Ryan bolted upright in bed, his chest heaving, gasping for air like a drowning man breaking the surface.
His t-shirt clung to his skin, drenched in cold sweat.
The sensation was uncomfortably, undeniably real.
But he was supposed to be dead.
Betrayed by the woman he’d loved with everything he had Jessica and Marcus, the ruthless leader of the Denver Safe Zone.
They’d turned on him when he was at his weakest, feverish and helpless.
And then…
they’d eaten him.
Literally.
Piece by piece, while he was still breathing.
The memory of teeth tearing through flesh, the wet sound of his own blood— Ryan shuddered violently, forcing the images away.
He looked around, blinking hard.
His bedroom.
The one from his parents’ estate in Westchester.
Movie posters from 2022 covered one wall—Top Gun: Maverick, Everything Everywhere All at Once.
On his desk sat a framed photo from his graduation at Columbia, him grinning between his mom and dad, all three of them so blissfully unaware of what was coming.
Everything looked exactly as he remembered.
Before the world ended.
His hands trembling, Ryan grabbed his iPhone from the nightstand and tapped the screen.
August 12, 2025, 9:13 AM Seven days.
Seven days until the apocalypse would begin.
“Holy shit,” Ryan whispered, his voice cracking.
“I’m actually…
I’m really back.” The fear hit him first—the visceral, bone-deep terror of someone who’d lived through hell and somehow been given a second chance.
But right on its heels came something darker, hotter.
Rage.
Jessica.
Marcus.
Those names burned like acid in his mind.
In his previous life, he’d given Jessica everything.
When society collapsed and the temperature plummeted to seventy below zero, he’d risked his life again and again to keep her safe, to find her food, to make sure she had warmth while others froze to death in the streets.
He’d killed for her.
He’d nearly died for her a dozen times.
And how had she repaid him?
“Ryan, I haven’t had real meat in months.
You’re running a fever, you can’t even stand up, and you sure as hell can’t find us food anymore.
So really, what’s your value now?
You’ve got good muscle tone—lean protein.
Better we get the benefit than let you go to waste, right?” He could still see the cold calculation in her eyes as she’d said it.
No remorse.
No hesitation.
Marcus had walked toward him with a hunting knife and that predator’s grin, while Jessica held him down.
They’d started with his hands.
Ryan’s fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood from his palms.
The sharp pain grounded him, pulled him back to the present.
“Never again,” he said aloud, his voice steady now, hardening into something sharp and unyielding.
“This time, I’m going to be ready.
And you two…” The corner of his mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“You’re going to pay back every fucking thing you did to me.
With interest.” A sudden dizziness washed over him, and Ryan pressed a hand to his temple.
Something felt…
different.
Like there was a new space in his head that hadn’t been there before, a vast emptiness that somehow felt full of potential.
DING.
The sound chimed directly inside his skull, clear as a bell.
[INFINITE STORAGE ACTIVATED] [CAPACITY: UNLIMITED] [FUNCTION: STORE ANY ITEM INDEFINITELY — PERFECT PRESERVATION GUARANTEED] Ryan froze.
“What the—” An ability?
Some kind of system?
He’d heard about people getting powers when they were reborn in those web novels his college roommate used to read, but he’d always thought it was ridiculous fiction.
Apparently not.
His eyes locked onto a water bottle sitting on his desk.
Slowly, carefully, he focused on it and thought: Store.
The bottle vanished.
“Oh my God.” Ryan’s heart hammered against his ribs.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the strange new space in his mind.
Sure enough, he could see it somehow—a vast, infinite void where his water bottle floated in perfect stillness.
Retrieve.
The bottle reappeared on his desk in the exact same spot, not even a drop of condensation disturbed.
“Holy shit,” Ryan breathed, a grin spreading across his face despite everything.
“This is insane.” He tested it again.
And again.
Store.
The desk disappeared.
Store.
His entire king-size bed vanished into the void.
Store.
His gaming chair, his TV, his dresser—everything he looked at could be absorbed instantly, held in perfect stasis, and recalled at will.
The implications hit him like a freight train.
Food wouldn’t rot.
Water wouldn’t evaporate.
Medicine wouldn’t expire.
