Check Point Zero

Chapter 4 - Show us!

“No! You’re not even going to dare do that!” Talon’s scream ripped through the room like glass shattering. His veins bulged, a storm of red surging beneath his skin, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“It’s just a game—” Silas began, trying to sound rational.

“A game that named itself!” Agatha cut in, voice sharp, desperate, trembling like a struck chord.

The room bristled with unease. Talon’s breath came ragged, animalistic, his chest rising and falling like a man drowning in open air. His eyes flicked wildly, paranoia etched into every line of his face.

“You didn’t see him,” Talon hissed, his voice lowered now, but jagged with fear. “The man who dropped it… his shirt, his receipt… all of it marked with the same cursed words.” His lips quivered. “He wasn’t alive. He wasn’t dead either. He was something in between.”

“Show us,” Draven said, pointing to the POS machine, his voice a blade through the tension.

Talon froze. The room blurred for a second, the shadows stretching unnaturally toward him like they were listening. He scrolled through the transactions, fingers trembling, and then—his stomach turned to ice.

Gone. The record had vanished. The payment, the name, erased.

“Where is it?” Draven demanded, but his voice sounded far away, distorted, like it came from underwater.

“No… no, no, no,” Talon muttered, scrambling beneath the counter. He reached for the Margarita glass—the only proof left. His hands swept across wood and dust.

Empty.

The glass was gone.

Talon’s vision warped. The air around him pulsed, thick and suffocating. He clawed at the shelves, tore through drawers, pulled apart the counter. Nothing. His heart slammed against his ribs so violently it hurt.

“Talon…” Chloe’s voice cracked, but it was drowned by the buzzing in his ears.

And then—he saw it. A man in the crowd, standing too still, his figure almost unreal in its rigidity. His back bore the words CHECK POINT ZERO, scrawled in jagged black like it had been carved into the shirt itself.

“You!” Talon roared, his throat raw.

The figure turned slightly, just enough for Talon to glimpse a pale cheek, a smile that stretched too wide. Then—vanished into the crowd.

Talon lunged over the counter, smashing into bodies, the heat of the room closing around him like a furnace. The bass of the music warped, slowing, voices twisting into inhuman echoes.

“Hey!” he screamed, clawing at the figure as it slipped through the exit. “Heyyyy!”

He burst through the door into the night. Cold air slapped him, but it wasn’t relief—it was emptiness. The street was void, shadows curling at the edges like smoke.

His hair tangled in his fists as he yanked at it, trembling violently. His skin crawled as though something invisible was touching him, brushing along his spine.

His friends rushed out after him. Chloe’s tears caught the neon glow, dripping like liquid glass. “Baby… please, you need to rest.”

“Stay back,” Draven barked, spreading his arms. His voice carried fear, not authority.

Talon dropped to his knees, asphalt grinding into him. He fumbled in his pockets, clutching for the money—gone. He screamed, a sound that didn’t even sound human, then bolted back inside, tearing apart drawers, registers, bags.

Empty. Empty. Empty.

His mind fractured.

In the surveillance room, he slammed his hand against the console. “Play it back—forty-five minutes ago! Now!”

The footage rolled.

Nothing.

No stranger. No envelope. No drink. Only him, standing behind the counter like a ghost. His friends on the other side, laughing, unaware.

Talon stared at the screen. The version of himself inside the footage looked up—directly at him.

And smiled.

Chloe stumbled forward, clutching his burning face. His skin was fever-hot, almost scalding. “Baby… maybe you drank too much. Please… rest.” She tried to smile, but her lips trembled, folding into sobs.

“Or maybe,” Silas muttered, his voice flat, “you’ve gone insane.”

“Talon?” Agatha whimpered, clutching Dorian’s arm like a lifeline. “Do you… do you need a doctor?”

“Talon…” Dorian’s whisper cracked the silence.

“Talon…”

“Talon…”

Their voices multiplied, echoing unnaturally, until it no longer sounded like his friends at all—just disembodied tones chanting his name.

Poor. Crazy. Hallucinating.

Chloe wrapped herself around him, her sobs shaking through her body. Talon stroked her hair with trembling hands, but her warmth felt cold, hollow. Her fear was palpable—fear for him… or fear of him.

His eyes flickered, pupils trembling. The room twisted. For a moment, every face he saw wasn’t theirs at all, but grinning, pale strangers with eyes like black voids.

Why him? Why only him? Out of everyone in the room, why was he the one unraveling?

One truth burned through his chaos:

The game was a doorway.

And once it opened, there would be no going back.

They would never play it.

Not while he lived.

Never.