New York City, the city that never sleeps or takes a break. Its mornings are calm, unlike its vibrant, buzzing nights.
The sound of knocking on the door grew louder, once, then twice, and a third time—pounding hard enough to almost rip the door off its hinges. No, it would break down if someone didn't act. The banging intensified, and with it, smoke began to creep through the cracks of the small room.
At that moment, old Jerry woke up. A man nearing sixty, dark-skinned, his face marked with only a few wrinkles—ones that would surely multiply in the years to come. His hair was fully gray, a testament to his age. Jerry, the beloved owner of an old shop, struggled to make sense of the chaos around him. What had happened? Why did it feel like centuries had passed?
He yelled out, rubbing his face with his palms, "What the hell is goin' on here?!" Suddenly, he remembered the sharp pain near the back of his head. "Where's that bastard?!" he growled angrily, standing up, scanning his surroundings for answers.
He was in a small room he recognized immediately—it was his old office, the place where he spent most of his time organizing papers and managing his beloved shop.
From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of two young boys, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. Jerry guessed as much and began to think they might've been the ones who saved him. One of them was sitting near him, his face vaguely familiar, while the other sat on the floor, arms clasped tightly around his knees. Sweat dripped from his face and into his jet-black hair, which had the sheen of dark honey.
Once Jerry fully regained his senses, he recognized the first boy—it was Chris, a thirteen-year-old who'd been living in the same neighborhood as the shop for the past four years. The other boy, however, was a stranger. Jerry had only seen him during his last visit—a friend of Chris who had recently moved into the neighborhood. He could be identified instantly by his dark purple jacket.
"You mean the guy behind the door trying to blow us up with his laser gun? Yeah, he's out there," said Joey, the one in the purple jacket, just as Jerry had described him moments ago.
"Laser what?!" Jerry croaked, struggling to get up from the floor. Even if he tried to remember, he knew whoever was behind that door could do much worse. Nothing had happened yet, but it was only a matter of time. Jerry stood up, listening carefully to the sounds outside.
"Mr. Jerry, what's really goin' on here?" Chris asked, standing close to him. "I mean, why is this guy outside tryin' to kill us all—especially you? What did you do to set him off like this?"
Jerry sighed, his voice tinged with confusion. "I don't know the exact reason—or what kind of grudge would justify this—but I do know this: those men in suits, the ones from some big company, they've been comin' to my shop regularly. Always tryin' to sell me on their ridiculous plans, talkin' about expansion projects and how my shop's part of their so-called vision. They kept makin' me offers to sell the land for a lot of money… and yeah, maybe they got through to some folks around here—and in other areas too—but not me. I've turned them down over and over, for months now. And tonight ain't gonna be any different."
Jerry let out a frustrated breath, his emotions spilling out in a mix of sadness and worry. Then he walked over to the wall, reaching for an old axe hanging next to a sign that read: In Case of Emergency.
He turned toward the door, now eerily quiet after all the pounding. The faint crackle of flames crept through the room, laughing in a chaotic symphony as thick smoke filled the air, making it harder to breathe.
"If tonight means I gotta kill to defend what's mine, then so be it. I ain't afraid anymore. After all, he's just a machine—no emotions, no screams when my axe comes down on him. He brought this on himself. Now, you two—get outta here. It's about to get real messy," Jerry said firmly, stepping forward with purpose.
Chris and Joey followed hesitantly, their nerves on edge and their words caught in their throats.
The door had withstood his powerful knocks earlier, but now silence blanketed it, as silent as the room itself. Everyone fell still, anticipating the moment of fate that was supposed to unfold in the next fifteen seconds.
Suddenly, the door exploded. It didn't simply break; it shattered into pieces, accompanied by torrents of flames that consumed parts of the old shop. The flames glowed with a brilliant blue, emanating from a laser gun, reducing the door to shards that scattered through the air like falling autumn leaves.
