The sound of tools clattering onto metal echoed through the quiet garage as Jack finished the last of the modifications. He stepped back, wiping his grease-streaked hands on a rag, and let his eyes roam over the Charger one last time. The car looked good—damn good, in fact. The new roll cage was seamless, the aesthetic tweaks subtle but impactful. He had to admit, despite the vanity project feel, Aiden Cross had decent taste.
"Not bad, huh?" Jack said, tossing the rag onto his workbench.
Cross, who'd been leaning against a stack of tires, pushed himself upright and let out an appreciative whistle. "Not bad? You kidding? This is a work of art, man. Seriously. My guy was telling me you're the best, but seeing it in person?" He let out a low chuckle. "Worth every penny."
Jack gave a noncommittal grunt, grabbing his jacket. Compliments like that had stopped making much of an impact years ago. "Glad you're happy with it," he said, slipping the jacket on. "Treat it right, huh? Don't go wrapping it around a tree for the sequel."
Cross laughed, clapping Jack on the shoulder. "I'll try not to. Anyway, thanks, man. I mean it. You ever want to come out to the set, see what we're working on, just let me know."
"Sure," Jack replied, already heading for the door. He didn't bother with false enthusiasm. Celebrity or not, Cross was just another client.
The rain had eased into a light drizzle by the time Jack stepped outside, the sky a dull, featureless gray. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, leaning against his truck for a moment. The air smelled of wet asphalt and motor oil, a familiar combination that usually calmed him. But tonight, there was something else. Something he couldn't quite place. A tension in the air, like the city itself was holding its breath.
He shook it off, flicking ash into a puddle before climbing into the cab of his truck. The Charger's engine rumbled to life inside the garage as Cross prepared to leave, but Jack didn't stick around to watch him go. He had his own drive ahead of him.
The streets were quieter than they should have been. Jack's headlights cut through the drizzle, illuminating empty sidewalks and darkened storefronts. The radio hummed softly in the background, a classic rock station playing one of the same songs it always did. He didn't mind. The familiarity was comforting, a reminder that the world still made sense.
But as he drove, the unease he'd felt earlier began to creep back. It started small—a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, gone before he could fully register it. He chalked it up to the rain, the way the light played tricks when it bounced off the wet pavement.
Then he saw the first figure.
A man stumbled out of an alleyway, drenched from head to toe, his clothes torn and clinging to his body. He moved erratically, like a drunk, his head lolling to one side. Jack slowed down as he passed, glancing out the window. Something about the man's movements was off—not just unsteady, but wrong in a way Jack couldn't describe. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he drove on, resisting the urge to look in the rearview mirror. It wasn't his problem. Not yet.
The radio cut out mid-song, replaced by static. Jack frowned, tapping the dial. A few seconds later, a robotic tone interrupted the fuzz, followed by a calm, mechanical voice.
"This is an emergency broadcast. Residents are advised to remain indoors and avoid crowded areas. Reports of violent disturbances have increased across the downtown area. Law enforcement is responding. Stay tuned for further updates."
The message repeated, then cut back to static before the rock station returned as if nothing had happened. Jack's grip tightened on the wheel. He'd heard emergency broadcasts before—storm warnings, missing persons alerts—but this one was different. It was vague, almost deliberately so, and that made it worse.
As he turned onto a main road, he noticed more figures. A woman standing in the middle of the crosswalk, staring blankly at the ground. A man banging on the door of a shuttered diner, his fists leaving red smears on the glass. Jack's pulse quickened. He didn't slow down this time, didn't let his eyes linger. Something was happening. Something bad.
The drizzle turned to rain again, heavier now, drumming against the windshield. Jack switched the wipers to high, leaning forward slightly as he navigated the increasingly slick roads. Up ahead, he saw flashing lights—a police cruiser parked at an odd angle across the street, its driver's side door hanging open. He slowed down as he approached, his stomach twisting into knots.
The cruiser's interior was empty. Its blue and red lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting the scene in a surreal, otherworldly glow. Jack craned his neck as he passed, trying to catch a glimpse of the officer, but the surrounding streets were deserted.
The radio crackled again, cutting into another song. This time, the emergency broadcast was replaced by snippets of a panicked voice.
"—spreading faster than expected… hospitals are overwhelmed—"
Another burst of static.
"—we can't contain it. If you're hearing this, stay away from—"
The transmission cut off abruptly, replaced by dead air. Jack swore under his breath, his hands clenching the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He wasn't the paranoid type, but even he couldn't deny that something was seriously wrong.
As he turned onto the street leading back to his apartment, he saw the first body. It lay sprawled on the sidewalk, motionless, its arms bent at unnatural angles. Jack's foot hovered over the brake, but he didn't stop. His gaze lingered on the body until it disappeared from his side mirror, his mind racing. Was it an accident? A hit-and-run? Or something worse?
He pulled into the underground garage of his building, his heart hammering in his chest. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, their sterile glow casting long shadows across the empty space. Jack killed the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the concrete wall in front of him. The sound of the rain was distant now, muffled by layers of steel and stone, but the unease was louder than ever.
Finally, he got out, slamming the door shut harder than he intended. His boots echoed against the concrete as he made his way to the elevator, his eyes darting toward every dark corner. The ride up to his floor felt longer than usual, the hum of the elevator grating against his nerves.
When he stepped into his apartment, he locked the door behind him and double-checked it for good measure. The space was exactly as he'd left it—quiet, dim, and cluttered with the detritus of a life lived mostly alone. He set his keys on the counter and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the back of a chair.
The television blinked to life as he turned it on, the same news channel from earlier still running. The anchor looked pale, his usual composure cracking as he read the latest updates.
"…reports continue to come in from across the city. Authorities are urging everyone to stay indoors and lock their doors. We'll bring you more information as it becomes available."
Jack sank onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. The cigarette pack on the table caught his eye, and he reached for it without thinking. He lit one, taking a long drag as he stared at the screen.
Outside, the rain continued to fall.