# 1 of the Doomsday Chronicles
Is doing the right thing worth the daunting risk that comes with it?
The Day the Stars Fell
On the dawn of the holocaust, no one was prepared to face the end of the world.
In a town called Angel Wood, only one man had an inkling about the looming danger—but that was nothing new. This man, Dorian Levi, wasn’t a
reputable expert regarding climate changes, disease outbreaks, or the possibility of a catastrophic war. In fact, according to everyone in Angel Wood,
he wasn’t reputable at all. Even Dorian’s own niece could attest to that.
The town didn’t dislike Dorian, quite the contrary. Everyone in Angel Wood had great things to say about his warm, friendly nature and his
willingness to help out anyone in need. But if anyone were to ask what Dorian did for a living or what his politics were, the answer would almost
undoubtedly be something strange and bizarre, something that would make a stranger gawk at him like a circus attraction, something that would shatter
any shred of credibility he might’ve had in the asker’s eyes. Dorian Levi was an outcast of the Levi family, a family that resided comfortably in
Las Vegas, a family who had so much money to spare they could probably pay for every hobo in Vegas to eat happily for a week without noticing even the
slightest fluctuation in their own paychecks. Unlike the rest of his family, Dorian didn’t spend his inherited wealth on one of the casinos, on a
new business, or on any kind of overpriced vehicles or mansions; he moved to the back-roots town of Angel Wood, purchased a house, and lived his life
as a doomsday prepper. When his niece, Sandra Levi, was orphaned at age five, he adopted her and took her away from the dangers of Vegas and decided
to—in his way, through his own eyes—keep them both safe against any and all odds.
Everyone in Dorian’s family thought him crazy, including Sandra.
Sandra was nineteen years old now, and ever since graduating from high school, she spent most of her time aimlessly wandering around the town and
watching movies at the theater, attending fairs and community gatherings, and generally trying to avoid her uncle at all costs. Sandra was a loner at
heart, and most of her friends had moved out of town once they graduated high school. Nowadays, she was stuck on her own with only her uncle to keep
her company, but Dorian always tried to drag her into his projects or into some fanatical doomsday preparedness lecture. Many times, Sandra would
consider taking on a part-time job just to earn her own money and keep herself busy, but Dorian had plenty of money, and with all of his strenuous
preparations, neither of them needed to worry much about paying bills. Apart from the property tax on Dorian’s land, they didn’t have many bills
to pay; their water and electricity was taken care of. Dorian had some kind of contraption linking the river to the house, and he had a rain-catching
system on the house’s rooftop. He also had solar panels placed along the roof, and whenever he wasn’t occupied by another project, Sandra would
often come home to find Dorian tinkering with the solar panels on the house, sometimes accidentally stranding himself after knocking his ladder
Today, Sandra planned to leave and explore the train tracks while listening to her mp3 player. In her room—the attic of Dorian’s one-room house,
which he had cleaned up and fashioned into a nice living space for her after her parents died—Sandra stood in front of her mirror, making herself up
before she left the house. Her bangs were combed one side of her face. They were the longest part of her hair; she had the back chopped off above her
neck, and the rest of it was dyed a deep, shiny crimson color that shone like blood in the light. Her combed-over bangs had three streaks of black
invading them, covering half of her face and revealing one of her ocean blue eyes, staring coldly out at the world from behind black lashes and
silvery eyeshadow. Her curvy body carried a pair of baggy black cargo pants, a plaid tank-top, and a fitted leather jacket which hugged her stomach in
a way that perfectly accented her hips. The jacket was halfway zipped, open just enough to show off her figure and the spiked collar around her neck.
Her nails were painted a jet black, and from her one visible ear dangled a skull-and-bones earring. Her uncle had bought her the earrings for her
birthday last year, but she lost one of them a long time ago.
For the fifth time this morning, her prepaid flip-phone began to ring from her bed. Sandra snatched the phone up from her pillow, opened it, and
closed it. The phone’s battery symbol had turned red, and Dorian was trying to call her over and over again. Sandra sat on the bed and flipped her
phone open and closed numerous times, forcing the phone’s light to power on and off repeatedly, until finally, the phone died.
“There,” Sandra muttered. “Now leave me the f**k alone, already.”
Satisfied that Dorian wouldn’t be able to blow up her phone anymore, Sandra stood from her bed, left the house, and inserted her earphones,
allowing her favorite rock band to drown her thoughts away. Dorian’s home sat on the top of a hill at the edge of town, overlooking a beautiful
horizon and the stretch of road which led north of Angel Wood. The driveway slithered down the hill, and about halfway down on the left side, a small
dirt path crawled down the hillside. Buried in the hillside was another section of the Levi residence, a place that Sandra never visited if she could
help it. The dirt trail led down the side of the hill and curved around to the doorstep of Dorian’s underground bunker.
Sandra kicked rocks down the driveway. She stopped at the dirt trail, glaring down the hill and letting out an annoyed sigh. Her eyes drifted up to
the house, and she was able to see Dorian’s gigantic black truck in the driveway. Where ever he was, he was close by—either somewhere in the
house, or in the bunker. And if he was calling her from home, it meant that he needed her help somehow. Either that, or he planned to give her another
lecture about how to properly handle the bee farm in the backyard…
He’d be upset with her if she ignored him all day. Dorian never got angry at her, really, but his disappointment in her usually resulted in a
long-winded lecture about the importance of communication in a disaster crisis, and she certainly didn’t want to deal with that when she came home
later. So, hesitantly, Sandra marched down the dirt trail and approached the large metal door embedded in the hillside. The mechanism on the door was
controlled by a computerized lock, and beside the door was a tiny keypad. Sandra typed in the four-digit password, and the door opened itself.
“Sandra!” Dorian’s voice bounced off the metal walls inside.
edit on 21-6-2019 by XxKonspiracyxX because: (no reason given)