In the darkness of the room, illuminated by flickering flames, he stood there. His eyes scanned the lurking shadows, searching for his prey.
"There's no escaping me. Not today, not tomorrow. Wherever you go, I'll find you. My programming? It's what I live for," he spoke in an even tone, standing firmly. His left hand was human, but the other was a sleek, mechanical arm with a metallic silver sheen. He wore a sharp black suit adorned with the company's insignia near his tie: five dots—one in the center, surrounded by four arranged symmetrically above, below, and on either side.
Jerry darted out from behind the broken door, gripping an axe with a blade that gleamed faintly under the dim firelight. His mind was consumed with one thought: protecting himself and his shop. Even if he couldn't defeat the man, he had to at least force him to retreat, giving Joey and Chris a chance to escape safely.
But the man in the black suit dodged the rusty axe with startling agility, like he was playing with a child rather than facing an old bearded man decades his senior. He stepped back a few paces, then raised his mechanical hand, which transformed into a sleek silver gun with smooth edges and a shiny metallic muzzle, ready to strike.
He fired at Jerry, who barely managed to dodge the glowing shots, each one like a shard of wet crystal. The shots caused chaos in the cluttered old office, narrowly missing Jerry time and time again. The whizzing bullets buzzed past his ear, like the whispers of death waiting for their chance to strike.
They traded blows violently. The man in the suit landed a punch on Jerry's face with earth-shaking force, exploiting a tiny opening. But Jerry refused to give up. He staggered to his trembling feet, barely clinging to consciousness, but his determination held firm. He glanced toward Chris and Joey, who stood near the shattered door. He realized this was their chance to escape, and he was willing to do whatever it took to ensure their survival—even if it meant losing this fight.
Jerry swung his axe again and again, each strike ripping through the air with raw ferocity. His wrist throbbed, and a relentless headache bore down on him, but the axe failed to hit its mark.
In a critical moment, the man in the suit seized the opportunity and delivered a brutal kick to Jerry's stomach. The blow was powerful enough to knock the axe from Jerry's hand and send him crashing to the ground in a painful sprawl.
Jerry rolled across the debris-covered floor, struggling to rise with what little strength he had left. But his body betrayed him, collapsing under the weight of exhaustion. Defeat washed over him—a bitter truth that seemed inevitable from the start.
The man in the suit approached Jerry's fallen form. All Jerry could hear were the deliberate steps of his boots as he drew near. The laser gun in his hand glowed with a deep blue light, cold and sharp as a winter night. Jerry knew the end was near; his adversary was about to finish him and complete the mission assigned by his agency. The man raised his weapon, ready to fire.
But suddenly, Chris appeared out of nowhere, wielding a fire extinguisher he had found nearby. With surprising bravery, he charged at the man, but his attack amounted to little. The suited man caught him effortlessly with one hand, his grip unyielding. Without a second thought, He could have broken Chris's hand if he wanted to, or at least hastened a little.
In what Chris thought was his final moment, he desperately clung to any shred of hope. But before the man could finish him, Joey sprang into action, axe in hand. With a bold, unexpected strike, Joey managed to sever the man's mechanical arm, the blade cutting through with startling precision.
Joey followed up with another swing, this time aiming for the man's neck. He had no intention of holding back; after all, this monster had been a relentless threat to their lives. But the man dodged the blow with remarkable ease, his movements effortlessly fluid. Joey, still just a teenager, struggled to maintain control of the axe, his inexperience painfully evident.
The third strike, however, was unavoidable. With a cold sweat dripping down his face in the sweltering night, Joey landed a brutal hit on the man's face. The attack was swift and unrelenting, leaving the once-unshakeable figure momentarily stunned.
The man's face, half-destroyed, crumbled to the ground like a fragile clay statue. The blow revealed the hidden mechanics beneath the layer of fake human skin covering his body. One eye flickered and went dark, while the other stared coldly at Joey.
