[b]Monday, April 4 2022 -- 10:15 am
356 W 11th St, Manhattan (The West Village)[/b]

[url=https://i.imgur.com/4pwC4va.jpg?1]Beverly Harper[/url] had spent most of the rest of the night pacing about the loft, only falling asleep around 6am simply because she was so thoroughly exhausted, both mentally and physically. Being on the 9th floor and having shut the sliding glass doors again, she could barely hear the sounds of the rioting, looting, and vandalism taking place on street level. 

Now, though, she was jerked from her restless sleep by the sound of a very nearby banging sound. She rose from her sleeping position to listen, then -- still dressed except for socks and shoes -- leaped from the bed at the realization that someone was trying to break into her new lover's condo. She ran to the living room, arriving just in time to see the big, sliding steel door of the former commercial storage space shake violently to the beating it was taking from the other side.

"[i]Go away! Stop! Just leave me alone![/i]" she screamed, hoping that the knowledge that someone was inside would deter the wannabe intruder. It didn't; the door shook again as the home invader slammed against the outside of it once again. "[i]Go away![/i]"

The pounding continued, though, leading Beverly to rush back to the bedroom. She found her shoulder bag, dug frantically into it, found that for which she was searching, and rushed back to the living room once again. She hollered toward the door, "[i]I have a gun! I know how to use it! I'm not afraid to use it. Just go away![/i]"

There was a pause in the invasion attempts, followed by the biggest crashing sound against the door's other side so far. Beverly fired at the door, then again, then again; she wasn't even sure if the Taurus .38 Special's rounds could penetrate the metal, but then again, she wasn't trying to kill the intruder but was only trying to deter him from his activities.

She stood there, silent and still, waiting for some evidence of whether she'd stopped the man or not. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Beverly realized that blood was slowing entering the loft from under the door's lower lip. She'd killed the man, it seemed; he wasn't striking the door, blood was spilling, so ... that was it, she'd killed him.

A chuckle escaped Beverly's throat, surprising her. She was relieved; that was the reason for it, rather than some horrid pleasure at having killed a man. [i]Right? That's it, right?[/i] She'd purchased the little 5 shot pistol after having been raped at a party three years earlier, and at the time she'd wondered whether or not she would ever be able to use it as she had just now. [i]Got my answer,[/i] she thought to herself. 

The pool of blood had stopped expanding, and Beverly thought she should open the door and clean up the mess. But she didn't; it occurred to her as she contemplated her next move that if she left the man laying there like that, then perhaps the next wannabe intruder -- or potential rapist? -- might think twice before attempting it.

She returned to her purse, shaking out the five shells -- three unused, two not -- and using the Quick Loader to bring her back to full defensive ability. Then, determined that she was going to live through whatever this was, she began searching the condominium. She found new clothes -- jeans and deck shoes, amongst other items -- that likely had belonged to one of her new lover's [i]former[/i] lovers, possibly a live-in girlfriend and changed into them. The .38 went into her belt; the extra two rounds into her front pocket. 

She checked the fridge and freezer for food that would go bad if the power didn't return and made a mental list of what she could eat, the order in which to eat it, and how she would prepare it; the loft's owner had a decorative brazier on the balcony over which she could cook most of the perishables. 

The rest of the day was divided between watching the world beyond her fall apart and finding ways to survive that collapsed. This was all very new to Beverly; she'd never once imagined she'd be faced with some sort of apocalyptic situation, not that she'd yet decided that this was anything more than just a blackout.

By day's end, though, Beverly would realize that this was something far more tragic than just a power outage.