1111 times.
That number echoed endlessly in John's mind, an overwhelming reminder of the impossible gap between him and Noah.
1111 times the number of sponsor offers I've received. How is that even possible?
For the past ten days, John had believed he was catching up. He thought, maybe, just maybe, the difference between them wasn't so vast anymore. But now, that belief was crumbling. Each of Noah's achievements—his power, his influence, his fame—seemed light-years ahead, like an unreachable star.
He kicked a rock on the ground, watching it bounce and tumble across the cracked pavement, its journey aimless, much like how he felt.
"It's unbelievable, isn't it?"
Kevin's voice broke through the early morning quiet, his eyes fixed on the still-dark sky above.
"What is?"
John muttered, irritation bubbling just below the surface.
"Not what, who! Noah, of course!"
John grunted in response.
"But you know... I think you're amazing too," Kevin added, his tone genuine, almost admiring.
"Knock it off, Kevin."
"I mean it!"
Isabelle chimed in, her voice soft but full of warmth. She flashed a bright smile at John, the kind that made it hard to argue.
"We both saw what you've been doing for that little girl at the camp," Kevin continued. "It's not something everyone would do, you know."
"Anyone would have done the same if they were in my shoes," John replied, shaking his head dismissively.
"I'm not so sure about that…"
Isabelle murmured, her eyes thoughtful.
John fell silent, their words heavy in his mind.
_________
*Ten days earlier...*
John sprinted through the chaos of Times Square, his breath ragged and labored. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, mingling with the grime on his face. His lungs burned with every gasp, the weight of the world pressing on his chest.
Without slowing down, he vaulted over a pedestrian barrier, his momentum carrying him into 46th Street. He shot past the towering glass structure of the Riu Plaza Hotel, the building's reflective surface mirroring the city's frantic energy.
Each step hit the pavement like thunder, his heartbeat a deafening drum in his ears. The streets, once packed with tourists and city-dwellers, were eerily empty now, save for the distant rumble of military vehicles and the occasional scream carried by the wind.
John didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
Finally, he reached his destination—a small, nondescript apartment building on the corner of Ninth Avenue. Its facade was a dull mix of aged brick and weathered stone, a relic of another time. A heavy gray curtain hung loosely over the stairs leading to the entrance, swaying gently in the breeze. It was home, but today it felt... wrong.
Frantic, John fumbled for his keys.
"Gotcha!" he muttered to himself, yanking them from his pocket and thrusting them into the lock. The door swung open with a loud creak, revealing a long, narrow hallway that stretched into darkness.
John bolted up the stairs two at a time, his pulse pounding in his temples. Panic twisted in his gut.
Please be okay. Please be okay.
He climbed faster, his legs burning with the effort. Floor after floor blurred together as he ascended, until finally, he reached the top. The hallway up here was narrower than the others, suffocating in its tightness. A series of identical doors lined the walls, each one leading to an apartment indistinguishable from the next.
He sprinted to the end, skidding to a halt in front of his family's door.
No sound.
"Mama? Papa? Are you home?!"
His voice was loud, desperate.
No response.
The loft inside looked like it had been abandoned in haste. The faint whistle of the kettle on the stove echoed through the eerily still air, the pot bubbling over as it was forgotten. The television, still on, crackled with static, no longer displaying any signal, just white noise. The beds were unmade, drawers pulled open, clothes scattered.
His eyes landed on a single sheet of paper lying on his desk.
_________
Sweetheart, they've ordered an evacuation. We're heading to the nearest rally point—Clinton Park. Phones are down. If you find this note, meet us there.
Love, Mom.
_________
Relief flooded his body, but it was short-lived.
I have to find them. They'll be safe once I do.
John grabbed a backpack, stuffing a few essentials into it. With one last glance at the apartment he had called home, he shouldered the bag and raced out the door.
_________
The stairwell felt colder than before as John hurried down, his thoughts solely focused on reuniting with his family. He could hear distant cries, the echoes of the world crumbling around him, but he forced himself to stay on track.
But then... a new sound. Closer.
"Uuuuueeeeee! Mommy! Mommy, I'm scared!"
A child's voice, high-pitched and trembling with fear, broke through the ambient noise.
It's coming from the first floor.
John halted mid-step. His heart skipped a beat as he darted to the side, sliding down the railing to the lower landing. The hallway ahead stretched out in front of him, identical to his own on the top floor.
At the far end, Apartment 6 had its door wide open, a black void inviting him inside.
"Mommy, help!"
The child's voice grew more desperate.
John sprinted toward the open door and burst into the apartment.
_________
*Splat.*
His foot slipped slightly as it hit something wet. John glanced down, dread curling in his stomach as he took in the sight. A growing pool of blood was spreading across the floor, seeping into the cracks of the old wooden boards. Two bodies lay crumpled nearby, lifeless.
John's hand flew to his mouth, his body lurching as he fought back the urge to vomit. His mind screamed in horror, but his legs refused to move.
They're dead. All of them...
"A-Ahh! Help me!" The child's terrified plea shook him from his stupor.
At the back of the apartment, two small, green-skinned creatures were hacking at a locked door with crude machetes. Their grotesque, misshapen faces were smeared with blood, and bits of flesh clung to their jagged, yellow teeth. Goblins.
John's stomach twisted. The monsters barely acknowledged him, too focused on breaking into the room where the child hid.
"Hey! Over here, you bastards!"
John shouted, his voice carrying a fury he hadn't known he possessed.
Both goblins turned, their beady eyes locking onto him. They shrieked in unison, a high-pitched, ear-splitting cry that reverberated through the small apartment.
"Kyyyaaahhhh!!"
John's hands balled into fists, his body tensing. He had no weapon, no armor, nothing but his sheer will to survive.
I'll save her. I swear I'll save her.
The goblins charged, brandishing their weapons with a crazed frenzy. John braced himself for the fight of his life.