At noon that day, three men and four women—seven people in total—gathered in Femi Foster's villa living room. Besides the familiar faces Jack Young recognized, there was a new pair joining the survivors' team. The woman was Tilia, Wendy's roommate, with dusky skin—not quite Black, more like South Asian. The man was Bartley, a textbook Caucasian and Wendy's friend. From Jack's observation, there was some mutual interest between the two, probably a couple or soon-to-be.
Earlier that morning, the two had been riding the subway with Wendy, so they sat near her. When the subway derailed, their proximity meant Jack was able to save them both. We'll skip the usual grateful chatter and get straight to the survivor squad business. After Wendy and the others explained and confirmed things, Tilia and Bartley both looked pretty uneasy—they realized they'd been dragged into something wild.
As the host, Femi Foster sat at the head of the table and started talking: "So far, Jack was the first to get attacked, then me as the second. Lucky for us, we both pulled through—thanks to Wendy for spotting the signs, and Jack for snatching people back from Death itself." She raised her coffee cup toward Jack: "Especially you. I still can't get over the feeling of you touching me—seriously, it was electrifying." As she spoke, she stuck out her pink tongue and licked her lips.
Julie immediately shot back, not having any of it: "Yeah, right. You were really 'electrified'—almost got permanently zapped."
Wendy quickly tried to smooth things over: "Alright, alright, the main thing now is to get through the next crisis. Since we don't know Death's attack pattern, we need to round up all the people involved. There were nine survivors from the subway, seven of us are here, and the other two—I remember one was a Black guy with a big afro, and the other was a big white dude. Hopefully they'll reach out to me soon."
Femi Foster just laughed at that: "Heh, that's a pretty naive plan. If you just sit around waiting like that, the only place you'll see them is at their funeral."
Julie couldn't take it: "Hey, what's with the attitude? We just saved you, you know. Got any better ideas?"
Femi Foster calmly set her coffee cup down: "You saved me, and of course I'm grateful. But that doesn't mean I'll just do whatever you say. I definitely have a better way—watch and learn, kiddos. This is how grown-ups get things done." She handed Jack a document folder and threw in a flirty wink: "Check it out, handsome!"
Jack opened the folder and, sure enough, inside were files on all seven survivors except himself and Femi Foster. The info on the two missing members was especially thick—lots of details.
"This Black guy with the big afro—his real name's a mystery, but he likes people to call him 'Kubi.'" Femi Foster pulled out a photo: the afro guy was decked out in streetwear, wearing big shades. "He's into biker gangs, street racing, even dabbled in drug dealing. He's got a police record, but always skirts the line, so never got a long sentence. Honestly, this little punk's hard to track down, and he changes his number every three days, so for now, we can ignore him."
She pulled out another photo. The bald, burly white guy in the picture was the same one who tried to start a fight on the subway. "His name's Bill, a diehard Bruins fan, currently works at a factory. The guy's obsessive and has a temper, but that's not the main thing—the important part is his workplace and contact info are crystal clear. So I suggest we find him first. What do you think, handsome?" Femi Foster looked at Jack.
Everyone else looked over too. Right now, the only real sense of safety they had was being near Jack. So, even without saying much, Jack naturally became their anchor.
"It's still early today. If you're all up for it, let's not waste time—let's go find Bill right now. Stick close to me when we move; I'll help out however I can."
Once Jack made the call, everyone got moving. Only Julie lingered, flipping through the papers on the table, staring at Femi Foster in disbelief: "Seriously, how'd you even get all this stuff? Regular people can't do that!"
"Told you, I'm a literary legend." Femi Foster puffed out her chest, proud: "I've got connections you can't even imagine!"
Later that afternoon, the group arrived at a factory. This was where Bill worked—a heavy machinery plant, making things like excavators and bulldozers. Even just standing at the front gate, you could hear the sharp clangs of metalwork coming from the workshops inside.
On the way, Wendy had already called Bill using the number from the files, but the conversation went nowhere—Bill barely listened, hung up after a few words. So Jack planned to find him in person and drag him out. Femi Foster's connections paid off: as soon as they reached the gate, a guy who looked like management greeted them, led them inside, and took them straight to the workshop.
As he led the way, the guy explained, "Bill's our security guy, fixes all sorts of machinery. I checked—he should be working in the stamping shop right now. Honestly, I should call him out to meet you, but... truth is, he's got a nasty temper, and he's the best security tech we've got. So if you want to talk to him, you'll have to go in and find him yourselves."
Jack eyed the guy's outfit—suit, tie, dress shoes. Total office look. Normally, nothing weird, but in a factory it seemed out of place. "Hey, don't you guys have hard hats, safety shoes, protective gear or anything?" Jack gestured at him. "Aren't you worried about getting hurt in the shop dressed like that?"
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"Hey, man, you're funny." The guy leading the way shrugged it off: "Around here, to be honest—if something really goes wrong, it doesn't matter what you're wearing. Best safety tip? Go pray at church! Anyway, we're here. Go on in."
Clang—the workshop doors swung open, and Jack led the seven of them inside. At the threshold, everyone reacted differently. Kevin, Wendy, and their classmates—all five students—just looked around nervously, on edge for any sudden crisis, but mostly confused. Femi Foster sighed softly: "Living surrounded by murder machines—this scene really gets my blood pumping."
Jack squinted at the massive workshop, shaking his head: "A bunch of clueless managers and easygoing workers—seriously, do any of you even know what 'workplace safety' is?" Fed up, he grilled the office guy: "Where's the emergency exit? Where's the safety railing? Where are the forklift zone markers?"
Jack got more and more worked up, finally snapping and yelling at the workshop: "Damn it, this place is a total mess! Materials shouldn't be stacked over one and a half meters, but here they're piled to the ceiling! There's a thirty-ton overhead crane moving back and forth above our heads, and the control panel doesn't even have a safety lock! The welding station over there is shooting sparks everywhere, and the workers who should be waiting safely on the sidelines are just wandering around! You know, one stray spark could turn your big beard into a torch! Whoever runs this factory must have mush for brains!"
Jack's outburst left the office guy stunned. After a moment, he snapped out of it and said, "Man, you really know your stuff. Want a job here? You're right—our production manager is a total slacker!"
Jack rolled his eyes and said to the group, "Wendy, Femi Foster, you two come with me. Everyone else, wait in the security room." What a chaotic place—honestly, it's no surprise if someone drops dead here. "Let's find Bill, sort him out, and get out of this dump!"
All around, a sinister vibe lingered—death was lurking nearby. That feeling made Jack restless, which was the real reason he snapped.