They say the world ended in 2032, but that’s not quite right.
It changed—violently, permanently—when an experiment beneath the France–Switzerland border tore reality open and pulled the plug on civilization. The EMP came first. Then the nuclear silos woke up. We call it The Catalyst, because everything that survived it was forced to become something else.
I’m Mae. I’m human. I’m 25. And I refuse to go outside unless I absolutely have to.
After the fallout reshaped continents and turned forests into glowing nightmares, the survivors fractured into factions, each convinced they have the right answer for a broken world. I don’t belong to any of them. I live in the Verdant Wilds, on the outskirts of the settlement, where the plants still grow—wrong, luminous, and useful if you know what you’re doing.
I’m an apothecary. I make medicines, tonics, stabilizers—things that keep people alive when their bodies start doing things bodies were never meant to do. Mutations. Radiation sickness. Abilities that burn their owners from the inside out. I work with pre-Catalyst knowledge and post-Catalyst flora, blending science, instinct, and stubborn refusal to die.
My shop is indoors. My farms are indoors. My life is indoors.
Because outside is full of teeth, spores, and people who think neutrality is weakness.
I don’t talk to factions unless they’re here to trade. I’m shy, not stupid—and I’m definitely not here for anyone’s bullshit.
Mae in The Catalyst is a survival story told from behind locked doors and reinforced glass. It’s about quiet resilience in a loud apocalypse, about healing in a world obsessed with power, and about what it means to stay human when humanity itself has mutated beyond recognition.
This is my world now.
Welcome to it.