The ticking of a clock broke the silence. A sound so faint, it seemed like an afterthought. But it wasn't. The room grew colder as if the air itself was holding its breath. Nathan couldn't see the clock—there were no walls, no furniture—but he knew it was there. He felt it. The soft ticking wasn't a melody. It wasn't comforting. It wasn't even natural.
His heartbeat thundered in his chest. Each tick seemed to echo against the walls of his mind, far too loud for something so small, far too deliberate for something so simple. The pressure in the room grew, but it wasn't the temperature. It wasn't the sound. It was something else. Something far older, deeper, and colder. Something that didn't care how long he'd been running. Something that waited for people like him.
He couldn't remember when he'd first heard the ticking, but it didn't matter. It didn't stop. It just kept repeating itself, over and over, like the steady pulse of a heart that didn't belong in a world where life had no meaning.
Nathan's hands shook, his breaths shallow, ragged. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand. He had to move, had to escape. His pulse raced, not from exertion, but from the fear that had seeped into his bones. He could hear it. The clock. It was just there, and it was watching. Waiting. He knew it was.
He turned to run.
But where? It didn't matter. The room had no walls, no exits. Only the ticking, the cold, the feeling of something closing in on him. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. The air was thick, suffocating, as if it wanted to swallow him whole. The sound continued, never growing louder, never slowing down.
Nathan fell to his knees, his head pounding. A moment of clarity broke through the chaos in his mind, a memory. A past he tried to forget. Faces, names, events he had buried deep down, locked away.
But the ticking wasn't forgetting. The ticking knew.
He knew. It wasn't just the sound. It was the clock itself, its ancient rhythm. It didn't care if Nathan understood or not. It didn't care that he didn't believe. It didn't care that he thought he was safe because of some twisted, warped sense of fate. Nathan had done enough in his life to mark himself.
The clock didn't wait for him to figure out what was happening. It didn't need to explain. It simply came for him.
The first strike wasn't with force. It didn't have to be. Nathan's heart lurched in his chest, each beat like a drum sounding the end. The room around him began to blur, the corners darkening, until all he could see was the steady tick, tick, tick. His hand was pressed to his chest, as if he could hold his heart inside.
He couldn't.
His vision was failing, his strength draining away, and still, the ticking. It was the last thing he heard as his body gave out. The sound didn't change, not for him. Not for anyone. It only stopped when it was done.
And then there was silence.
The silence lasted for only a moment.
And then there was another.
Another victim.
His name was Jack. He didn't know how he had gotten there. He didn't remember the ticking. He didn't know what it meant.
But he could hear it now.
It was louder this time. Jack's eyes flickered open, his mind in a fog. He was on the ground, lying flat, but the clock's tick was too loud, too constant. His breath caught in his throat. The air felt thick again, closing in, but he couldn't run. He couldn't even sit up. He tried to move his arms, but they were heavy, impossible.
The tick... tick... tick...
He didn't understand. He didn't even want to. But it was there, so very close, like an old friend who had come to collect a debt.
Jack thought of his past. He thought of the mistakes. He thought of the people he'd hurt. The lies, the betrayals, the things he'd done when no one was watching. He'd never been caught. He'd never been held accountable. But it didn't matter now, did it? The clock wasn't interested in the past. It wasn't interested in the future.
It was here.
His heart raced. He could feel it in his chest, throbbing. His breathing was shallow, erratic. He wanted to scream, but the sound was trapped, buried deep in his throat.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It was too much. Too much to bear. Too much to fight. Jack couldn't take it anymore. The fear wrapped itself around his chest like a vice. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.
He felt his heart—he felt it stop.
But it didn't.
His chest rose and fell, in shallow breaths. His pulse was weak, but it was still there. The clock had passed him by. It didn't stop him.
Why?
He didn't know. He didn't care. He didn't want to be here anymore. It felt like a twisted game, like some sick joke played by forces beyond his understanding. But he had lived, and for some reason, that terrified him more than anything else.
Jack forced himself to sit up. His limbs ached, heavy with the pull of exhaustion, but he still lived. And that thought weighed on him in a way he couldn't understand.
The ticking was still there, but now it sounded so far away, as if it were never meant to be heard by him in the first place. Maybe the clock was fickle. Maybe it had a purpose he couldn't grasp.
It didn't matter. Not now. Not anymore.
He stumbled to his feet and looked around. The room was empty, cold. A single light flickered overhead. The walls closed in again, and Jack could feel the weight of something unseen pressing down. He could hear the sound of something... something he didn't want to think about.
The ticking.
It had stopped for now, but something told him it wouldn't be long before it returned.
His heart was still weak. His body trembling. He tried to move forward, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. The clock had done its job. It had come for him, but it hadn't taken him.
Yet.
But he wasn't free.
Jack had thought he'd escaped the grasp of fate, but fate wasn't finished with him. He wasn't spared by luck or mercy.
It wasn't long before he realized he wasn't alone. The shadows in the room were darker now, too dark. His mind raced. His eyes darted from one corner to another, searching for something to hold onto. But nothing appeared.
Except for the clock.
The ticking began again.
But this time, Jack didn't move. He didn't struggle. He understood now. The clock was playing a game with him, a cruel, unfeeling trick. He was still marked. He always had been.
The sound grew louder, the pressure on his chest tightening. He couldn't breathe again. The pain surged through his body like a tidal wave. His heartbeat slowed, not because of fear, but because the clock was relentless.
It didn't matter that Jack had been spared once. It didn't matter that he had thought he was safe. The clock had other plans.
Jack felt it before his heart gave out. He didn't scream. There was no need. The clock had already claimed him, and this time, there would be no escape.
The ticking stopped.