Weightlessness that stretched for an eternity, then I flopped forward to the pavement. My body moved instinctively, rolling forward. But without follow up orders, it kept rolling and crashed into the doorsteps of house #0. I laid there in a lifeless heap.

  No! NO! Why is it not breaking?!

  There must've been some sort of mistake.

  I stood up and staggered to the pot, then plunged my hand inside. The pain grounded me.

  Run #149. I thought instinctively. It was a habit I’ve picked up, counting the run starting from when I realized I had to prevent deaths to escape. I tallied each run like a prisoner counting days. The illusion of progress was my only comfort when obstructed from progressing.

  But now it’s all for nothing?

  My hand clenched around sharp grit, blood soaking the gravel red. I grimaced, but it was from despair rather than pain.

  This can't be happening.

  I was so sure. Maybe one of them died afterwards. I'll verify their fates first this run.

  I whirled and ran up the street.

  No need to check on Tycoon. He was alive at noon last run.

  Our conversation played in my head, but I shook my head and dismissed it—I needed to focus on what was important.

  I've never caught up with the boy after he ran away. I assumed he'd survive since the weather turned sunny afterwards, but I should still verify it this run.

  Skidding to a stop next to the boy, I raised my hand to shield us with my briefcase, only to realize I didn't have it with me.

  I forgot to retrieve the throwing pebbles too. Wait, I won't need them.

  Settling for the next best thing, I covered the boy's eyes with my right palm and looked down. I swung my arm to throw the gravel, only to abort the motion.

  I'm still out of breath.

  I spent the next few minutes covering the boy's eyes awkwardly while I caught my breath.

  Once I was ready, I threw the sharp gravel upwards.

  PopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPopPop!!!

  I withdrew the hand covering the boy and waited as he processed the sight. Tears streaming down his eyes, he turned and ran up the street.

  I trailed behind him, pushing myself to keep up.

  The boy was fast, but I had expected that. The problem was that he was getting faster. Not only that, but the boy was changing, getting taller. I thought I had seen it wrong at first, but no. Right before my very eyes, the boy was growing older. Already, he was an adolescent, then moments later, a young adult. Soon, I lost sight of him.

  I collapsed to my knees, clutching my chest. My breath came in ragged gasps.

  I’m dying? Heart attack?

  I had a weak heart, after all. I wouldn't even mind if I died now. I've confirmed—as much as I could have—the safety of the boy...teen? Adult? What do I even call him now? The Jumper?

  I looked up at the bright sky above as my heart settled. Since I didn't keel over and die, I might as well check if Screamer was safe.

  I ran through the strategy again, then made my preparations. I briskly walked up the street to the demolition site.

  ***

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

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

  I took this chance to study his workroom properly, having never bothered before.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The walls were tool walls, but too many were taken, leaving glaring gaps. The few tools that remained were unrecognizable. Against all four walls there were long, wooden tables. On top of them, the rest of the tools were scattered along with gears, cogs, and other parts. Despite taking up most of the space inside the room, the tables weren’t enough, and the mess overflowed to the wooden floor below.

  In contrast to the carelessly scattered parts, half-finished wristwatches were carefully isolated in the center of each table. They looked like prototype versions of the antique-looking watch Screamer offered me all those runs ago. The same watch I usually take to deter the-one near the mansion's entrance.

  I narrowed my eyes at the artificial lighting inside the room. Although it was noon, curtains were drawn over the window.

  The sound of struggle died down.

  I left the antique watch where it was this run, then came out and said to the foreman, "Clear. Nobody else here, let's go." I headed down the stairs, the sound of Screamer wailing resounding in my ears.

  Once outside the building, I pretended to go down the street before doubling back.

  No one noticed my return, too immersed in their shouting match.

  "How could you?!"

  "That was attempted murder!"

  "We trusted you!"

  "Friends, please! I was just-" that was Sideburns.

  I had to admit to feeling a vindictive glee when I heard his desperate pleas.

  "I'll be pressing charges on you lot!" that was the foreman.

  "Wait! Please! I-" that was... Screamer? I wasn't familiar with his voice yet. Ironic.

  I slipped inside the apartment building and hid, peeking out at the crowd gathered around Screamer and Sideburns.

