Why Go Home When We Own The Apocalypse

Synopsis

When my best friend and I were thrown into a post-apocalyptic novel as the villainesses, we responded by hoarding enough supplies to bankrupt a small country, and left the so-called hero to starve. Victoria Lane was the heir to a supermarket empire, with a warehouse store's worth of inventory at her fingertips. I was the construction engineer who specialized in building the kind of doomsday bunkers people only dream about. The system told us our ticket home was simple. We should make every terrible decision the plot demanded, hand over our stockpile to the hero, Ethan Quinn, let him humiliate us, and then die messily at the hands of zombies. Victoria slid a slice of A5 wagyu into a hot pan, where it hissed and spat. I turned up the heat on the pool's heating system and poured myself a glass of 1982 Château Lafite. Wait, did the system really think we were desperate to go back to paying off thirty years of mortgage and eating expired instant noodles like corporate slaves? Later, when Ethan showed up with the delicate little heroine, Samantha Doyle, they both knelt in the acid rain, begging. I smirked, "Well, well, if it isn't golden boy Ethan." Victoria snorted, "This biscuit's gone moldy. My dog wouldn't touch it. But by all means, it's yours." The system shrieked inside my skull. 'That's your ending! Stop mocking me and open the door so he can rob you already.' I shot back, "Open the door? Not happening. Fire the cannon? Now that I can do." We watched the hero sail into the distance, propelled by a very satisfying explosion. Victoria and I exchanged a look. Going back to the real world? Not even a fool would make that trade.