Jack and Strange locked eyes in heavy silence. The atmosphere between them was thick—like the air before a thunderstorm, brimming with something unspoken.
Doctor Strange's voice was calm but urgent. "This world will soon be destroyed, Jack Willson. But if you help me, we can save it."
Jack took a slow breath. His hands were still trembling. "I need time to think," he said, stepping back, his eyes never leaving Strange. "And I have to get back to work."
Strange opened his mouth to argue, but Jack raised a hand.
"If you follow me," he said coldly, "I won't help you. Stay here. Wait for me."
There was a long pause. Then Strange nodded once. "I'll wait."
Jack quickly changed into his uniform and stepped outside, slamming the door behind him like he was trying to shut away the nightmare inside.
But it followed.
His vision still rippled and warped, like the world was submerged underwater. Colors shimmered. Sounds muffled. And they were still there—those shadowy figures. Lining the streets, unmoving, watching him with their eyeless faces.
Jack jammed his earpods in, cranked up the music, and tried to ignore the cold dread crawling up his spine. Just keep walking. Don't look. Don't think. Don't feel.
He arrived at work—his job as an cleaner. The call came in almost immediately.
A 10-year-old girl. Dead on school grounds.
Jack ran fast. He kept his eyes on the road, pretending the flickering figures on the sidewalk didn't exist. Pretending the world wasn't unraveling around him.
He reached the school. Teachers were crying. Kids huddled together, frightened. Jack walked toward the little body covered with a white sheet. A small shoe had fallen off. Her hand was still clutching a broken crayon.
He carried her gently into the ambulance. As he shut the doors, something pulled at his senses. A strange tension in the air.
He turned.
She was standing by the school gate.
The same girl.
Alive.
Crying.
But… translucent.
Jack's heart skipped a beat. Cold sweat ran down his back.
He slowly approached her, speaking softly. "Not all ghosts are bad… Sometimes they're just… lost."
She looked up, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
"I slipped…" she whimpered. "I just wanted to show my drawing… and then… I want to see my mom. My dad. My little brother…"
Jack's heart cracked at the sound of her sobs. His eyes welled, but before he could comfort her
The shadows moved.
All around the school gates, the black figures twitched, then pounced. Inhuman. Ravenous. They swarmed her like vultures—biting, clawing, devouring.
"No—!" Jack screamed, stumbling back.
She shrieked in agony. "Help me! Please! I want to see my family—!"
And then she was gone.
Jack's breath caught. His knees buckled. He dropped to the pavement, hands clutching his head. His mind spun.
Why? She was just a child… She didn't deserve this…
The shadows slowly turned to face him. But none moved.
None attacked.
They only stared.
Jack scrambled to his feet and ran. He didn't look back. He didn't care who saw. He just ran — back to the station, back to his office, where he slammed the door shut and collapsed in the chair, panting.
"What is happening…" he whispered to himself, shaking.
He thought of Strange. That calm, ghostly smile. The way he hovered between life and death.
Why aren't they eating him?
Why did they rip apart an innocent child… and leave him alone?
"Who are they?" he whispered. "Why can I see them? Why me?"
The questions consumed him, spiraling in his mind like a black hole. Every time he blinked, he saw her face. Crying. Begging. Reaching for help that never came.
Jack Willson stepped into the office, his mind still echoing with screams from the morning—the little girl, the shadows devouring her, the horror he couldn't unsee. His heart was heavy, his head aching like it had been clamped underwater for hours.
As he walked to his desk, his friend and co-worker Mark looked up from a file and grinned. "Did you sleep well?"
Jack hesitated, trying to compose his face, hide the storm clawing beneath his skin. "Yeah… I did."
Mark narrowed his eyes, the smile fading. "You sure? You look like you just came out of a war zone. You look terrified."
Jack forced a laugh. "Just need some water, that's all."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heels and walked briskly to the water cooler in the corner. He poured a cup, his hands slightly trembling. The cold liquid barely touched the fire burning in his throat.
When he returned to the office, he saw Mark grabbing his gloves and bag.
"You're heading out?" Jack asked, trying to sound casual.
"Yeah," Mark said, adjusting his jacket. "Another case just came in."
Jack blinked. "And I'm not in on it?"
Mark looked at him with a hint of concern. "No, man. I talked to the supervisor. You need a break. Honestly, Jack, you look like death. Take a week or two. Get a medical leave. Rest up. Watch your body, man."
Jack opened his mouth to protest, then let the words die in his throat. He nodded slowly. "Fine… Do your best, Mark."
"Always do." Mark gave him a pat on the shoulder and left.
Jack stood there for a moment, silent, then picked up his bag and stepped out into the daylight. It was just past noon.
But the shadows were still there.
They were always there now.
Standing in alleys. Sitting on benches. Hovering in places where no shadow should exist.
Their faceless heads turned as he passed.
Jack plugged in his earbuds, turned up the music, and tried to ignore them. Pretend the world was normal. Pretend he was normal.
He walked, lost in thought and tension, when his eyes caught something… someone.
Across the street, on a sunlit corner, stood Caroline.
She was laughing. Smiling.
With another man.
Jack froze.
The noise in his ears faded into a hollow drone. The shadows around him seemed to blur into the background as all he could do was watch her. The woman who once held his heart was holding someone else's hand now. And she looked… happy.
A strange smile crept onto Jack's face. Not bitter. Not broken.
Just tired.
"At least she's happy now…" he whispered.
Behind him, the shadows tilted their heads in unison.
Watching. Always watching.
And Jack kept walking—heading toward a house haunted not just by ghosts, but by the man who needed his help to stop the end of the world.