Cold, dirty water slapped Dante across the face like reality's bitch-slap.
His eyes snapped open, and the first thing he saw was Harold Meckles' fat, sweaty face glaring down at him like he'd personally offended every god in existence. Which, considering recent events, wasn't entirely inaccurate.
"About fucking time," Harold wheezed, his gut straining against a janitor's uniform that had seen better decades. "You gonna lie there all day, or are you gonna finish mopping this goddamn floor?"
Dante blinked. Then blinked again. Then sat up so fast his head spun like a carnival ride.
Harold Meckles. His old supervisor from twenty years ago. The asshole who used to make his life miserable back when he was just another minimum-wage drone pushing a mop around St. Catherine's Hospital.
Harold Meckles, who'd been killed on Day Zero of the apocalypse.
"What the fuck?" Dante whispered, scrambling to his feet. The words came out strangled, like his throat had forgotten how to work.
"What the fuck is right," Harold snapped, jabbing a sausage finger at the half-mopped floor. "This place looks like shit, and we got inspectors coming through in an hour. Move your lazy ass."
Dante looked around, his brain trying to process what his eyes were seeing. White hospital corridors. The smell of disinfectant. Fluorescent lights that hummed like angry wasps. His reflection in the window, twenty years younger, no scars, no thousand-yard stare that came from watching civilization burn.
This was St. Catherine's. This was January 2024. This was the day everything went to hell.
"This isn't possible," he breathed. "You're dead. You've been dead for twenty fucking years."
Harold's face went from annoyed to concerned to pissed off in about three seconds flat. "Dead? Boy, what kind of drugs you been taking? I ain't dead, and you ain't twenty years older than you were this morning. Now quit talking crazy and—"
Hey, fucktard.
The voice hit his brain like a sledgehammer wrapped in barbed wire. Dante jerked so hard he nearly fell over, his eyes going wide as dinner plates.
You're in the past, genius. Try to keep up.
"Who—" Dante spun around, looking for the source of the voice. Harold was still glaring at him like he'd lost his mind, which, fair enough, maybe he had.
Jesus Christ, you're even dumber than I thought you would be. And that bitch called you the smart one.
Dante's knees went weak. The voice wasn't coming from outside. It was coming from inside his head, rough and ancient and pissed off enough to make a sailor blush.
"Who the hell are you?" he whispered.
Name's Kairos, kid. God of Time. Former God of Time. Current pain in the divine pantheon's ass. We need to talk, but first—
"Harold, what's wrong with this idiot?" One of the other janitors had wandered over, eyeing Dante like he was in need of psychiatric evaluation.
"I don't know, but he's creeping me out," Harold muttered. "Dante, you feeling okay? You look like you seen a ghost."
More like twenty years of ghosts, Kairos said dryly. Now shut up and listen, because—
The air in front of Dante shimmered, and suddenly there was a blue screen floating in his vision like the world's most inconvenient pop-up ad.
[EMERGENCY ALERT]DIMENSIONAL GATE OPENINGLocation: Building RooftopTime to Manifestation: 00:03:47Threat Level: CATASTROPHICSurvival Options: ESCAPE OR DIE
Dante stared at the screen, his blood turning to ice water in his veins. Day Zero. The first gate. The one that had opened right above their heads and turned half the hospital into a monster feeding ground.
The day Harold Meckles got his fat ass torn apart by something with too many teeth.
"Oh shit," he breathed. "Oh fuck. Oh shit fuck damn—"
Now he gets it, Kairos said, sounding amused despite the circumstances. Move it, boy scout. You've got three minutes before this place turns into a buffet, and you're the main course.
"I gotta go," Dante said, already backing toward the emergency exit. "Harold, everyone, you all need to get the hell out of here. Now."
"What? Dante, what the hell are you—"
The building shook. Just a little tremor, like a truck passing by, but Dante knew better. That was reality getting its teeth kicked in by something that didn't belong here.
[EMERGENCY ALERT]Time to Manifestation: 00:02:15
Stop trying to be a hero and save your own ass first, Kairos snapped. You can't help anyone if you're dead. Again.
Dante looked at Harold, fat, annoying, soon-to-be-dead Harold, and felt something twist in his chest. Twenty years ago, he'd been in the bathroom when the gate opened. He'd survived by pure luck while people like Harold got slaughtered.
This time, he could do something about it.
"Fire alarm," he muttered, then louder: "FIRE! FIRE IN THE BUILDING!"
He grabbed the nearest fire alarm and yanked it hard enough to break the plastic. The shrieking wail filled the corridors, and suddenly everyone was moving, shouting, heading for the exits like their asses were on fire.
Well, well. Lying to save lives? Don't kid yourself. You're not saving them, you're just delaying their screams. Didn't think you had that kind of hypocrisy in you.
[EMERGENCY ALERT]Time to Manifestation: 00:01:03
The building shook again, harder this time. Ceiling tiles started falling like deadly snow.
"Move, move, MOVE!" Dante screamed, pushing past confused hospital staff and patients. He could see the exit, could see daylight, could see—
The world exploded.
The rooftop tore open like paper, and something that shouldn't exist came crawling through the hole in reality. Eight legs, each one thick as a tree trunk. Eyes like black diamonds. A mouth that opened sideways and showed rows of teeth that belonged in nightmares.
The Broodmother. The first monster. The thing that had started it all.
Welcome back to Day Zero, kid, Kairos said. Hope you remember how this dance goes.
Dante ran like hell was chasing him.
Because it was.