crown Holdings Security Division (CHSD).

Before my parents died, the corporate security division kept a high-security underground armory deep under the tower. It was built specifically to supply private executive protection teams, high-risk transport units, and international security contractors with top-tier military gear. Real weapons. Real ammo. Real protection.

And right now the whole place was in chaos. Federal liquidators were moving in. Executives were panicking. The media was still circling after Ginger’s viral live stream. Security teams were distracted, disorganized, and rushing through final inventory checks before the building locked down at midnight.

If I didn’t move this exact second, the federal marshals would seal the armory doors for good and I would be completely out of options.

I grabbed my heavy leather jacket, slid the steel tactical blade securely into my belt, and turned back to look at Rex.

“Guard the house, boy. I’ll be back soon,” I said, giving his head one last firm, reassuring scratch. He watched me with those steady eyes as I headed for the door.

I hurried out of the penthouse and climbed into the stolen dark-gray Ford pickup. Rain was still falling hard as I drove through the slick city streets toward Crown Holdings Headquarters. I bypassed the main lobby where a few stubborn reporters were still camped out. Using my late father’s old executive clearance codes, I skipped the regular elevators entirely and dropped straight down into the subterranean sub-basement where the private corporate armory was hidden.

The heavy steel vault doors finally slid open with a loud pneumatic hiss. My heart sank a little.

The room was half empty. Because of the ongoing corporate panic, federal audits, and the frantic deployment of security teams after Ginger’s public disaster, most of the standard rifles, body armor, and tactical gear had already been checked out or seized. Long rows of metal weapon racks stood completely bare.

I moved fast down the concrete aisles, eyes scanning every remaining locker and metal crate in the back. There weren’t many weapons left—just scattered pieces the panicked guards had left behind in the deepest storage crates. But as I tore through the packing foam, I found exactly what I needed to stay alive at least for a while.

One heavy-duty sniper rifle equipped with a high-magnification long-range scope.

One reliable AK-47 assault rifle.

One tactical 9mm sidearm pistol.

Several heavy steel boxes of matching ammunition.

A couple of rugged tactical vests and extra magazines.

It wasn’t an entire active military armory, but it was a lethal, precision-grade collection of hardware that could punch through concrete and bone alike. More than enough to give me a real fighting chance.

Working with quick, focused efficiency, I loaded the weapons and heavy ammunition cases into durable duffel bags. My muscles burned as I hauled them back up the concrete stairs, but the new strength from the System made the weight manageable. I threw everything straight into the passenger seat of the truck and slammed the door shut.

As I drove back through the quiet, rain-slicked city toward the safety of my penthouse, I glanced at the dashboard. My remaining cash still sat untouched in the digital account.

Four thousand, eight hundred and fifty dollars.

It wasn’t millions. It certainly wasn’t corporate billions. But with Day Zero only four short days away, every single dollar was a precious lifeline. I would spend it with absolute, ruthless precision when the time came.

Back in the warm penthouse, Rex was still waiting by the door. I set the heavy duffel bags down in the living room and finally let myself breathe. A real military-grade arsenal now sat inside my home. Food, water, air filters, tungsten blast doors, and now guns. The fortress at Mount Ironwood was almost ready.

Suddenly the cold, flat mechanical voice of my System rang directly inside my skull:

[WEAPONS ACQUIRED: SNIPER RIFLE, AK-47, PISTOL ADDED TO ARSENAL]

[SYSTEM SYNCHRONIZATION INCREASED: 50% → 60%]

[PHYSICAL FEEDBACK: DENSITY & MUSCLE RECOVERY ENHANCED]

[TIME REMAINING UNTIL DAY ZERO: 4 DAYS]

[PRIMORDIAL ANTIDOTE VESSEL: LOCKED UNTIL DAY ZERO]

I still kept wondering what the antidote my system was about to unlock was all about. But right now the main focus is surviving this.

A warm electric wave of power flowed swiftly through my veins. My muscles felt denser. My reflexes sharper. My mind clearer than it had ever been before.

I looked at Rex, then at the bags of weapons, then at the dark city beyond the windows.

This time I would not just survive the apocalypse.

I would rule it.