10:00 P.M. – Clark's Apartment
For the first time in months, Clark Evernight made it home before midnight.
His legs were sore, his back ached, and his arms still remembered the trauma of carrying five steaming boxes of pizza up 30 floors.
He dropped his bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and flopped onto the couch face-first like a dying whale.
"I'm home… not that anyone cares," he mumbled into a pillow.
After a few minutes of blissful stillness, he peeled himself off the couch, wandered to the tiny kitchen, and opened his fridge. A single slice of bread and one sad egg stared back at him.
"I deserve better," he muttered, pulling out the egg.
He cracked it into a pan, let it sizzle, then sat down at the table while waiting for it to cook.
And that was his first mistake.
Because before he could even blink, his body slumped forward, cheek squished against the table, mouth slightly open.
Out. Cold.
---
11:47 P.M. – Somewhere in a Dream
Clark snored softly, dreaming about chasing flying pizza boxes through a haunted office.
Then—
RIIIIINNNGGG!!!
His phone lit up violently on the table.
He groaned, one eye cracking open.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
He reached for it lazily, squinting at the screen.
34 missed calls. 17 messages.
All from: "Work Chat (DO NOT IGNORE!)"
He blinked.
"…Huh?"
He tapped one of the latest messages.
> Zara: CLARK WHERE ARE YOU?!
Miggy: Bro ANSWER UR PHONE
Zara: HE'S LOOKING FOR YOU
Miggy: LIKE PERSONALLY
Zara: BOSS DIABLO ASKED FOR YOU 3 TIMES ALREADY 😰
Zara: CLARK RUNNNN—
Clark stared at the screen.
His brain loaded slowly.
Then—
"OH NO—!!"
He launched himself off the chair, his half-fried egg now smoking behind him.
---
12:04 A.M. – In a Taxi, Praying to All Known Deities
"Faster please," Clark begged the driver, gripping the seat with white knuckles.
The driver eyed him through the rearview mirror. "I'm going 90 in a 50 zone, sir. Any faster and I become a ghost."
Clark checked his phone again.
Missed Call: Mr. Von Bloodick (1 min ago)
Message: "Office. Now."
His soul left his body.
"Sir," he said, voice trembling, "would you accept emotional trauma as payment?"
The driver didn't answer.
---
12:20 A.M. – Oblivion Holdings Inc. Lobby
Clark barely tossed some bills at the driver before bolting out of the cab.
He ran into the lobby, wheezing. His hair was a mess, his shirt half-untucked, and he was definitely still wearing bedroom slippers.
The security guard looked up, startled. "Mr. Evernight—"
"NO TIME TO EXPLAIN."
Clark skidded to a stop in front of the elevators.
All of them were full.
He slammed the UP button.
"COME ON, COME ON, COME—"
Ding!
All elevators: Moving. No one getting off.
Clark groaned. "Okay. Plan B."
---
12:26 A.M. – Stairwell of Regret
Thirty floors.
Clark took them two at a time, gasping, tripping, nearly dying at least four separate times.
By floor fifteen: sweating.
By floor twenty-two: hallucinating.
By floor twenty-seven: openly sobbing.
He burst through the stairwell door into the executive hallway, barely holding himself upright.
---
12:30 A.M. – Office Floor, Top Level
As soon as he stepped into the hallway, several coworkers looked up from their desks.
Silence fell.
Zara, the receptionist, jumped up and ran to him. "Clark! Oh my god, you made it!"
Clark leaned against the wall, gasping. "Am I... fired yet?"
Miggy, the junior finance assistant, winced. "Not yet. But if you breathe wrong, you might be."
Zara grabbed his wrist. "Listen—he's really mad. Like… ice-cold-silence mad."
Clark's face paled.
Miggy nodded. "He asked for you personally. That's never happened before."
Zara bit her lip. "Be careful what you say, okay? Don't joke. Don't talk back. Don't even breathe sarcastically."
Clark stood up straighter, every hair on his neck standing on end.
"I—I'm going in," he said dramatically, pushing his glasses up.
Miggy whispered behind him: "May the odds be ever in your favor."