Apocalypse: Last Production
The heat apocalypse struck without warning, and the office turned into hell on earth.
Global temperatures spiked past 126°F.
Ellie Ramsey, the receptionist, collapsed against the water cooler, her skin fused to the plastic tank.
When Frank Higgins tried to pull her free, a layer of skin tore away with his hand.
Of the hundred-some people who'd worked in our building, only seven of us were left.
The survivors retreated into the underground bunker beneath the building, sealed off from the heat above.
Water and food ran out fast. We'd have fought over a single rat's blood just to wet our throats.
Then Jake Collins, the technician who'd gone to check the UV lamp in the incubation unit, came sprinting back like he'd lost his mind.
He was clutching a part in his hand, his face bone-white.
"This temperature control module—" He shoved it in front of my face, his fingers shaking.
"The manufacture date. It's from last March."