I walked out of the university building and into a world that was holding its breath.
The sky had shifted from a dreary Seattle grey to a bruised, swollen purple. It looked less like a meteorological event and more like a cosmic bruise. People were frozen on the sidewalks. They held their phones up to the clouds, recording videos for social media platforms that would cease to exist in roughly seven minutes.
I adjusted the grip on my fire axe. It was heavy, but the weight was comforting. It was a tangible problem in a world that was about to become very abstract.
Most people would head home. They would lock their doors, hide under their beds, and wait for the police. That was a mistake. In the first timeline, the police were overrun within the hour, and most residential locks could be picked by a goblin with a stiff wire and a bad attitude.
I was not going home. I was going to Miller's Hardware on 45th Street.
I checked my watch. 11:02 AM.
Six minutes left.
I moved with a brisk, efficient pace. I passed a group of frat boys who were staring at the sky and laughing nervously. One of them pointed at my axe.
"Going to a costume party?" he asked.
"Something like that," I said without slowing down. "You should probably find something heavy to hold. A bat. A pipe. Maybe a brick."
He laughed again. He thought I was joking. I didn't look back. I knew that in twenty minutes, he would be dead, and the only thing I felt was a dull, distant pang of pity. I couldn't save everyone. I had tried that last time. It had only gotten me killed.
This time, I had a shopping list. I didn't need milk or eggs. I needed quick-dry cement, rebar, heavy-duty nails, and as much fencing wire as I could carry.
Warriors needed swords. Mages needed wands.
Architects needed supplies.