Joey stood tall, the axe in his hand dripping with a clear liquid that spilled out when he struck the man. He had no idea what the liquid was, but he held his ground, his hands trembling slightly under the weight of what had just happened.
Flames roared around them, Joey's face gleaming with the sweat of tension, a shaky smile barely holding on his lips. In a broken voice, he muttered,
"Good thing you're a robot... Otherwise, I'd be a criminal right now, and I couldn't live with myself. But... it's fine. I'm fine."
His voice cut through the roaring fire with an unsettling calm.
The man in the suit slowly rose, his pale face hauntingly eerie, as though death itself had frozen his expression. The sight sent a chill down Joey's spine, but he didn't back away. The man moved forward with steady steps, unfazed by danger, while Joey, clinging to the last shreds of his courage, charged at him with the axe in a desperate strike.
With one swift move of his hand, the man deflected the blow as if death was nothing more than a game. Suddenly, Chris stormed in like a hurricane, wielding a fire extinguisher, smashing it against the man's head with brutal force. The blows rained down, echoing through the shop amidst the roaring inferno.
After what felt like an eternity, Joey and Chris stood, barely able to keep their balance, holding the old man in their trembling arms. Exhaustion and thick smoke surrounded them, but their goal was clear: to escape the shop surrendering to the hungry flames. Behind them, the suited man lay on the ground, almost lifeless, like a broken doll drained of all vitality.
They staggered toward the exit, their breaths struggling against the smoke choking their lungs, their feet stumbling over scattered debris. After a battle that almost cost them their lives, they finally emerged into the open air, greeted by the wailing sirens of police cars and firetrucks—a melody of survival that reignited a glimmer of hope.
Joey, his face etched with exhaustion, turned to Chris and asked in a hoarse, barely audible voice,
"Chris... you alright, man?"
Chris replied, his voice carrying a heavy undertone of pain hidden behind his tired and burdened words, "Yeah, I'm fine. But old Jerry... he's not looking too good."
Old Jerry, barely able to stand and drifting in and out of consciousness, growled with a fire of anger burning in his words:
"Is that bastard dead?"
Chris, his eyes gleaming with the pride of victory, firmly answered, "We smashed his head in. Trust me, you won't be seeing him again."
Joey, doubt creeping into his tone, asked, "Are there... others like him here too, or is he the only one? Feels like there's this black cloud hanging over this place... and I'm just an idiot wandering into it tonight."
Amid the tense atmosphere left by the disaster, Jerry's voice came through, calm but full of dignity:
"That crazy man... he was from a small tech company called Berry. Started up not too long ago... That's all I know." He took a deep breath, then added with gratitude:
"The important thing is that we're safe now. I really wanna thank you both. Without you, I'd be dead for sure. Thank you, truly."
One of Jerry's employees, who had fled outside at the first sign of the fire, approached to help him stand and guide him to the silent ambulance waiting nearby.
Joey, lying on the ground, slowly got up and extended his hand to Chris, saying, "Let's go. Or do you wanna stay here?" He smiled faintly, tired but clearly relieved.
Chris grabbed Joey's hand, pulling himself up, and answered in a hoarse voice, "Yeah, let's head home… This night still feels like a crazy dream to me. I can't believe everything that just happened." He paused for a moment, as if something struck him, then said, "Oh, I forgot! Tomorrow, I'll introduce you to Dave and Alex, and we've got plenty of other friends and connections. It's only your first half-day in New York, after all."
Joey, walking beside Chris, replied excitedly, "Yeah, I can't wait to meet them." He went quiet for a few seconds, the silence following them, before breaking it with a pure laugh: "Silly thoughts, right?" His laughter sounded like it was chasing away all the shadows of the night.
Chris looked at him, puzzled for a moment, then smiled in understanding. The two w
alked together toward home, leaving behind the chaos and fear, heading toward safety and peace.
End of chapter go to the second now