He could stockpile everything—weapons, supplies, equipment—without worrying about space or degradation.
This was a game-changer.
But Ryan forced himself to calm down, to think strategically.
The storage ability was incredible, sure, but it wasn’t enough by itself.
He needed a fortress.
A real one.
Because he remembered exactly what was coming.
Stage One: Three months of brutal cold.
Temperatures dropping to negative seventy Fahrenheit in some places, the power grid failing, people freezing to death in their homes by the millions.
Stage Two: A month of extreme heat.
Surface temperatures exceeding 180 degrees.
The ground cracking open.
Rivers and lakes evaporating.
Mass dehydration and heatstroke.
Stage Three: The polar ice caps melting in a catastrophic rush.
Floods drowning entire cities.
Coasts vanishing underwater.
Stage Four: Everything that survived would evolve.
Animals growing massive, developing armor and venom and intelligence.
Plants becoming predatory.
Humanity knocked off the top of the food chain and struggling just to survive.
To make it through all of that, he needed an underground bunker.
Not just any bunker—a state-of-the-art survival fortress with its own power generation, water filtration, air circulation, food production, and defenses that could withstand anything the apocalypse could throw at it.
And that meant money.
A lot of money.
Ryan opened his banking app and checked his personal account balance: $127,000.
Not bad for most people.
For what he needed?
A drop in the bucket.
His parents had left him their tech company when they’d died in that car crash last year.
Matthews Innovation Solutions had a market value around $120 million.
If he liquidated everything immediately—stocks, real estate, equipment, intellectual property—he might pull out $100 million in cash.
Still not enough.
Building his dream fortress would require top-tier materials, specialized labor, cutting-edge technology, and enough supplies to last decades.
Construction alone would cost tens of millions.
The equipment—industrial-grade generators, water purification systems, hydroponic farms, reinforced blast doors—would cost tens of millions more.
Then there were the supplies: food, medicine, weapons, tools, spare parts.
He’d need at least half a billion dollars to do it right.
And he had seven days.
Where the hell could he get that kind of money in seven days?
Ryan paced his room, his mind racing through possibilities.
As a reborn person, his biggest advantage was information.
He knew what was going to happen over the next week in excruciating detail.
Was there anything—any event, any opportunity—he could exploit?
Then it hit him.
His eyes widened.
“The Deep Space Coin crash.” Of course.
How could he forget?
Four days before the world ended, there was going to be an unprecedented event in the cryptocurrency markets.
A relatively unknown token called Deep Space Coin would suddenly explode in value—manipulated by a consortium of Wall Street hedge funds and crypto whales in one final pump-and-dump scheme before the apocalypse.
In just 24 hours, DSC would surge from $0.003 to over $40—a gain of more than 13,000x.
Then, in the span of a single hour, it would crash back to zero.
The financial media would later call it “The Doomsday Pump”—the last great scam before civilization collapsed.
Millions of retail investors lost their life savings.
But the insiders who knew it was coming?
They walked away with billions.
In his previous life, Ryan had just been a rich kid managing his parents’ company, totally oblivious to the crypto world.
He’d only heard about the Deep Space Coin scandal in passing, from survivors who’d lost everything.
But now?
Now he had the dates.
He knew the pattern.
He knew exactly when to buy and when to sell.
If he played this right, he could turn $100 million into tens of billions.
Ryan grabbed his phone and pulled up his contacts, scrolling to a familiar name.
The call connected after two rings.
“Ryan?
That you?” David’s voice—his father’s right-hand man and the current CEO of Matthews Innovation Solutions.
After his parents died, David had essentially been running the company while Ryan figured out what to do with his life.
“David, I need you to do something for me,” Ryan said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Something big.” “Sure, kid.
What do you need?
The company account’s got about eight million in liquid cash if—” “No.
Not eight million.
Everything.” Silence.
“…What?” “I need you to liquidate the entire company,” Ryan said calmly.
“Everything.
Sell the stock.
Sell the real estate.
Sell the equipment, the patents, the IP, all of it.
I need it converted to cash and transferred to my personal account within 24 hours.” The silence on the other end stretched so long that Ryan checked to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.
“Ryan…” David’s voice was tight, controlled.
