Fiona Bishop, celebrated supermodel and recent pariah of the entertainment news after stabbing a paparazzi photographer in the mouth with a penknife, welcomed the end of the world after the week she had.
The apocalypse started on a Saturday and for better or worse, Las Vegas survived. The Extinction War might have wiped Las Vegas from the face of the planet were it not for a former pole-dancer from Louisiana, a single mother straight off a commune, and a mafia widow. And Fiona might have fulfilled her plan of living fast, dying young, and leaving a beautiful, redheaded corpse if she hadn’t discovered the joys of big guns, hot women, and high explosives.
In the wake of the first wave of the invasion, when Las Vegas was supposed to shrivel in the desert, choked by the smoke of war, three bloody queens collected survivors and waged their own war for survival. Rather than submit to alien invaders, ruthless drug cartels, and bloodthirsty bikers, lady ravens rose from the ashes, just in time for a second apocalypse.