Jordan Academy
Periun city, Kettlia Region
Ashtarium nation
North American Continent
November 21st 2019
Jack rounded the corner at a brisk pace, the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the hallway walls as unease gnawed at his gut. He had a bad feeling, the kind that tightened your chest before your mind knew why. And then he saw them.
Just ahead, near the old lockers at the end of the east wing, his friends were backed into a corner. Joe West—broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, and mean in the way only someone who enjoyed dominance could be—loomed over them like a storm. The self-proclaimed kingpin of the school's underground clique, Joe had a reputation for cruelty masked by swagger.
In one hand, he held a half-crumpled wallet, flipping through the bills with casual greed. Another wallet was tucked under his arm, clearly taken just moments before. Jack's friends—Mark, Eli, and Sasha—stood frozen, their expressions etched with fear. None dared to speak. Sasha had her arms around herself, trembling. Eli looked like he was trying not to cry. Mark's eyes were cast to the floor, jaw clenched, but unmoving—paralyzed not by lack of courage, but the knowledge that courage wouldn't stop a punch from Joe.
Jack's stomach twisted. The sight ignited something in him—an electric pulse of anger and instinct. Not just for the money Joe had taken, but for the way his friends stood there, powerless under the weight of someone else's dominance.
Jack didn't hesitate.
"Hey!" he barked, his voice cutting through the tension like glass shattering on tile. "Drop their wallets, Joe."
Joe's head swiveled slowly, a smirk already curling at the corners of his mouth before his eyes even landed on Jack. The bully's grip on the wallet tightened as he turned to face him fully, rolling his shoulders with theatrical menace.
"Well, well. Look who finally decided to grow a spine," Joe drawled, tossing one of the wallets lazily into the air and catching it. "Didn't you learn your lesson last time, Jackie-boy?"
Jack didn't flinch, but he felt his heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to escape. He took a step forward anyway.
"Leave them alone."
For a moment, something in Joe's gaze sharpened. Then he chuckled—low and mocking—and started walking toward him. Jack stood his ground for one heartbeat. Two. But then Joe picked up speed, his stride turning into a predator's advance.
Jack turned and bolted.
He heard Joe's curse behind him, the heavy slam of footsteps pounding in pursuit. Jack raced through the hallways, darting past startled students and startled glances. He cut down the side corridor near the art wing, slipping past a janitor's cart, heart pounding so loud it almost drowned out the chaos behind him. He didn't look back—he knew better. He'd done this before. Running wasn't new. Running was survival.
He twisted through a side stairwell, slipped into the chemistry storage room, and crouched behind the tall shelves of supplies and solvents. His breaths came in sharp gasps, every nerve in his body still braced for impact. But the footsteps faded. The hallway went quiet. Jack closed his eyes. Shame swirled beneath the relief. He had pulled Joe away. His friends were safe. That's what mattered. Still... a familiar ache settled in his chest. Running had worked again. But someday, it might not.
After some time had passed and the halls fell quiet, Jack finally emerged from the storage room. The late afternoon light filtered in through the windows, casting long shadows across the now-empty corridors. His friends were waiting for him just outside the side exit, leaning against the school's faded brick wall, their backpacks slung low and faces still tense from the encounter.
Jack gave them a brief nod, and without a word, they started walking—quick, purposeful steps taking them off school grounds. The final bell had long since rung, and the air buzzed with the collective relief of a day survived.
"Man, Joe's such an asshole," Eli muttered, clutching his now-empty wallet. His scowl deepened with every step. "He cleaned me out."
"I told you we should've left earlier," Mark said, shooting a sideways glare.
"We were waiting for Jack," Sarah pointed out, her tone just shy of accusing.
All three turned to look at him.
"What?" Jack blinked, trying to play innocent.
"What took you so long?" Mark asked, brows furrowed.
"Carrie," Sarah and Eli said in unison, rolling their eyes.
Jack scratched the back of his head, ruffling his brown hair with a sheepish grin. "It's not what you think," he said, though the grin lingered. "She asked me to help her carry some stuff after club. That's all."
"Sure," Eli said with a chuckle, nudging him with an elbow. "Just a coincidence that Carrie Mosier also happens to be head of the drama club?"
"She needed help," Jack said with mock sincerity. "And I just so happened to be available."
Carrie Mosier—cheerleader, queen of charm, and effortlessly out of his league. Jack had known her since middle school, back when she was the new girl from outside the Region. She'd smiled at him once in sixth grade, and somehow that memory still had weight. Joining the drama club had seemed like a harmless way to be around her. At least, that's what he told himself.
"Jack and his not-so-secret crush," Sarah teased, shaking her head.
Jack grinned, but inside, something twisted. For all his clever escapes and quick feet, he couldn't outrun the truth: he was tired of always running—from Joe, from conflict, and maybe even from himself.
At the corner where Birch Street faded into the cluttered sprawl of Bedlam Avenue, the group slowed to a halt beneath the flickering light of an old lamppost. The golden hue of sunset bled across the rooftops, casting long shadows that stretched across cracked pavement and crooked mailboxes. The street hummed with life—cars honking in the distance, the occasional bark of a dog, and the low murmur of people starting their evening routines.
"This is me," Mark said, slinging his backpack higher over his shoulder.
"Later," Eli added with a lazy wave, already turning toward the crosswalk.
Sarah lingered for a moment, giving Jack a knowing glance. "Tell your mom I said hi, okay?"
Jack nodded. "Will do."
"See you tomorrow," she said, then jogged to catch up with the others.
Soon, Jack was alone, the warmth of his friends' presence fading with their footsteps. He took a slow breath and turned toward the heart of Bedlam Avenue, where the world grew rougher around the edges. The road narrowed here, flanked by leaning street signs, graffiti-tagged bus stops, and buildings that had long ago given up pretending to be new.
He walked past the laundromat with the broken neon sign, the convenience store that always smelled faintly of burnt coffee and sour milk, and a vacant lot where weeds grew taller than the fence meant to contain them. At the far end of the block stood a tall, tired building with a chipped plaque that read Bedlam Terrace. He approached the rusted entrance gate, key already in hand.
Inside, the dim hallway smelled of dust and detergent, echoing with muffled arguments and the rhythmic thump of music bleeding through paper-thin walls. Jack climbed the stairs to the third floor—he never took the elevator. It had been broken more times than he could count, and when it worked, it groaned like it was begging for retirement.
At apartment 3C, he paused.
He took a breath, pushed the door open, and stepped into the small living room that doubled as a dining space. The air was warm, scented with lavender oil from the diffuser in the corner.
"Mom?" he called softly.
"In here," came the voice from down the hall—gentle, but tinged with weariness.
He walked into her room.
His mother sat in her chair by the window, wrapped in a soft cardigan, a folded blanket across her lap. Her wheelchair was tucked neatly beside the small table that held her knitting, books, and a cup of cooling tea. Though her body was bound by stillness, her presence filled the room with calm strength.
"Hey, kiddo," she said with a tired smile. "How was school?"
Jack forced a grin. "Same as always."
But she knew him too well. Her eyes searched his face.
"Jack…"
He shrugged off his backpack and sat beside her, eyes cast toward the fading light beyond the window.
"I ran again," he said after a long silence.
She reached out and took his hand, her fingers cool but steady. "You did what you had to."
Jack didn't answer. He just looked out the window as the sun dipped below the city skyline, and night crept across Bedlam Avenue—slow, inevitable, and heavy with everything left unsaid.