A moment of weightlessness that stretched for an eternity.

  Damn! I thought as I hung there. It had been 147 runs since I discovered the link between preventing deaths and changes in the weather, 141 runs since I burned to death together with the Firestarter, and 5 runs since I last died in general.

  I gritted my teeth. I almost had it this time! Then I was falling forward onto the sidewalk again.

  I rolled forward, smoothly snatching my briefcase on the way. The roll ended in front of the weird pot on the doorsteps of house number 0.

  Without hesitation, I plunged my left hand to the pot and grabbed a handful of sharp grit and gravel. The sharp stones dug into my skin, drawing blood. I ignored the pain and scooped the bigger, smoother pebbles underneath the sharp layer with my other hand. I moved with economical precision, depositing the bigger pebbles to the front pocket of my briefcase.

  Immediately after collecting seven pebbles, I secured the flap one-handedly—since my left was still full of sharp gravel—then picked it up and jogged up the street.

  It was a challenge to jog with the added weight on my right hand at first, but I had long since adjusted. Running while carrying a briefcase in one hand was an awkward affair in the first place.

  At 11:11 sharp, I skidded to a stop next to the child. I kneeled and lifted my briefcase horizontally above us.

  I looked the boy in the eye, then threw the sharp gravel in my left hand upwards.

  PopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPop!!!

  Blood droplets from my left hand and popped balloons debris rained down on us. I counted to three, then lowered the briefcase and stood up.

  The child gaped at me, then at the burst balloons, then back at me.

  I left him there before he could do anything else. I knew the boy would be safe even after I left him. The sun shone brightly on the demolition site, after all.

  I really didn't want to see that sad expression again if I could help it.

  It was for his own good. I told myself again.

  I don't have time to pander him. This was the swiftest way I could get the boy to give up on his balloons. I can't afford to spend 30 minutes there. This is a life-and-death matter.

  The words still rang as hollow as always. I ran on, trailing drops of blood on the sidewalk behind me.

  As soon as the street leveled out, I slowed down to a walk and got my breathing in order. I took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off my face, careful to not stain it with blood. Still walking, I took off my wristwatch and stuffed both the watch and my bloodied left hand into my pants pocket. A moment later, the demolition site rose from the horizon. I forced myself to keep to a brisk walking pace despite my impatience.

  With great familiarity, I weaved my way through the crowd and stepped over the separating tape.

  I strode up to the foreman. "Mr. Tully?" I called imperiously.

  The foreman turned to me in surprise. He took in my suit, briefcase, and expression, then straightened up. "Yes? May I help you, sir?"

  "Progress report please," I said, eyes flicking away dismissively.

  The foreman hesitated, "Urm...who-"

  I sighed, then looked him in the eye. "HQ sent me. Now hurry up, I don't have all day. I have a lot more sites to check after this."

  "I-I..."

  "Out with it then. Have you done a sweep of the building? Stop. Don't answer that, I know you haven't. Go have your men do a sweep," I said.

  The foreman gathered his wits and opened his mouth, then he looked me in the eye.

  I channeled all the impatience and frustration I've felt at the situation. It was all real too. I've spent way too many runs trying to get him to do this sweep.

  He closed his mouth and gave a curt nod before heading towards the construction vehicle to call the other workers.

  This was the fastest way to do this. I could coax him into it. But inevitably, Sideburns will interrupt.

  As if on cue, he stepped over the tape and called out to me, "Excuse me! Excuse me, sir!"

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  I turned toward him and heaved a world-weary sigh. "What is it now?"

  "Yes hello! Are you someone from PillarWorks Group?" Sideburn asked.

  I observed him quietly.

  He shifted nervously.

  "No, I don't work for PillarWorks, why would I?" I nodded towards the foreman and four workers walking in our direction. "They don't work for PillarWorks either."

  Sideburn tried to laugh it off, but I wouldn't have it.

  "You are... Mr. Harlow from room 14, aren't you?" I asked him, stepping closer.

  Sideburns took a step back in surprise. "Yes. But how-"

  I cut him off. "Who's that next to you?"

  Both Sideburns and the guy next to him flinched.

  A woman stepped out from the crowd. "Let me introduce you. This is Raymon, from room 15. Now, sir, I'm sure you're aware, but this demolition is preposterous. You have to-"

  "No," I said.

  "No?"

  I nodded. "No."

  I gazed at “Raymond”. He was a scruffy-looking man, with tanned skin and unshaved salt and pepper beard.

  The woman sputtered. "I should've known there was not a single decent lot in-"

  I raised a hand, cutting her off. "I meant no, this is not the resident of room 15."

  The crowd quieted. The foreman and the other four workers stopped in their tracks too.

  Sideburns gritted his teeth and took a step back. "I don't know how you'd know that. We've never seen you before!"

  The crowd started murmuring.

