Reborn with 10 Billion to Conquer the Apocalypse

Kinsey Elliott's eyes snapped open.

Water violently splashed over the edges of the freestanding marble tub as she thrashed upward. She gasped for air, a desperate, tearing sound, her hands clawing at her own throat. Her lungs burned. They felt like they were filled with battery acid, a phantom pain from the toxic rain of the wasteland that still seared her nerve endings.

She scrambled over the slick porcelain edge. Her wet, bare feet hit the polished marble floor, and she slipped. Her kneecap slammed into the hard stone with a sickening crack. A dark purple bruise began to bloom instantly under her pale skin. The pain was sharp, but as she pushed herself up, her body felt... different. Tighter, more densely coiled, humming with a strange, thrumming energy she didn't recognize. The jump had altered her physical baseline.

She didn't care. The sharp, grounding spike of physical pain was a lifeline.

Kinsey crawled toward the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Her trembling fingers grabbed the heavy velvet curtains and yanked them apart.

Blinding, golden sunlight hit her face. She flinched, throwing a hand over her eyes.

When her vision cleared, she wasn't looking at a frozen, ash-covered wasteland. She was looking at the bustling, vibrant skyline of Manhattan. Yellow cabs looked like tiny insects crawling along the concrete veins below.

Her chest heaved. The erratic hammering of her pulse against her ribs slowly began to steady. She looked down at her left wrist.

The jagged, infected slave brand from the year 2039 was gone. In its place, a faint, glowing silver Mobius strip was embedded in her skin.

She pressed her thumb against the mark.

A deafening hum vibrated in her skull. Instantly, a massive, boundless quantum folding space matrix expanded in her mind. It was cold, sterile, and infinitely empty.

Kinsey pushed herself off the floor. She limped over to the bathroom vanity. Her eyes locked onto the solid gold mouthwash cup sitting next to the sink. She grabbed it. The metal was heavy and cold against her palm.

She focused her mind. Take it.

The gold cup vanished. It didn't blur or fade; it simply ceased to exist in her hand. In her mind's eye, she saw the cup sitting perfectly still on a sterile shelf within the quantum matrix.

A harsh, ragged breath escaped her lips. The future technology was real. She had actually made the timeline jump.

Kinsey looked up. She stared at her reflection in the massive vanity mirror. Her face was flawless. Her cheeks were full, her skin hydrated, her eyes bright. She looked nothing like the starved, hollow-eyed corpse her uncle Clemence had pushed into the freezing abyss fifteen years from now.

A surge of pure, unadulterated hatred boiled in her stomach. It tasted like copper in the back of her throat.

Kinsey balled her right hand into a fist and drove it straight into the mirror.

Glass shattered outward in a violent explosion.

She didn't feel the pain. She only felt the intoxicating rush of impending revenge.

Kinsey turned her back on the ruined mirror. She bypassed the pastel dresses and pulled down a sharp, aggressive black Tom Ford tailored suit.

As she slipped the heavy fabric over her shoulders, her posture changed. The feral, desperate survivor of the wasteland was buried deep. On the surface, she was once again the cold, untouchable heiress of the Elliott family.

She picked up her iPhone from the nightstand. The screen lit up.

Thirty days. Exactly thirty days until the global ice age hit.

Kinsey tapped the screen, dialing the private, encrypted number of her senior account manager at the Swiss Bank.

"Miss Elliott?" The man's voice was groggy. "Do you have any idea what time it is in Geneva?"

"Override Code: Alpha-Seven-Tango-Nine," Kinsey said. Her voice was flat, devoid of any human warmth.

The line went dead silent. The manager's tone shifted instantly to a tone of ice-cold professionalism and absolute deference. "Code verified. How may I assist you, Miss Elliott?"

"Liquidate my entire tech conglomerate trust fund," Kinsey ordered. "All ten billion dollars. Sell it at market price. Right now."

"Miss Elliott, wait!" The manager's voice cracked. "That will trigger hundreds of millions in penalty fees. The SEC will launch an immediate investigation into the sudden dump of shares. The market will panic."

"I don't care about the penalties," Kinsey said, rubbing the silver mark on her wrist with her bloody thumb. "I want every single cent converted to liquid cash in my offshore accounts within twenty-four hours. If you fail, I will ruin you."

She ended the call before he could argue.

The shrill ring of the penthouse's private elevator doorbell pierced the silence.

Kinsey walked to the security monitor. The screen showed the family's chief legal counsel, Mr. Vance, standing outside her door. He was clutching a thick stack of legal documents, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses nervously.

Kinsey unlocked the heavy oak door and pulled it open.

Vance puffed out his chest, trying to project authority. "Kinsey, your uncle Clemence sent me. Your recent erratic behavior is deeply concerning to the board. You need to sign this supplementary agreement relinquishing your voting rights to the trust, for your own good."

He shoved the papers toward her.

Kinsey didn't blink. She grabbed the thick stack of papers. With one violent, fluid motion, she ripped the contract in half. Then she ripped it again.

"What are you doing?!" Vance gasped, his face turning red.

Kinsey threw the shredded paper directly into his face. The white confetti rained down over his expensive suit.

"Get out of my sight," Kinsey said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

Vance's face twisted in anger. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "You've lost your mind. I'm calling Clemence right now to initiate emergency protocols-"

"Go ahead," Kinsey interrupted. She leaned in, her eyes locking onto his. "And while you have him on the line, tell him about the townhouse in Long Island. The one on Elm Street. Where your mistress, Chloe, is currently raising your three-year-old illegitimate son."

Vance froze. The color drained from his face, leaving him a sickly, pale gray. His fingers went numb. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered against the marble floor.

"How..." Vance choked out, his chest heaving.

"I know everything, Vance," Kinsey said. "Now pick up your trash and get in the elevator before I destroy your life."

Vance scrambled to pick up his phone. He stumbled backward, looking at Kinsey as if she were a demon. He practically fell into the elevator, mashing the button to close the doors.

Kinsey stepped over the torn pieces of paper on the floor. She grabbed her car keys. It was time to start buying.