Alex ran through the dense forest, his legs burning with every step, his chest heaving as the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears. He'd been running for more than ten minutes, and by now, exhaustion had settled deep into his bones. The sharp sting of branches brushing against his face and the uneven ground beneath his feet only added to the fatigue. Panic surged through him with each pounding footstep, but there was no time to stop, no time to think. He needed to get away.
Then, through the trees, he spotted it—a gas station up ahead, its flickering neon sign a faint beacon in the darkness. Desperation surged within him. It wasn't much, but it was something. With one last burst of energy, he made a beeline for the station, hoping it might offer a place to hide, a momentary refuge from the chaos that had taken over his life.
His heart pounded as he reached the edge of the parking lot. The gas station looked like it had been abandoned for years—peeling paint, broken windows, and a general sense of decay. But right now, it was the only shelter he could find. Without thinking, he spotted a large, metal garbage can behind the building. Desperation drove him to duck behind it, crawling inside as quietly as possible, hoping to catch his breath without being noticed.
Inside the trash can, Alex tried to steady his breathing, but his body shook from more than just the cold. His mind raced, his thoughts a blur of fear and confusion. Why are they after me? What's happening?
Minutes passed, and the world outside the garbage can remained silent—too silent. Then, a distant sound caught his attention. The faint crunch of footsteps on gravel. At first, it was barely noticeable, but it quickly grew louder, closer. Alex's breath hitched, panic flooding him again. They're coming for me.
His heart was a drumbeat in his chest now, each step from the approaching figures making him want to curl up and disappear. His legs trembled, the terror of being found outweighing even his exhaustion. He clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle his breathing, praying that the darkness and the trash would be enough to hide him.
But it wasn't. A sudden force jerked the garbage can from its place, tossing it to the ground with a sickening clatter. Alex yelped as he tumbled out, landing hard on the cold, rough ground. His hands scraped against the dirt and gravel, his knees buckling under him.
When he scrambled to his feet, his breath caught in his throat. There, standing before him, was Bob—but not like before. He was drenched in blood, his clothes soaked through, his scarlet eyes glowing faintly in the dim light of the gas station. The sight made Alex freeze, his mind struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.
"Bob!" Alex gasped, stumbling back, his voice laced with concern. "You… you're covered in blood! Are you okay? What happened?"
Bob wiped a streak of blood from his face with a grimace, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the area. He didn't seem fazed by the blood—his own or anyone else's. "I'm fine, it's not mine," he muttered, his tone sharp and tense. He didn't seem to have the luxury of time to explain, his eyes darting around the parking lot as though expecting someone to emerge from the shadows. "We need to move. They're still out there."
Alex's stomach twisted as he took in Bob's condition, but the urgency in Bob's voice made him snap to attention. His heart raced. "Who's still out there? The people from before? The ones in the black suits?"
Bob nodded, his jaw tightening. "Yeah. And they're not giving up." His gaze hardened. "Come on, we can't stay here."
Alex hesitated, his eyes flicking to the blood staining Bob's clothes, his mind a whirlpool of confusion. "But… you're hurt. Shouldn't we—"
"I said I'm fine," Bob snapped, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down, to focus. The blood on his skin, the ache in his bones, none of it mattered. Not right now. "Look, kid, I know you're scared. But right now, we need to focus on staying alive. Got it?"
Alex swallowed hard, nodding shakily. "Got it."
Bob didn't wait for another word. He grabbed Alex's hand, pulling him toward the back of the gas station. The building was small, its windows dark and broken, its sign flickering faintly in the wind. Every step Bob took was measured, his eyes scanning the surroundings with razor-sharp focus. He was no stranger to danger, but this situation—this felt different. They were being hunted.
As they rounded the corner, Bob froze. His sharp gaze landed on something that made his lips curl into a faint smirk. Behind the gas station, parked next to a rusted dumpster, was a beat-up pickup truck. Its keys were still dangling from the ignition.
Bob's smirk widened. "Looks like our luck's turning."
Alex stared at the truck, blinking in disbelief. "We're stealing a car?"
"Borrowing," Bob corrected, already opening the passenger door and giving Alex a firm push inside. "We'll return it later. Maybe."
Alex didn't protest. His mind was too scrambled to argue, and besides, he didn't exactly have any better ideas. He buckled his seatbelt as Bob slid into the driver's seat, his fingers gripping the wheel as if his life depended on it—which, in a sense, it did. The engine sputtered and coughed to life, then roared as Bob peeled out of the parking lot, gravel flying behind them.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The hum of the engine and the occasional crackle from the radio were the only sounds that filled the air. Alex stared out the window, his thoughts a jumble of confusion, fear, and questions that had no answers. His fingers curled into fists in his lap, his anxiety mounting.
Finally, the silence became unbearable. "Bob…" Alex's voice broke the stillness, tentative. "What's going on? Who are those people? Why are they after us?"
Bob's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles going white. He didn't need to explain much; he already knew how it would sound. "They're part of The Order. A group of… well, let's just call them bad guys." His voice darkened, an edge of bitterness seeping through. "They want your powers, kid. And they'll do whatever it takes to get them."
Alex's eyes widened, his throat closing up. "My powers? But I don't even know how to use them!"
Bob's jaw clenched. "That's why they want you. You're untrained. Vulnerable. To them, you're a weapon waiting to be unlocked."
Alex's stomach churned, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin. "But… why? What do they want with me?"
Bob hesitated, glancing at Alex for a fleeting moment before his gaze returned to the road. "Your dad had the same powers as you. Reality manipulation. He was the strongest hero this world ever saw." His voice was low, tinged with an unspoken sorrow. "And The Order… they've been trying to replicate that power for years. Now that he's gone, they think you're the key."
Alex's breath hitched, and he felt a lump form in his throat. "So… it's my fault? All of this is happening because of me?"
"No," Bob said firmly, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. He turned to look at Alex, his scarlet eyes intense. "None of this is your fault. The Order's the problem, not you. And I'm not going to let them hurt you. Got it?"
Alex wiped his eyes quickly, nodding, though the tears were still there, unshed. "Got it."
Bob reached over, ruffling Alex's hair in a rare, fleeting moment of warmth. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Good. Now try to get some rest. We've got about twenty minutes until we arrive."
"Where?" Alex asked, his voice small.
"At the safe house Jack—Mr. Smith—mentioned," Bob replied, his eyes never leaving the road.
"How do you know we're going the right way?" Alex asked, a mix of awe and curiosity in his voice.
"I memorized the map while we were in the car, in case something like this happened," Bob answered casually, as though it were nothing.
"Woah…" Alex gasped, his mind racing again with the impossibility of it all.