Chapter 10 : Red Shift
"No, no…"
Noah screamed as the door splintered under pressure.
Noah looked around, his head spinning like a rollercoaster. Then he remembered the Glock on the desk…
Noah hesitated and stumbled over the furniture.
Then the door finally gave way.
The lights cut through the fog and the darkness of Noah's bedroom.
---
Noah was drenched in sweat. He ducked under the desk—there was no room in the closet. Clothes? Nope—just a heap of garbage.
Heavy footsteps creaked across the wooden floor. Flashlight beams scattered, slicing through the dark amber atmosphere. It was too dark—only the sharp, stabbing beams of white light cut through.
But Noah was sure—this time, they weren't coming alone. His breath came in heavy gasps, his heart turned to ice. Pulses raced through every nerve, and sweat clung to him like the only constant in his cursed life—his goddamn student loan.
His heartbeat pounded. His breathing quickened as the footsteps drew ever nearer. The terror of being caught merged with the oppressive atmosphere.
"Come out, bitch! We're gonna find you!"
A deep, menacing voice sliced through the silence like a blade.
Noah panicked—hard.
His lungs clawed for air—each short gasp was never enough.
The moment Noah should have realized, it was already too late.
"Found your heartbeat," said a man in a helmet and SWAT-style suit. The barrel swung—pop. A muffled shot cracked the silence. It missed.
The man found Noah, his gun's suppressor pressed coldly against his forehead. The very air seemed to chill; silence then descended.
"Goodbye."
His finger curled around the trigger. Noah was sure this time he wouldn't survive.
Noah suffered. Dread had clung to him since the day he was born. This was death incarnate—he had always imagined it as the Grim Reaper with a scythe. But this... this was something altogether different. Death, whether a void or a myth, was inevitable.
But this time—it was a choice: kill or be killed. Only Noah could choose. Maybe—just maybe—he could change his luckless fate.
Noah charged the man, slamming him into the window. Glass exploded into a million shards. Fire broke out as they tumbled—Noah holding on tight.
The fall felt endless—it just kept going.
His body felt weightless. His heart pounded as if time itself were speeding by—like that high-rise nightmare where you feel doomed. That's how Noah felt.
Noah couldn't tell if he was trapped in a bad dream or a cruel reality.
Either way, he wasn't feeling any better—just empty, a void. He fell into the abyss—the world above shrinking into static and dust.
It wasn't the fall that hurt the most—it was the brutal bitch slap at the end. When you hit the ground, the pain explodes, and you might not even feel death… just an instant, overwhelming blank.
The fall persisted, but it wasn't the destination. Noah's brain churned, nausea overwhelmed him—it was a dizzying, relentless roll.
Soon, Noah landed hard on a car, rolled, and collapsed onto the dusty pavement.
The car groaned beneath him, its windshield cracked like a spider web
---
His vision blurred; blood leaked freely; the pain was unyielding…
With broken bones, he looked up—was that... an apartment window? It didn't make sense. Had he jumped from there?
Wait—the void was gone?
The "where am I" moment had finally arrived.
---
Noah blinked slowly.
The pavement was warm, wet.
His vision stuttered like a dying projector—frames skipped, and red bled into every shadow.
His ears rang with the sound of distant sirens—or maybe screams. He couldn't tell. It was like music played in reverse.
A hand twitched beside him—was it his own or someone else's? Blood stained its surface.
And shards of glass glinted in the dim light.
Every breath came with a stab of pain, yet he was still breathing—proof he wasn't dead. Not yet.
He tried to sit up, groaning as if fire danced through his ribs. Something was broken—maybe more than one thing. It didn't matter.
---
Noah's breath hitched like a dying engine.
Everything was red.
Everything—the walls, the sky, the fucking air—bled red.
Red streetlights. Red blood. Red air. Red car. Everything—you name it—was red.
The sirens in his head were louder than any bullet. He couldn't tell whether it was pure adrenaline or a glitch in his brain cranked to maximum volume.
He heard footsteps—his vision blurred further, as if everything were losing its definition.
The thumping of the footsteps grew louder and louder.
He tilted his head. The floor was a graveyard of shattered glass. And the Glock?
The Glock was warm in his palm—blood warm. But how did it end up here?
---
"Survive," the script had commanded.
That's all it asked.
But it felt like asking a fish to juggle chainsaws.
---
He pressed his back against the scorched wall, tried to breathe—couldn't. His lungs were on strike, his ribs protesting, his entire body filing for bankruptcy.
And then—
Click.
A sound echoed from the side—metal clashing against the road. Not heavy boots; just bare footsteps.
Noah peeked out from the twisted metal of the wrecked car, body aching, breath shallow.
No SWAT.
Just a kid.
What?
It couldn't have been more than twelve—a kid in an oversized hoodie with hands buried in his pockets—the same goddamn silhouette that had haunted him since Rossi's Deli.
Noah's hands trembled as the Glock rose on instinct.
The kid looked up.
The kid's smile was like static.
"Noah," the kid whispered.
He knew his name.
Bang!
A shot fired. His eyes snapped shut—he hadn't meant to pull the trigger, but it happened.
The kid evaporated—no body, no blood, nothing left.
Guilt washed over him—whether it was a misfire, or the work of False Fate, the kid could have died.
He looked up; the bleeding wouldn't stop, and a crushing weakness began to take over.
Noah's gaze fell on a laptop. Wait—a laptop? Had the kid left it behind?
As he reached for it, the screen pulsed.
---
[EXECUTION LOGGED – ERROR DETECTED]
[USER FIRED TOO EARLY]
[BEGINNING PHASE 2: HUNT]
---
Until the Red Shift began, he thought he knew fear.
But this…
This was something else entirely.