Chris jolted awake, squinting against the cold glare of fluorescent lights above. He groaned, the stiffness in his neck and shoulders a painful reminder that he had fallen asleep at his desk—again.
"Dude, you know if the boss catches you like this, you're done, right?" Max's voice broke through the haze, laced with amusement.
Chris rubbed his face, trying to force the sleep out of his eyes. "Honestly, I kinda wish he would fire me. This place is killing me."
Max stifled a laugh. "Man, you're on a whole other level."
Chris blinked blearily at the clock. "What time is it, anyway?"
"Six," Max replied, amused. "You survived the whole night."
Chris groaned, gathering his things. "Awesome. Another thrilling chapter in my tragic life." He stretched, feeling the dull ache of exhaustion in his muscles. "If I stay here any longer, I might start talking to the walls."
Max chuckled, giving him a parting wave as Chris trudged toward the door.
The stale air of the office trailed after him as he stepped outside, the streetlights buzzing faintly in the early morning haze. The weight of another long, empty shift pressed on his chest like a stone. His head felt heavy with thoughts, tangled between frustration and a creeping numbness.
I've gotta get out of this job... It's driving me insane.
Lost in thought, he barely registered the shove.
"Hey—!"
The ground disappeared beneath his feet.
He stumbled forward, arms flailing, and hit the pavement hard, gravel biting into his hands and knees. Pain flared through his skin as he gasped, winded.
"What the hell?"
Before he could even stand, the roar of an engine seized his attention. Chris glanced up—his heart stopped cold in his chest. A car. Speeding straight toward him.
Time slowed.
His body froze, instincts screaming, but it was too late—
Suddenly, something grabbed his legs in a powerful yank, dragging him backward. Chris hit the ground again with a thud just as the car whipped past, missing him by inches. His pulse thundered in his ears.
"You alright, kid?" a gruff voice asked from above, breathless but calm.
Chris lay there, stunned, struggling to piece together what just happened. His heart pounded so violently he thought it might tear out of his chest.
"I—yeah... yeah, I think so." He scrambled to sit up, still shaking. "Holy crap. That... that just happened, right? I almost got flattened."
"Yeah," the man replied with a small, tired chuckle. "Happens faster than you think."
Chris looked up, finally catching a good glimpse of the man. He was older, maybe late 40s, with weathered hands and kind, sharp eyes that carried a strange weight.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Chris." He winced as he tried to brush the gravel from his scraped palms. "I—I don't know what happened. It was all a blur."
The man nodded, offering a hand to pull him to his feet. "You remember anything? You sure you didn't just trip?"
Chris shook his head, mind racing. "No. Someone pushed me. I swear it. I felt it."
The man's expression darkened slightly. "So... you're saying someone tried to—"
Before he could finish, Chris saw it. A shadow flickering through the crowd, too fast and too deliberate. His gut twisted with a sudden, inexplicable dread.
"Behind you!" Chris shouted, panic cracking his voice.
But the warning came too late.
The shadowy figure lunged with inhuman speed, slipping through the crowd like smoke. A flash of steel caught the light.
The man barely had time to turn before the blade found its mark—driven deep into his chest.
Chris's breath caught in his throat as he watched in horror. Blood blossomed from the wound, staining the man's shirt in dark crimson.
The man staggered, his eyes wide with disbelief. His hand pressed to his chest, but the life in him was already slipping away, too fast to stop. He crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, the light dimming from his gaze.
"No—no, no!" Chris stumbled forward, the world tilting under his feet. "What just happened?!" His voice cracked, helpless and desperate.
The shadowy figure turned toward him now, a cruel smile curling at the edges of its lips.
Chris's heart pounded against his ribs, panic flooding every inch of him. He wanted to move, to scream, to do something, but his legs felt heavy, like lead.
The figure stepped closer, the knife glinting in its hand, and Chris knew—he was next.
Everything around him blurred. The world tilted, dissolving into darkness, and before he could understand what was happening, the shadows swallowed him whole.