The streets of London were still bustling with pedestrians, but no one noticed Noah Stewart rummaging through the trash. His musty, faded coat wasn't enough to keep out the winter night's chill. He found a leftover burger—half a slice, cold and smelly. But it was his only option.
Noah didn't eat it right away. He put it in a lunchbox and saved it for his mentally ill mother. He deliberately locked it in his rented apartment for the homeless.
Being homeless forced him to survive at all costs. However, his intelligence and physical strength still held value for some. He was only eighteen, but he had dropped out of school long ago after his family's financial ruin. His father died—or, more accurately, was declared dead—without a body. The former British soldier was reported to have defected and joined a Middle Eastern terrorist group, which made it impossible to return his body to his homeland.
The news shattered everything. His mother fell into a deep depression, the family bakery went bankrupt, and the government confiscated all their assets. Noah had become accustomed to the cruel treatment he had received from the world.
***
He arrived at the second-floor apartment and opened the door. The interior was dark, illuminated only by dim light from outside the window. In the living room, he saw his mother—a disheveled blonde woman wearing a shabby cardigan—sitting stiffly facing the window.
He went to the kitchen and boiled the last egg in the refrigerator. He ate the half-burger for dinner while preparing a hard-boiled egg and a glass of milk for his mother, Anna.
He placed a plate and glass on the table near her. But Anna turned to him with an angry glare.
"Are you scavenging for leftovers in the trash again?" Her voice was shaky but sharp. "Noah, your father is a colonel in the army. He'll be home soon and will be ashamed to see you like this."
She threw the glass of milk on the floor. The glass shattered, and the milk poured out like a puddle.
Noah clenched the burger wrapper tightly, holding back the surging anger he had kept locked away. He knew Anna wasn't fully conscious. Her mental illness had never really improved.
But when he looked at his mother, his gaze was cold. "He's dead," he said quietly but firmly. "His body never came back. You have to realize that."
His mother's eyes were dull and blank again as she stared out the window at the dark sky. Noah took a deep breath before kneeling down to clean up the spilled milk and collect the broken glass. His hands shook slightly, not from fear but from exhaustion.
He didn't return to his room. Instead, he decided to leave the apartment. For the first time, he didn't lock the door. He just wanted to breathe in the night air and clear his mind, even if only for a moment.
***
The city park was deserted. Noah sat on a cold bench, staring at a sky as dark as his thoughts. He held his cell phone and a necklace, his father's dog tag, tightly in his hands. He always carried the metal pendant with him; it was the only thing he had saved. The black flash drive attached to it was now useless; it had been damaged when he forced his way into the secret databases of the British government and intelligence agencies.
He spent the day gathering information, moving from place to place to access the internet without leaving a trace and without being tracked by the British government. He had saved all the data from the flash drive to his phone.
Noah stared at the dog tag as if hoping for an answer.
"Dad didn't commit treason," he murmured softly, as if to reassure himself. "Dad was accused of exposing British soldiers who were selling weapons to Germany. They held Dad's body to prevent the truth from being revealed. Uncle Rawles risked a lot to give me this necklace."
Noah's hand brushed the engraved letters on the metal pendant. Memories of his father flooded his mind, bringing with them a pain he couldn't describe.
The vibration from his cell phone made him jolt. Uncle Rawles's name flashed on the screen. Noah immediately picked up.
"Uncle, what's wrong? Why does your voice sound so panicked?" Noah asked, trying to remain calm.
Rawles's voice sounded rushed and confused. "Noah, you need to leave the apartment immediately. Hide first. Your mother will be safe with your uncle's relatives."
Noah's heart was pounding. "What do you mean, Uncle?"
"The enemy who killed your father has tracked you. They know you compromised their tightly guarded information. You'll be considered a criminal. Get out—"
The sentence never ended. Noah slammed his phone on the ground once, twice, until it shattered. He broke the SD card with his own hands.
Without looking back, he ran. He ran through the park and into the dark, deserted streets in the middle of the night. His breathing was heavy and the cold bit into his lungs, but one thought filled his mind:
If they're after him, time to escape is running out.
Noah kept running relentlessly. His breath burned his lungs, but his feet wouldn't stop moving. A sedan's headlights flashed ahead, dazzling his eyes. His instincts reacted faster than his thoughts. He jumped over the fence and down the narrow alley, driven by the sense of imminent danger.
He turned and navigated shops and dark alleys to make it difficult for the figure in the black car to catch up. But his strength was starting to drain. His breathing was ragged and his steps were faltering.
As he exited the alley, he was immediately greeted by the hustle and bustle of London's nighttime streets. The lights, car horns, and crowds of people all made his head spin. But something caught his eye—a food delivery motorcycle parked at the curb with the keys still in the lock.
Opportunity!
Without a second thought, Noah climbed onto the motorcycle and revved the throttle as hard as he could. The screams of the motorcycle's owner calling for help came from behind him. Noah didn't look back. Guilt had no place in this chase. All that mattered was survival.
The engine roared as he cut through the crowded streets. In the rearview mirror, a black sedan accelerated, weaving through traffic as if oblivious to everything around it. Noah angled his body and weaved between cars with a surprising amount of agility.
Seconds later, he saw the red light turn green. The sedan was starting to fall behind. There was a chance to escape.
He pressed the throttle harder.
***
The explosion shook his eardrums.
The motorcycle shuddered and lost control. Noah caught a glimpse of the rear tire, which had been shot to pieces. There was only one possibility—long-range shooters, perhaps from the rooftops. They weren't there to arrest him. They were there to finish him off.
With the motorcycle out of control, Noah couldn't avoid a black sedan that had suddenly stopped in front of him. The impact was so violent that it felt as if the world were shattering.
The motorcycle shattered.
Noah's body was thrown high into the air before hitting the asphalt with a brutal thud.
Pain shot through his entire body—bones cracked and muscles tore. He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't feel his legs. Only the coldness crept rapidly from the pool of blood around him. His vision blurred.
"Is my life over here? What about Mom? Will I ever see Dad again?"
The night sky above him darkened. It wasn't just nighttime darkness, but a deeper, more engulfing darkness.
When he regained consciousness, he was falling. He was no longer on the streets of London. He was sliding down an endless abyss. The cold air hit his face, and pure terror washed over him. Horrifying, curved, long hands emerged from the abyss like living shadows, grabbing his legs and dragging him deeper into the darkness.
For the first time in his life, Noah truly saw horror firsthand—a horror beyond logic; not the cruelty of humans or the world, but something far beyond that.
His heart stopped.
Then, it started beating again.
Noah's screams echoed through the dark abyss, seemingly never-ending.