Introduction

My bank account was a graveyard of numbers, each one a testament to my crushing debt.

One hundred and fifty-two thousand, four hundred and eighty-one dollars and sixty-two cents, to be exact.

It all started when Jennifer Chavez, my ex-colleague, whispered about an impending grid collapse.

I believed her. I drained credit cards, took out high-interest loans, and filled my Portland apartment with freeze-dried food and solar generators.

Then Jennifer posted from Bali, "#blessed."

The grid never went down. My life, however, did.

Eviction notices piled up, and my phone wouldn't stop buzzing with collection calls.

I hated Jennifer. I hated her effortless success while I stared at a mountain of useless survival gear, suffocating under my own stupidity.

Just when I considered oblivion, my obnoxious upstairs neighbor, Sweet_Caroline, shrieked, "I make more money in one of these livestreams than you probably make in a month."

Something snapped.

What if I gave them an apocalypse?