“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?
This is Matthews Innovation.
Your father built this company from nothing.
It was his life’s work.
Your mother helped design half the products we—” “I know exactly what I’m asking,” Ryan interrupted.
“And I know what it means.
But I need you to trust me on this, David.
Liquidate everything.
Get me the cash.
I’ll pay you a $10 million bonus when it’s done.” “This isn’t about the money!” David’s voice rose.
“Ryan, are you having some kind of breakdown?
Do you need me to—” “No breakdown.
I’m thinking more clearly than I ever have.” Ryan kept his voice level, but steel crept into his tone.
“You have two options, David.
One: you do what I’m asking, and you walk away with ten million dollars plus whatever severance your contract guarantees.
Two: you refuse, and I fire you right now and find someone else who will.
Your choice.
You’ve got ten seconds.” Ryan could practically hear David’s jaw working on the other end of the line.
This wasn’t the Ryan Matthews that David knew—the somewhat aimless 25-year-old who’d been content to let David run the company while he figured out his own path.
That Ryan had been soft, indecisive, conflict-averse.
This Ryan was someone else entirely.
“Ryan…” David tried one more time.
“Please.
Just think about what your parents would—” “David,” Ryan said quietly, and something in his voice must have conveyed the absolute certainty he felt, “in seven days, none of this will matter.
The company, the stock, the real estate—it’ll all be worthless.
Less than worthless.
Trust me.
I’m not being reckless.
I’m being smart.
Maybe for the first time in my life.” Another long pause.
Then, finally: “…Okay.
I’ll do it.
God help me, I’ll do it.
But Ryan, if you’re wrong about this—” “I’m not.
Get me the money, David.
I’ll explain everything when this is over.” “I’ll start making calls.
I’ll get you the liquid cash first—probably around twelve million by this afternoon.
The rest will take some time.
Real estate sales, finding buyers for the equipment, liquidating the stock without tanking the price…” “Do your best.
Every dollar counts.
And David?” “Yeah?” “Thank you.
I know this seems crazy.
But you’re saving my life.” Ryan hung up before David could respond.
He sat back in his desk chair and exhaled slowly.
The first domino was falling.
But he still needed more capital.
$100 million was good, but if he could get his hands on more seed money, he could multiply it into even more during the Deep Space Coin pump.
He needed every advantage he could get.
Ryan was still thinking through his options when his phone buzzed.
An incoming call.
The name on the screen made his blood run cold, then hot.
Jessica His hand tightened around the phone.
Every instinct screamed at him to reject the call, to block her number, to erase her from his life completely.
But no.
He had a better idea.
Ryan answered, forcing his voice into a neutral tone.
“Yeah?” “Hey babe!” Jessica’s voice poured through the speaker like honey—sweet, sticky, cloying.
“Did I wake you up?
Sorry, I know you like to sleep in.” She had no idea.
No clue that he knew what she would become.
What she was capable of.
“I’m up,” Ryan said.
“What do you want, Jess?” If she noticed the lack of warmth in his voice, she didn’t show it.
“So, I was at the Chanel boutique yesterday, and oh my God, Ryan, they have this gorgeous new bag.
It’s from the fall collection, and it’s absolutely perfect.
I need it.” Of course she did.
“How much?” Ryan asked, though he already knew the answer would be absurd.
“It’s only fifteen thousand!” Jessica said brightly, as if fifteen grand was pocket change.
“I know it’s a little pricey, but you know I never ask for much, and—” “Sure,” Ryan said.
“—it’s just so beautiful and…
wait, what?
Really?” “Yeah.
I’ll get you the bag.” Jessica squealed.
Actually squealed.
“Oh my God, Ryan!
You’re the best boyfriend ever!
I love you so much!” The words made his skin crawl.
“But,” Ryan continued smoothly, “I have one condition.” Jessica’s enthusiasm didn’t dim.
“Anything!
What do you need?” Ryan leaned back in his chair and smiled—a cold, sharp expression that no one could see but that bled through into his voice.
“I want you to come to my place.
Right now.
And when you get here, I want you to kneel at the front door and bark like a dog.
Three times.
Loud enough for the neighbors to hear.” The line went silent.