Welcome, Apocalypse

Chapter 10: Opening the Forbidden Vault

The shop groaned under the weight of the encroaching shadows. Arga didn’t look back at the commander’s gaping mouth or the soldiers frozen in the doorway. He tapped the glowing map on his vest, and the floorboards surged, a tidal wave of wood and linoleum bucking upward to swallow the space between him and the back exit.

“Arga! What are you doing? The perimeter is failing!” Mira screamed, her voice cracking as the shop’s foundations shrieked.

“I’m doing exactly what a bad clerk does—closing early!” Arga shouted back, not stopping.

“You can’t just walk out there!” Elias yelled, scrambling after him. “The Tide is at the doorstep!”

“Then stay inside and be the snack!” Arga didn't look over his shoulder. He shoved through the back door, the violet smog pressing against his lungs like a suffocating shroud.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” the commander snarled, stepping into the fray. “Grab him! That map is military property!”

“Touch him, and I’ll bury you all in the foundation,” Mira warned, her hands glowing with the remnants of the shop’s failing barrier energy.

Arga pushed into the alley, his eyes glued to the map. The blue light pulsed, cutting through the thick, acidic haze. “Left... past the crater that smells like burnt copper... right at the pile of skeletal scrap.”

“Arga, wait!” Ben’s voice was fading behind him.

“Keep up or get lost!” Arga retorted, his pulse hammering against his eardrums. He vaulted over a jagged piece of rebar, his boots splashing into a puddle of viscous, black ichor.

“It’s here,” Arga breathed. A monolith of cold, brushed steel stood amidst the ruins, untouched by the rust or the grime. It looked like a tombstone for a god.

“A door?” A familiar, gravelly voice echoed from the fog. Jax stepped into the light, his rifle lowered. “You found it.”

“You followed me?” Arga spun around, his hand flying to the register-key in his pocket.

“I tracked the signal, kid. The Coalition isn't the only one who wants the warehouse,” Jax said, his expression grim. “That vault? It’s not a supply depot. It’s an archives vault. Top-tier, pre-Tide tech.”

“You knew?” Arga stepped toward the cold steel panel. “You let me wander out here alone?”

“I needed you to be the one to trigger the scan,” Jax admitted, leveling his weapon. “The vault doesn't recognize my biometrics. It only talks to the Merchant System.”

“You’re using me,” Arga said, his voice flat.

“I’m surviving,” Jax replied. “Now, open it. Before the soldiers behind us catch up.”

Arga placed his hand against the panel. [Scan Initiated. Merchant Access Verified. Proceed?]

“Proceed,” Arga whispered.

The air hissed. Not a mechanical sound, but the sound of reality being unzipped. The massive steel slab retreated, folding into the floor with a rhythmic, pulsing thrum.

“Finally,” Jax exhaled, rushing forward. “Let’s see what—what is that?”

The vault wasn't filled with gold or rifles. It was a single, glass cylinder, pulsing with a soft, bioluminescent hum. Inside, a person hung suspended in amber-colored fluid, wires snaking into their temples.

“It’s a person?” Jax frowned, lowering his gun. “That’s it?”

“Look at the face,” Arga said, stepping closer, his heart skipping a beat.

The figure’s eyes snapped open. They were a piercing, electric shade of violet—the exact color of the smog outside. The cylinder hissed, the glass cracking open as fluid spilled onto the floor.

The person slumped forward, catching themselves on Arga’s shoulders. They were cold, shivering, and smelled faintly of fresh ozone.

“You...” the stranger whispered, their voice raspy and impossibly familiar.

“Do I know you?” Arga asked, his hands hovering, afraid to touch them.

The stranger tilted their head, a faint, sad smile touching their lips. “The register, Arga. You finally figured out how to turn it on, didn't you?”

Arga went rigid. “My name... how do you know my name?”

“I taught you how to reset it,” the stranger said, their eyes locking onto his with terrifying intensity. “Before you woke up in that crater. Before the world ended. Don’t you remember, little manager?”

“I don’t have a past,” Arga stammered, backing away. “I just have a store.”

“You have a choice,” the stranger countered, clutching Arga’s arm with a grip like iron. “And the Tide is coming to collect on your debt.”

Outside, the ground erupted. A massive shadow—bigger than anything they’d seen yet—descended from the sky, blocking out the light.

“Arga!” Jax yelled, spinning toward the entrance. “They found us! All of them!”

The stranger looked at the monster, then back at Arga. “Are you going to open the shop, or are we going to die here?”