  It was a lot of back and forth over the next half an hour, but it could all be condensed into several points. The residents were outraged at Sideburns. They also desperately distanced themselves away from being labeled accomplices of a murder attempt. Sideburns was in despair after being labeled a murderer. While said attempted murder victim had a hollow look in his eyes.

  He had just been saved, so why does he look like he had just lost everything instead?

  Feeling a strange sense of unease, I paid closer attention to Screamer. But he did nothing else but stare blankly at the air. I recognized that look. I've done it myself once or twice. It was a look of despair.

  With a beep, the world faded, and I was falling forward to the sidewalk. I stepped forward to regain my balance.

  Okay, so the... Jumper and Screamer were alive at noon. The problem is Firestarter then. Did those useless firefighters not save him after all?

  That was impossible. I've confirmed Firestarter's survival myself in an earlier run. I spent 3 runs trying to get the timing just right.

  What's the problem then?

  I was stumped. But the strange sense of unease lingered. The boy's teary-eyed and heartbroken expression crossed my mind. Then Screamer's hollow-eyed gaze.

  Filled with doubt, I decided to check on Firestarter. I didn't use my speed-run method this time. I ignored everything else and made my way to house #50 on the left path.

  I stood on the doorsteps and checked the time—11:25. I've never bothered to learn Firestarter's routine, so I didn't know what he'd be doing at this time. Knowing the front door was locked, I looked for another way in. I found it in the form of an unlocked second-floor window. I've learned how to climb walls in my attempts to get to the mansion's second-floor balcony. It was a dead-end route, inevitably getting literally shot down by multiple guards.

  I was glad I didn't learn how to climb in vain.

  I slipped into the house quietly, then tiptoed my way down the stairs. I found Firestarter where he had always been in earlier runs—sitting on the dinner table with a pre-packed food on the dining table in front of him.

  Does he not move at all?

  I stifled my breathing and settled down to observe him from the doorway, careful to hide myself properly.

  Minutes ticked by, and nothing moved. It was as if time had frozen in this house. Outside, people were living, struggling, and dying. But all was still right here and now, in this dimly lit kitchen.

  Firestarter stared at the prepacked meal in front of him, barely blinking. When he finally moved, it was not just an end to silence and stillness. It was as if time itself flowed once more.

  Firestarter swept the package off the table in an angry, disgusted swipe, splattering it against the wall. He jumped up, then yanked the fridge open. I couldn't see inside from my position, but I saw his shoulder slump in defeat.

  He grabbed a nearby pre-packed food—indistinguishable from the one he flung away before—and ripped its packaging with great familiarity. He dumped the contents into a pan, then turned the stove on. It was one of those gas stoves that use fire instead of electricity.

  I stared at his lonely back in silence, processing what I've just seen.

  I was wrong. He didn't need help opening the packages.

  I glanced down at the time—it was 11:37.

  The stove flared, a nearby package catching fire. Firestarter recoiled away, panicked. His efforts just spread the fire further.

  I stood up, then crouched down again. Something held me in place. It was an understanding accompanied by the sinking realization that I had done him wrong.

  Soon, the fire grew too large to extinguish, and Firestarter seemed to realize it too. He scraped off what’s left of the burned food, piling them on a plate. He sat down at the dining table, staring at the burned food for a while. Then he took a bite.

  Firestarter smiled.

  I shuddered, then averted my eyes. It was 11:39.

  I withdrew my head from the doorway and leaned on the wall, closing my eyes. Firestarter's smile seared in my eyes. It held relief and regret, bitterness and longing, grief and desolation.

  BOOM!

  The neighboring house exploded. The corridor crashed down in front of me. Our fates were sealed now. But that was fine. When the fire came for me, I embraced it.

  It was too painful for words, but less painful than the realization that I had failed in this, too. What would Firestarter have felt, when he saw me open the pre-packed food, then smiled and told him to eat up?

  The world faded, and I found myself falling forward to the pavement. I stepped forward to regain balance, then took a deep breath. The smell the smoke and taste of ash lingered.

  is the first draft lol. I'm just letting you know that (in the future when I have the time) I'm going to be trimming some parts of the earlier chapters. It'll mostly just for conciseness, cutting off repetitive parts, etc. Nothing major.