Undead Horizon

Chapter 00: Before Life Falls

I found myself pondering what it's like to exist beyond the ordinary realms of this world. Yeah, it's a rather stupid question, one that's likely asked by those people who remain oblivious to the consequences of their actions. It's clear, though, that our world is far from perfect; way too many imperfections. But who really cares? Somewhere in the world, there's an ongoing war, while others turn to prayer, hoping for those to stop. Speaking of war... It can be anything, from battling inner demons to facing a dreadful boss or wrestling with taxes. I confess, I lack the imagination or smartness to delve much deeper into it.

Then, the grating buzz of my alarm pulled me away from my thoughts. I extended my left arm from beneath the blankets, fumbled for the bedside table, and after a few attempts, silenced the annoying noise. I let out a groan, smacking my lips to rid myself of the morning's unpleasant taste. Rolling onto my back, I mumbled to myself, "Good morning, Blackjack. Another eventful day in the grand state of New York, I guess." I proceeded to disentangle myself from the bed with an awkward combination of crawling, rolling, and falling, giving myself a vigorous shake.

Glancing over at my alarm's display, I was reminded that it was, indeed, Monday – the start of another mundane routine: bathing, a minimal skincare regimen, squeezing into my uniform, and all the rest, just as it had been since I obtained my Security Guard License.

I shuffled through the heaps of accumulated junk in my room. Mostly potato chip bags and discarded beer cans. I sometimes liked to pretend that some of those open bottles were part of some exotic fermentation experiment, or perhaps signs of colonization by future fungal overlords. A woman can dream, right? I grabbed my uniform from the pile, hesitated for a sniff test... Jesus Christ, ew... fuck no. I tossed it back on its pile and sifted around for another. Sniff... sniff... yeah, this'd work.

With the choice of clothing made, I trudged into the bathroom to escape the stench of my own existence. I made a point of avoiding my reflection – I'd rather not punch the mirror and bruise my knuckles again, even though the scars do lend a certain rugged charm.

Stepping into the shower, I was rudely greeted by a blast of cold water. "Cold!" I yelped, hoping my early-morning squeal went unnoticed by Mom. I fiddled with the knobs, but the water refused to warm up. Damn, the water heater was acting up again. With no other option, I gritted my teeth and embraced the icy deluge.

I silently begged my brain not to wander into its usual abyss of existential crises. Whispering "Don't think about it..." under my breath, I lathered up with soap and shampooed my unruly black hair, desperately hoping to wash away those nagging thoughts.

I emerged from the shower victorious, avoiding the breakdowns that sometimes plagued me in that solitary steamy haven. After toweling off in the middle of my room, I turned my gaze to the framed certificate for my security license, which sat atop my dresser. I pursed my lips in contemplation, wondering how a 27-year-old could find herself with so few career prospects a decade after high school. I sighed, comparing my lackluster existence to those high school classmates who had pursued seemingly more successful paths, even if it meant grappling with student loans from college or diving into dubious pyramid schemes peddling weight loss supplements – a hilariously misguided pitch, considering my perfectly healthy physical body met all the requirements for a security guard, including above-average height for a woman.

In the years following high school, I dove headfirst into the quagmire of retail work. It was a veritable hellscape, to be honest, but it paid well enough to help cover Mom's bills and buy the occasional frivolity. Still, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this dead-end job was insufficient, particularly after dealing with irate customers who left me seething. Around the same time, my mom retired from her position as the head of security on an oil rig. It became evident that my retail gig wasn't enough to make ends meet, and my mom gently nudged me toward following in her security-guard footsteps.