KILLA
The news was a nightmare show. Earthquakes. Floods. Freak snowstorms. Cities burning while some anchor tried to keep his voice calm.
I turned it off. "Tch. This is bad."
It wasn't just bad—it was warning signs. Screaming ones. Maybe it's the writer in me, but I knew when a story was building tension. And the world? It was on its last few pages.
I stood and stretched, tossing my dyed hair into a messy bun. Naturally, I'm a redhead. Fiery. Obnoxiously so. But standing out isn't great when you're trying to fly under the radar. So, brown it is.
My eyes? Violet. Weird, right? Unnatural enough that people do double takes. I hate it. So I shoved in the brown contacts and grabbed my keys.
As I stepped out, locking the door behind me, Evans—my neighbor—opened his door too.
"Where you going? Is hibernation over?" he asked, grinning like this was a normal Tuesday.
I let out a soft chuckle. "Nah. Just grabbing some things."
"Alright. Have fun… though I doubt that's possible."
Same here, buddy.
Downstairs, I got into my car—nothing fancy, just my reliable old Toyota—and headed to the supermarket. It was surreal seeing people shop like the world wasn't unraveling. But me? I was on a mission.
Three trolleys. Yeah, you heard me. Don't ask how. I just kept picking what looked useful, what felt right. The employees gave me looks, but whatever. I paid. Loaded the car. Barely had space to breathe in it by the end.
Back home, I started the trip upstairs. Bag after bag, trip after trip. I had time,strength?...not so much.
On round three, Evans pulled in, looking at my overstuffed car like I'd bought out Costco.
"This doesn't look like some things to me."
I laughed dryly. "Hey, Evans."
"Need help?"
"No, of course not," I said, oozing sarcasm.
He laughed and helped anyway. He's like that. Always cracking jokes, never pushing. We're opposites. But somehow… we click.
"Planning another hibernation?"
"Something like that. And honestly? You should too."
"Nah. Nothing the LAPD can't fix."
I rolled my eyes. I wanted to scream, Open your eyes, but what was the point?
Eventually, everything was in. My arms ached. My feet hurt.
"Thanks, Evans. You're my hero."
"Hell yeah," he said, striking a ridiculous pose.
Door shut. Lock clicked.
Back to being invisible.
__________
EVANS
I shut the door behind me, dropping my keys into the little ceramic dish by the entrance. The silence hit immediately. It always did. Just me, my couch, and a fridge full of energy drinks I didn't need.
My arms were still sore from helping Killa haul in what looked like an apocalypse starter pack. Cans, dried noodles, batteries—hell, I think I saw water purifiers and a full damn first-aid kit in there.
I cracked open a cold one and collapsed onto the couch, still thinking about her.
Killa.
If that was even her real name. No last name, no ID on her mailbox, nothing. Just "Killa." Like a stage name or something out of a novel.
She was the definition of mysterious. Not in that fake, try-hard way—nah, Killa was just naturally unreadable. Distant, cold one minute, sarcastic and dry the next. She'd been living next door for what… two years now? Maybe more. And in all that time, I'd seen her maybe once a week, tops. Girl kept to herself like it was an Olympic sport.
Still, she stood out. Not just because she looked like she walked out of a high-end spy flick—tall, lean, with dyed-brown hair always tied up, and this no-nonsense vibe that practically screamed don't talk to me unless it's urgent.
But those eyes…
I saw them once. Just once. She dropped one of her contact lenses in the hallway and didn't realize I'd walked out. Violet. Freakin' violet eyes. I remember blinking like I'd imagined it.
Who the hell has violet eyes?
She'd caught me staring and shoved the lens in so fast it was like the moment never happened.
I took a sip, letting the soda fizzle in my mouth.
And then there was today—her loading three carts worth of survival goods like it was Black Friday at the end of the world. Girl didn't even flinch paying for it. Just scanned and stacked, like she'd done it a thousand times.
"Something like that," she'd said when I asked if she was planning another hibernation.
I didn't know much about her, but I knew this: she didn't do things without a reason. Killa wasn't paranoid. She was calculating. Efficient. And the way she looked at the news these days? Like she already knew what was coming and everyone else was playing catch-up.
I leaned back on the couch, a frown tugging at my lips.
She even told me, "I think you should too."
Was that a warning? A joke? Or something else?
I rubbed the back of my neck, unease slowly creeping in.
