The world ended.
Now, I want my life back.
Two years ago, the world went through the end of times, the Apocalypse, or whatever the religious types call it.
God beamed all the good boys and girls up to some giant party in the sky and left the rest of us asking one question: Why not me?
A rift opened in the desert. Hellspawn poured out onto Earth.
They ravaged humanity, ripping us apart for their own pleasure, torturing us in the most grotesquely creative ways possible.
It was bedlam; Hell on earth. And there was nothing we could do to stop it.
Then, one day, the monsters got bored and opted for a quiet life in the suburbs.
They squatted in the homes of the people they had brutally murdered. They were neither pleasant or polite neighbors. They threw raucous parties late into the night and played their guitars too loud. They shot off fireworks in the dead of night. They lived like frat boys.
We lived in constant fear and in a state of perpetual loneliness, expecting to die and scared to live. We tried to get along any way we could, even after we’d lost everything.
I’m sick of living with monsters, working with monsters, and fighting monsters.
I want my old life back. I want peace and quiet. I want the Apocalypse to END.
There’s only one way to make that happen. Travel to Hell, find the Devil, and kill him. So that’s what I’m gonna do.
My name is Katrina, and I really hate the Apocalypse.