The Cafe Beneath The Storm

My name is Naomi Price. I’m twenty-three, cursed with an annoyingly flawless complexion, and my life used to be completely unremarkable. My biggest mistake was paying eight bucks for a americano at The Roasted Cafe. That’s where some coward slipped a lethal cocktail into my mug, and I ended up choking on my own spit on a sticky laminate floor. Death was supposed to be a dirt nap. Instead, I woke up with a migraine, exactly ten years in the past. Only, it isn't my past. The world I woke up in is wrong. The skies are a polluted, bruised purple, and the streets are crawling with heavily armed zealots who call themselves The Legion. They own everything now. And the kicker? Everyone is walking around with powers, dictated by a mysterious, floating System that treats human lives like a twisted, high-stakes game. You want to survive this dystopia? You rank up. You want to find out who murdered you? You bleed for it. But the universe has a sick, twisted sense of humor when it comes to leveling up. You can't just grind your way to the top by beating the shit out of low-tier thugs in an alley. To climb the ladder and claim a higher rank, the System locks you in a pocket dimension and forces you to fight an upgraded, deadlier version of yourself. You have to literally kick your own ass to evolve. If you lose? You die for real. And as if dealing with a fascist regime and fighting my own shadow wasn't enough, I brought a passenger back with me. A fractured piece of my own subconscious woke up when I died. She is an arrogant, unhinged mastermind who thinks she is God’s gift to violence. I just want to solve my murder, rip the Legion to shreds, and fix this broken timeline. My other half? She just wants to finger-paint with their blood. So, grab a helmet and buckle the fuck up. We have exactly fifty chapters to sort this colossal clusterfuck out, and my patience is already running on empty.