March 5, 2026
7:03 a.m.
P.S. 141, Queens
The first thing that hit the news was the smell.
Parents dropping off kids for morning drop-off started vomiting in the street.
By 7:15 the entire block was cordoned off.
By 7:30 every local channel had a chopper overhead.
Inside the gymnasium, 312 middle-school kids sat cross-legged on the bleachers, quiet as church mice, watching the countdown on the projector screen that usually showed cafeteria menus.
00:59:12
00:59:11
At the front of the gym stood Daniel Hirsch, 42, assistant principal, hands zip-tied behind his back, duct tape over his mouth peeling at the edges from how hard he was crying.
Above him, a banner someone had hung overnight in neat block letters:
**TODAY WE LEARN WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LOOK AWAY**
The distorted voice came over the PA system, calm as a substitute teacher on the first day.
"Good morning, children.
Do not be afraid. You are perfectly safe.
Your parents are watching outside. Wave if you want."
Three hundred small hands shot up and waved at the cameras everyone now knew were hidden in the rafters.
The chat (mirrored on every phone in America) passed thirty-five million before 7:10.
Jack Reyes pushed through the outer perimeter, badge out, eyes burning from no sleep.
Uniforms tried to stop him.
"FBI's got command, Sergeant—"
"Move."
He kept walking until he hit the inner door.
Captain Ross—old friend, older hangover—met him there.
"Jack, you can't go in. He rigged the doors. Explosives, gas, nobody knows. Bomb squad's still twenty out."
Jack stared past him at the gym windows. Could just make out the tiny faces.
"What's the demand?"
"No demand," Ross said, voice cracking. "He released a manifesto ten minutes ago. Hirsch molested twelve students over nine years. Parents complained. School board buried it. DA declined to prosecute. Twice."
Jack closed his eyes.
Of course.
Ross kept talking, quieter. "He says the kids stay until Hirsch confesses on stream. Every minute he refuses, one random classroom in the city gets the same visit tomorrow."
Jack pulled the crushed card from his pocket, smoothed it out, stared at the silver ink.
Keep chasing me… or start helping me choose the order.
He looked back at the school.
Then he did the first thing that ever made the Judge pause mid-sentence.
He walked straight to the front doors, hands empty, and knocked three times.
Inside, the countdown froze at 00:43:07.
Every screen in the gym cut to a new feed: Jack Reyes standing alone under the flagpole.
The distorted voice returned, different now. Curious.
"Detective Reyes.
I told you the rules were simple."
Jack spoke loud enough for the mics to catch.
"Let the kids go.
You want a confession? Take me instead. One cop for three hundred children. That's a trade even you can't refuse."
Silence stretched long enough that parents outside started screaming.
Then the front doors unlocked with a metallic clunk.
The voice, almost amused.
"Come inside, Detective.
Leave the gun on the steps."
Jack unholstered his Glock, set it down, and walked in.
The doors sealed behind him.
Thirty-five million people watched a cop disappear into a school that had just become the most famous courtroom on Earth.
And for the first time since the notices began, the Judge hadn't planned the next move.