Killa wasn't the type to be scared. Which meant I should probably be.
I pulled out my phone and checked the news again. More disasters. More weird headlines. People online joking about "the end of days."
Maybe Killa was just extra prepared.
…Or maybe she was the only one actually paying attention.
_____________
KILLA
The next few days passed in a quiet blur. I stayed indoors, like usual. Curtains drawn, laptop open, fingers typing away at my latest chapter while the news played faintly in the background.
Earthquake in the north. Another tsunami warning near the coast. A mysterious blackout swallowing entire towns. And still, people walked around like it was business as usual.
Idiots.
Me? I was paranoid. Or prepared, depending on who you asked. And I was beginning to feel like I hadn't done nearly enough. My pantry was full, sure. But if the world was truly slipping into chaos, "full" wasn't gonna cut it.
I closed my laptop, shoved it aside, and stood up. "Round two it is," I muttered to myself.
I threw on a hoodie, slipped on my sneakers, and grabbed my wallet and keys. No way I was doing another trolley-dance with three carts. This time I was hitting the local markets—places where you could still buy things in bulk without emptying your bank account. If things went well, I'd find someone willing to rent a truck too.
As I stepped outside, locking the door behind me, I heard the sound of another lock turning. I glanced to the side—and there he was again.
Evans.
Of course.
He looked surprised for a second, then grinned. "Well, well. If it isn't my mysterious neighbor again. This is turning into a routine."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, fate must really want us to talk."
He chuckled, eyeing the keys in my hand. "Where you headed this time?"
"Supermarket," I said casually.
His brows raised. "Again?"
"Different one. Bulk shopping this time."
He tilted his head, like he was debating something. Then, "Hold up."
I stopped, turning slightly to glance at him. "What?"
"Let's go together," he said, jogging a few steps to catch up.
I blinked. "What, seriously?"
"Yeah. I need some stuff too. And if you're getting heavy-duty, we'll need a vehicle. I've got a truck downstairs."
I stared at him, surprised. That… actually made things easier.
"Well then," I muttered, more to myself than him, "guess I won't need to rent one."
Evans smirked. "Glad I could be useful."
I allowed a small smile. "Fine. Let's go."
And just like that, I had a shopping partner.
***
We took the elevator down together, the silence between us oddly comfortable. Evans whistled a low, easy tune while I mentally listed the items I needed—bags of rice, crates of bottled water, salt, beans, flour, canned goods, matches, batteries… just everything.
Outside, the late afternoon sun painted everything gold. Evans' truck was a sturdy black pickup—nothing fancy, but it looked strong and reliable. Like him, actually.
He opened the passenger door for me. "Your chariot awaits."
I snorted. "Wow, such a gentleman."
He shrugged as he rounded the truck. "Gotta keep up appearances. Besides, you're the only neighbor who doesn't make me want to fake my death."
I chuckled, sliding in. "That's because I barely talk."
"Exactly." He grinned as he started the engine. "You're a breath of fresh antisocial air."
The ride to the market was smooth. We didn't talk much, but I didn't mind. With Evans, silence didn't feel awkward. It felt… easy. Comfortable. The kind of quiet you don't realize you've missed until you finally have it.
When we reached the local market, I felt that buzz again—the low-grade hum of chaos. People were everywhere, their movements just a bit too frantic. Carts piled high. Long lines. Whispered arguments. The air felt heavier than usual.
Evans noticed it too. "Weird vibe," he muttered, stepping out of the truck.
I nodded, grabbing my phone and a worn-out notebook from my bag. "Let's split. I've got a list."
He nodded, surprisingly serious. "Got it. Meet you back here in an hour?"
"Make it two," I said, glancing around. "There's more I need this time."
He nodded again, then disappeared into the crowd.
I moved quickly, navigating through the stalls with practiced precision. I filled cart after cart with essentials—salt in sacks, sugar, big bags of rice, dry beans, cooking oil in drums, crates of water, packs of soap, medical supplies, candles, disinfectant, ropes, tarps, gloves… everything I could think of.
People gave me weird looks, sure. Some even whispered. But I didn't care. I wasn't here to play cute shopper.
I ended up haggling with a supplier to use his small delivery truck for a few extra bucks. He didn't ask questions—just helped his boys load my mountain of supplies into the truck while I handled the payment.
Almost two hours later, I found Evans leaning against the hood of his pickup, holding a drink and a bag that definitely didn't look survival-level serious.
