The survivor squad regrouped—still eight people, but Bill was gone and Cool B had joined. In a lot of ways, Bill and Cool B were total opposites. One's white, one's Black. One's bald, one's got a wild afro. One's an honest worker, one's a loose-cannon street hustler. One barely talks but has a fiery temper and just refuses to face reality. The other? Never shuts up, but only talks and never fights, and somehow instantly accepted the whole Death situation.
"Alright, Wendy, my bad. I popped some pills this morning and was rushing to see a hooker, so I totally missed whatever you said. Can you repeat that 'Death' thing one more time?" Cool B was surprisingly good at admitting when he was wrong.
Even with a new lively member, the mood among the group was still heavy, especially for Tilia and Bartley, who'd never gone through anything like this. Sure, they'd heard about Death attacking people here and there, but Jack Young and Femi Foster hadn't died, and the one who did was just some repair guy with no real connection to them—so they never really felt it, still holding onto a bit of hope.
Until today, when Bill died. His death was so shocking it made the evening news, sending chills down their spines. That last bit of wishful thinking was snuffed out, leaving only a cloud over their hearts.
In the middle of all that gloom, Jack Young handed out a stack of papers, one for each person: "What's the point of sulking? Come on, cheer up! Take a good look—maybe this can help you survive."
Jack Young's shout snapped everyone out of it. They looked at the papers and saw it was a guide called "How to Survive When Death Comes"—Jack had written down the five strategies he remembered.
As everyone read, Jack Young explained, "I went through tons of material and finally figured out the real reason behind our biggest problem right now."
Hearing Jack Young, everyone focused in. "You mean the whole unclear attack order thing?" Femi Foster asked. "What's the reason?"
"The answer's right here," Jack Young said, holding up another stack of papers. "These are the manuscripts you collected—the journals of the central figures from previous Death cases. After they went through a Death event, they wrote down what happened and their thoughts. It was these notes that made me realize what's different this time."
Femi Foster thought about it, then shook her head. "I read those notes too, but I didn't notice anything. What exactly is so special about this time?"
"It's because every time, there's only one central figure," Jack explained, scribbling on a piece of paper as he spoke. "The psychic gets a premonition, causes a stir, and some people leave the danger zone as a result. Those folks survive. Later, the psychic knows the order of attacks and can spot clues about how Death will strike. Sure, not every sign is obvious, but it definitely boosts survival rates. Wendy, it was the same for you last time, right?"
Wendy nodded vigorously.
"But this time, it's totally different." Jack had slipped back into teacher mode without even realizing it. "This time, Wendy got her death premonition. But the survivor isn't directly linked to her. Whether Wendy saw it or not, gave a warning or didn't, no matter how much chaos she stirred up—if I hadn't shown up, there wouldn't have been any survivors."
Kevin caught on. "So you're saying the survivor's direct connection isn't Wendy—it's you?"
Jack nodded. "To be precise, you all survived because of two accidents. First, Wendy saw the death fragment. Second, I happened to be there. No need for complicated details—just know I wasn't supposed to be on that subway at all."
Femi Foster immediately got it. "So what you're saying is, this time, we have two central figures: you and Wendy. And because there are two, Wendy can't see the exact order of deaths, so we miss the most crucial intel? Wait, hold on—" Femi remembered her experience browsing DVDs that afternoon and suddenly realized, "It's not that she can't see the order, it's that the order appears as 'signs' in Wendy's vision!"
"Exactly!" Jack slapped the paper. "Wendy sees the order, I see the method! Technically, there weren't nine survivors from the subway—there were ten. One just died in the next train attack. Think back to each attack: When the subway crashed, I was in front. I dodged, so the first person died to the train. Second time, I got a plastic bag over my head, and Femi Foster got tangled in heat-shield film—almost suffocated."
Bartley jumped in, "Third time, you got hit by a car, and Bill died because of a car accident! Wow, all the stuff that attacks you is basically a weird sign, predicting the next attack! Even if it's not the direct cause, it's all connected!"
Tilia's eyes lit up. "So, does that mean we're safe until Jack's next close call?"
Seeing Tilia's expression, Julie immediately frowned. "What's with the smile? That just means Jack's gonna get hit with way more attacks than us!"
Tilia quickly wiped the grin off her face and apologized to Jack, though deep down she clearly didn't care—she figured Jack could handle anything anyway.
Femi Foster picked up on it and snorted. "Don't put all your faith in that. Everyone defines 'danger' differently. Some stuff Jack shrugs off, but for us, it could be a real crisis. So he might not spot every sign, so don't rely on it too much. Plus, the 'sequence' could be super close together—like that chubby guy who got hit by the train. Sometimes the order's more like 'simultaneous.' And remember, this is just what we've figured out so far, not a hard rule. Stay sharp!"
Femi Foster's speech calmed everyone down again. Jack nodded, "Still, it does help survival odds. If I run into something weird, I'll describe every detail right away. Like, if I get into a car crash or there's an explosion, you all need to go somewhere that can't possibly have either, and wait for rescue—got it?"
Everyone thought it over and agreed—it was a pretty solid plan. They all nodded.
"By the way, Wendy, last time, about six months ago, the 'signs' you saw came as photographs, right?"
"Yep."
"Then let's go grab all the photos—anything that could be related. Everybody else, if you need to take time off or rearrange stuff, do it. Find as much free time as you can—we're moving." Jack stood up and started giving orders.
"Moving?" Kevin asked, confused. "Why?"
"Check rule five in your Survival Guide—it says we need a totally safe place. Solid, simple, clean—honestly, you Americans love making your homes way too complicated. Look at all these knickknacks! Who puts a bowling ball on top of a cabinet? It's like tempting fate. And memorize the Guide—it could save your life. Any other questions?"
"Uh, I have a small question." Cool B, the Black guy, raised his hand timidly.
"Go ahead."
"So, rule two in the Guide says I should save more people." Cool B scratched his head, looking hopeful at Jack. "Earlier, in the plaza, I managed to save someone. Does that mean I'll live longer?"
"You saved someone?" Jack was surprised—he hadn't noticed what Cool B was up to in all the chaos. "That's the second smartest thing you've done today."