  I sighed, then picked out a person in the crowd. "Mr. Louis, room number 1," I moved my gaze to another person. "Mr. Martin, room number 2. Ms. Vivian, room number 3."

  I named them one by one. Then I looked at Sideburns. "Mr. Harlow, room number 14."

  I held his gaze for a moment. He was pale and sweating by now. "Who's the one next to you? He's not the resident of room 15."

  Ignoring the murmuring crowd, I ordered the foreman, "Leave two workers behind to settle the crowd, then follow me to room 15."

  I strode off without looking back.

  I climbed the stairs to the third floor two at a time, then headed to room number 15.

  The foreman and workers trailed behind, panting slightly.

  I nodded towards the door. "Break it down."

  They looked at each other nervously.

  "Now, gentlemen," I said.

  One worker stepped forward and kicked the door. He bounced back.

  I sighed. "Stop. You'll hurt your ankle."

  I took a few steps back, then kicked the door. The worker’s earlier kick had loosened it, so the door easily burst open with a bang!

  The foreman and workers exchanged glances.

  I ignored them and entered, heading straight for the room at the end.

  The door opened, and Raymon—the real one—stepped out. "Who are you?!"

  I heard the foreman gasp behind me.

  "This building is about to be demolished. Please vacate immediately," I said.

  His mouth opened in shock. "I-I..."

  I looked at the workers behind me. "If Mr. Raymon refuses to come out, just drag him out."

  I walked past the Screamer—Raymon—into his workroom, ignoring the sounds of struggle behind me.

  I retrieved an antique watch from the table, slipping it into my right pants pocket.

  I came out and said to the foreman, “Nobody else here, let's go."

  The sound of the Screamer wailing resounded in my ears as I left.

  I didn't stick around after I came out of the building, instead jogging towards the end of the street, then turned left. After another minute of jogging down the left path, I approached a nearby garbage bin. I tipped it over with a kick, scattering trash everywhere. This particular bin was perfect for my purposes. It was near a tree and filled with dry paper and cardboard. I set down my briefcase to free my hand, then picked up a piece of paper. I lit it with the lighter I carried on my left suit pocket, then dropped it into the pile of trash.

  I watched as the fire spread quickly, shuddering slightly. I returned the lighter to my pocket with shaking hands. Gritting my teeth, I kicked most of the burning trash towards the base of the tree.

  I nodded in satisfaction, dusted my hands, then retrieved my briefcase. I turned around and jogged back to the crossroads, the fire growing behind me. I climbed the footbridge, then waited in the middle intersection.

  The sun was shining brightly above, the trail of black smoke from the fire I set a sharp contrast.

  After burning to death together with the Firestarter 141 runs ago, I vowed to stay away from fires for the rest of my life. Who would’ve thought I’d end up starting one intentionally?

  I sighed, slightly guilty. But this was the fastest way. I could've prevented the fire in house #50. It was relatively simple, even. I just had to arrive before 11:39 and open a package of prepacked food for the old man. In and out in less than 2 minutes. But if I did that, I could never get past the sea of humans on the right path afterwards. It took me 9 runs to figure that out and change tack.

  Taking a deep breath, I cupped my hands around my mouth, then shouted, "FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!"

  The sea of humans on the right path jolted, looking in my direction—and, more importantly, the smoke behind me.

  I dealt the final blow, shouting, "RUN! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

  The crowd ran, stampeding down the right path.

  I shook my head, kneeling to retrieve the pebbles I stored earlier. Observing the crowd with cold eyes, I counted the seconds under my breath.

  "Six seconds later, I threw the pebble at a woman, causing her to flinch. Moments after, a man rushed headlong into the spot where she had been. If she hadn't flinched, they would have collided and caused a domino effect, tripping several others."

  I continued, throwing pebbles at specific locations in specific times. With me herding the stampede, "miraculously", no one got trampled to death.

  I clapped my hands to shake off the dust, smoothed down my shirt, then finger-combed my hair. I took out the antique watch I retrieved from room #15 earlier and wore it on my left wrist. I picked up my suitcase and strolled to the mansion the crowd was converging at previously.

  The street was empty save for a few fallen people moaning in pain. They'll live.

  I scanned the street one last time, making sure there were no casualties. The wail of sirens pierced the brisk winter air. The firetrucks were finally here—earlier than usual due to the fire I started. They'll take care of the small fire I lit. They'll also take care of the fire the Firestarter would start.

  Save the Firestarter properly for me this time, you slowpokes.

  Satisfied that all was as it should be, I pushed the mansion gate open and entered.

  This mansion had obstructed me too many times. Even getting past the gates took me 9 runs to figure out. The other 132 runs? I spent it inside that damned mansion.

  I gritted my teeth, glaring at the door.

  This run, I was determined to clear it and finally claim my freedom.