"You get everything?" he asked.
"Yeah. You?"
He held up his bag with a grin. "Snacks. Toilet paper. Extra coffee."
I blinked. "That's it?"
"I like to live dangerously."
I shook my head, half-exasperated. "You're unbelievable."
He laughed. "Come on, let's follow your delivery truck back."
We climbed into his truck again, and I leaned my head back against the seat.
"I hope I'm wrong," I muttered, more to myself than him.
Evans glanced at me, his smile softening. "But you're still preparing anyway."
"Exactly."
He didn't mock me this time. Just nodded, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
And that silence returned again.
The drive back was slower, thanks to the truck ahead of us packed with supplies. Evans had one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the edge of the window, fingers tapping out an absentminded rhythm. The late sun stretched their shadows long across the dashboard.
I glanced at him. "You always this calm when the world's going to hell?"
He smirked, not looking at me. "What's the point in losing it? If something's going down, it'll happen whether I freak out or not."
I frowned, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "You sound like you've seen a lot."
He didn't answer right away. The tapping stopped, and the smirk dropped just a little.
"Army," he said, as if it was the simplest thing.
I raised an eyebrow. "Wait, seriously?"
"Mm." He nodded once. "Enlisted at eighteen. Got out a few years ago."
I sat up a little. "Why'd you leave?"
He exhaled slowly, eyes still on the road. "Too many ghosts. Didn't need more."
His voice wasn't cold. It was quiet, like he was locking something away. I didn't push.
"That explains the truck," I muttered.
He chuckled. "And the knife obsession."
"…What?"
"I keep them in the kitchen. Mostly."
I shook my head. "Remind me to stay on your good side."
"You're fine." He glanced at me briefly. "No bad side. You're all soft and gloomy."
"Soft?" I snorted. "That's a bold call."
He smirked. "Alright. Sharp-edged marshmallow, then."
I stared at him for a second. "You're weird."
"Says the woman stockpiling enough food to survive an apocalypse with a group of doomsday preppers."
Touché.
We fell into an easy silence. Not awkward, just comfortable. But then, after a few minutes, I glanced over again, curious.
"So, where are you from, anyway?" I asked. "I've been meaning to ask, but it's one of those things you don't really bring up, y'know?"
He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "You'll be surprised."
"Try me."
He grinned, leaning back slightly. "I'm from South Africa."
I blinked. "Wait—really?"
He chuckled, glancing at me. "What? Too white?"
I stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Uh, yeah?"
He laughed, his eyes back on the road. "Well, my mom's from here, the US, I mean. Let's just say her genes are strong."
I raised an eyebrow. "You don't exactly look like you're from South Africa."
"Yeah, I get that a lot. But trust me, my dad's the real reason I'm not blending in." He paused, his tone turning a little more relaxed. "My family runs a hotel back home. My parents and my younger sister. Only sibling I've got."
"Oh, a hotel?" I asked, surprised. "Sounds like they've got a pretty good setup."
"Yeah, it's decent. Nothing fancy, but enough to keep us busy." He glanced over with a half-smile. "The whole family works there. My sister's pretty hands-on with the business too."
I nodded, processing it. "Sounds like they've got their hands full."
"More than you'd think," he replied. "But we manage."
"Maybe I'll go visit them," he said after a moment, his tone a little more thoughtful. "With the news and all."
She nodded, glancing out the window. Unlike her, he had people he cared about. People who still had a place in his life.
"Not a bad plan," she said. Her voice was calm, but there was a subtle weight to the words. "You'd be closer to the action, too. Probably safer than sticking around here."
He let out a short laugh. "I'm not sure about safer. But yeah… it's an option."
There was a brief silence between them, the kind where the engine hummed in the background, but the words weren't coming easy. Killa didn't push. Instead, she let him take his time.
"You've got your own people, right?" he asked, breaking the quiet.
She shifted in her seat, trying to ignore the dull ache in her chest. "Yeah. But they're… well, they've got their own lives. We've been on our own for a while."
He looked over at her for a brief second, something in his gaze softening. "That's rough."
She shrugged, a nonchalant move that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Guess I'm used to it."
"You sure about that?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she let the weight of the question hang there, before finally saying, "No one really knows what's coming. But I'll figure it out, same as always."
He didn't push further, but his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer. Killa didn't look away. It wasn't pity she saw in his eyes, though. Just understanding.